180 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  Having  so  much  influence  with  you,  Liz,  as 
I  have,  perhaps  I  should  have  done  better  to  have 
had  a  little  chat  with  you  in  the  first  instance, 
before  Mr.  Headstone  spoke  for  himself.  But 
really  all  this  in  his  favor  seemed  so  plain  and 
undeniable,  and  I  knew  you  to  have  always  been 
so  reasonable  and  sensible,  that  I  didn't  consider 
it  worth  while.  Very  likely  that  was  a  mistake 
of  mine.  However,  it's  soon  set  right.  All  that 
need  be  done  to  set  it  right,  is  for  you  to  tell  me 
at  once  that  I  may  go  home  and  tell  Mr.  Head- 
stone that  what  has  taken  place  is  not  final,  and 
that  it  will  all  come  round  by-and-by." 

He  stopped  again.  The  pale  face  looked  anx- 
iously and  lovingly  at  him,  but  she  shook  her 
head. 

"  Can't  you  speak  ?"  said  the.  boy,  sharply. 

"I  am  very  unwilling  to  speak,  Charley.  If 
I  must,  I  must.  I  can  not  authorize  you  to  say 
any  such  thing  to  Mr.  Headstone :  I  can  not  al- 
low you  to  say  any  such  thing  to  Mr.  Headstone. 
Nothing  remains  to  be  said  to  him  from  me, 
after  what  I  have  said  for  good  and  all  to- 
night." 

"And  this  girl,"  cried  the  boy,  contemptu- 
ously throwing  her  off  again,  "  calls  herself  a 
sister!" 

"Charley,  dear,  that  is  the  second  time  that 
you  have  almost  struck  me.  Don't  be  hurt  by 
my  words.  I  don't  mean — Heaven  forbid! — 
that  you  intended  it ;  but  you  hardly  know  with 
what  a  sudden  swing  you  removed  yourself  from 
me." 

"However!"  said  the  boy,  taking  no  heed  of 
the  remonstrance,  and  pursuing  his  own  morti- 
fied disappointment,  "I know  what  this  means, 
and  you  shall  not  disgrace  me." 

"It  means  what  I  have  told  you,  Charley, 
and  nothing  more." 

"That's  not  true,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  violent 
tone,  "and  you  know  it's  not.  It  means  your 
precious  Mr.  Wrayburn ;  that's  what  it  means." 

"  Charley !  If  you  remember  any  old  days  of 
ours  together,  forbear !" 

"But  you  shall  not  disgrace  me,"  doggedly 
pursued  the  boy.  "  I  am  determined  that  after 
I  have  climbed  up  out  of  the  mire  you  shall  not 
pull  me  down.  You  can't  disgrace  me  if  I  have 
nvOthing  to  do  with  you,  and  I  will  have  nothing 
to  do  with  you  for  the  future." 

"Charley  !  On  many  a  night  like  this,  and 
many  a  worse  night,  I  have  sat  on  the  stones  of 
the  s'treet,  hushing  you  in  my  arms.  Unsay  those 
words  without  even  saying  you  are  sorry  for 
them,  and  my  arms  are  open  to  you  still,  and 
so  is  my  heart." 

"  I'll  not  unsay  them.  I'll  say  them  again. 
You  are  an  inveterately  bad  girl,  and  a  false  sis- 
ter, and  I  have  done  with  you.  Forever,  I  have 
done  with  you !" 

He  threw  up  his  ungrateful  and  ungracious 
hand  as  if  it  set  up  a  barrier  between  them,  and 
flung  himself  upon  his  heel  and  left  her.  She 
remained  impassive  on  the  same  spot,  silent  and 
motionless,  until  the  striking  of  the  church  clock 
roused  her,  and. she  turned  away.  But  then, 
with  the  breaking  up  of  her  immobility  came 
the  breaking  up  of  the  waters  that  the  cold  heart 
of  the  selfish  boy  had  frozen.  And  "  O  that  I 
were  lying  here  with  the  dead!"  and  "  O  Char- 
ley, Charley,  that  this  should  be  the  end  of  our 
pictures  in  the  fire  !"  were  all  the  words  she  said, 


as  she  laid  her  face  in  her  hands  on  the  stone 
coping. 

A  figure  passed  by,  and  passed  on,  but  stopped 
and  looked  round  at  her.  It  was  the  figure 
of  an  old  "man  with  a  bowed  head,  wearing  a 
large  brimmed  low-crowned  hat,  and  a  long- 
skirted  coat.  After  hesitating  a  little  the  fig- 
ure turned  back,  and,  advancing  with  an  air  of 
gentleness  and  compassion,  said  : 

"  Pardon  me,  young  woman,  for  speaking  to 
you,  but  you  are  under  some  distress  of  mind. 
I  can  not  pass  upon  my  way  and  leave  you  weep- 
ing here  alone,  as  if  there  was  nothing  in  the 
place.  Can  I  help  you  ?  Can  I  do  any  thing 
to  give  you  comfort?" 

She  raised  her  head  at  the  sound  of  these  kind 
words,  and  answered  gladly,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Rial),  is 
it  you  ?" 

"My  daughter,"  said  the  old  man,  "I  stand 
amazed!  I  spoke  as  to  a  stranger.  Take  my 
arm,  take  my  arm.  What  grieves  you  ?  Who 
has  done  this  ?     Poor  girl,  poor  girl!". 

"My  brother  has  quarreled  with  me,"  sobbed 
Lizzie,  "and  renounced  me." 

"He  is  a  thankless  dog,"  said  the  Jew,  an- 
grily. "Let  him  go.  Shake  the  dust  from  thy 
feet  and  let  him  go.  Come,  daughter!  Come 
home  with  me — it  is  but  across  the  road — and 
take  a  little  time  to  recover  your  peace  and  to 
make  your  eyes  seemly,  and  then  I  will  bear  you 
company  through  the  streets.  For  it  is  past 
your  usual  time,  and  will  soon  be  late,  and  the 
way  is  long,  and  there  is  much  company  out  of 
doors  to-night." 

She  accepted  the  support  he  offered  her,  and 
they  slowly  passed  out  of  the  church-yard.  They 
were  in  the  act  of  emerging  into  the  main  thor- 
oughfare, when  another  figure  loitering  discon- 
tentedly by,  and  looking  up  the  street  and  down 
it,  and  all  about,  started  and  exclaimed,  "Liz- 
zie !  why,  where  have  you  been  ?  Why,  what's 
the  matter?" 

As  Eugene  Wrayburn  thus  addressed  her  she 
drew  closer  to  the  Jew  and  bent  her  head.  The 
Jew  having  taken  in  the  whole  of  Eugene  at  one 
sharp  glance,  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  and 
stood  mute. 

"Lizzie,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Mr.  Wrayburn,  I  can  not  tell  you  now.  I 
can  not  tell  you  to-night,  if  I  ever  can  tell  you. 
Pray  leave  me." 

"But,  Lizzie,  I  came  expressly  to  join  you. 
I  came  to  walk  home  with  you,  having  dined 
at  a  coffee-house  in  this  neighborhood  and  know- 
ing your  hour.  And  I  have  been  lingering 
about,"  added  Eugene,  "like  a  bailiff;  or," 
with  a  look  at  Riah,  "an  old  clothesman." 

The  Jew  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  took  in  Eu- 
gene more  at  another  glance. 

"Mr.  Wrayburn,  pray,  pray  leave  me  with 
this  protector.  And  one  thing  more.  Pray, 
pray  be  careful  of  yourself." 

"Mysteries  of  Udolpho !"  said  Eugene,  with  a 
look  of  wonder.  "May  I  be  excused  for  ask- 
ing, in  the  elderly  gentleman's  presence,  who  is 
this  kind  protector?" 

"  A  trust-worthy  friend,"  said  Lizzie. 

"  I  will  relieve  him  of  his  trust,"  returned  Eu- 
gene. "But  you  must  tell  me,  Lizzie,  what  is 
the  matter?" 

"Her  brother  is  the  matter,"  said  the  old 
man,  lifting  up  his  eyes  again. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


181 


"Our  brother  the  matter?"  returned  Eugene, 
with  airy  contempt.  "  Our  brother  is  not  worth 
a  thought,  far  less  a  tear.  What  has  our  broth- 
er done  ?" 

The  old  man  lifted  up  his  eyes  again,  with 
one  grave  look  at  Wrayburn,  and  one  grave 
glance  at  Lizzie,  as  she  stood  looking  down. 
Both  were  so  full  of  meaning  that  even  Eugene 
was  checked  in  his  light  career,  and  subsided 
into  a  thoughtful  "Humph !" 

With  an  air  of  perfect  patience  the  old  man, 
remaining  mute  and  keeping  his  eyes  cast  down, 
stood,  retaining  Lizzie's  arm,  as  though,  in  his 
habit  of  passive  endurance,  it  would  be  all  one 
to  him  if  he  had  stood  there  motionless  all  night. 
"If  Mr.  Aaron,"  said  Eugene,  who  soon  found 
this  fatiguing,  "will  be  good  enough  to  relin- 
quish his  charge  to  me,  he  will  be  quite  free 
for  any  engagement  he  may  have  at  the  Syna- 
gogue. Mr.  Aaron,  will  you  have  the  kind- 
ness?" 
But  the  old  man  stood  stock  still. 
"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Aaron,"  said  Eugene, 
politely;  "we  need  not  detain  you."  Then 
turning  to  Lizzie,  "Is  our  friend  Mr.  Aaron  a 
little  deaf?" 

"My  hearing  is  very  good,  Christian  gentle- 
man," replied  the  old  man,  calmly,  "but  I  will 
hear  only  one  voice  to-night  desiring  me  to  leave 
this  damsel  before  I  have  conveyed  her  to  her 
home.  If  she  requests  it,  I  will  do  it.  I  will  do 
it  for  no  one  else." 

"May  I  ask  why  so,  Mr.  Aaron?"  said  Eu- 
gene, quite  undisturbed  in  his  ease. 

"Excuse  me.  If  she  asks  me,  I  will  tell  her," 
replied  the  old  man.  "I  will  tell  no  one  else." 
"I  do  not  ask  you,"  said  Lizzie,  "and  I  beg 
you  to  take  me  home.  Mr.  Wrayburn,  I  have 
had  a  bitter  trial  to-night,  and  I  hope  you  will 
not  think  me  ungrateful,  or  mysterious,  or  change- 
able. I  am  neither ;  I  am  wretched.  Pray  re- 
member what  I  said  to  you.  Pray,  pray  take 
care." 

"My  dear  Lizzie,"  he  returned,  in  alow  voice, 
bending  over  her  on  the  other  side ;  "of  what? 
Of  whom  ?" 

"Of  any  one  you  have  lately  seen  and  made 
angry." 

He  snapped  his  fingers  and  laughed.  "Come," 
said  he,  "since  no  better  may  be,  Mr.  Aaron 
and  I  will  divide  this  trust,  and  see  you  home 
together.  Mr.  Aaron  on  that  side;  I  on  this. 
If  perfectly  agreeable  to  Mr.  Aaron,  the  escort 
will  now  proceed." 

He  know  his  power  over  her.  He  knew  that 
she  would  not  insist  upon  his  leaving  her.  He 
knew  that,  her  fears  for  him  being  aroused,  she 
would  be  uneasy  if  he  were  out  of  her  sight. 
For  all  his  seeming  levity  and  carelessness  he 
knew  whatever  he  chose  to  know  of  the  thoughts 
of  her  heart. 

And  going  on  at  her  side,  so  gayly,  regard- 
less of  all  that  had  been  urged  against  him ;  so 
superior  in  his  sallies  and  self-possession  to  the 
gloomy  constraint  of  her  suitor  and  the  selfish 
petulance  of  her  brother ;  so  faithful  to  her,  as 
it  seemed,  when  her  own  stock  was  faithless  ; 
what  an  immense  advantage,  what  an  overpow- 
ering influence,  were  his  that  night !  Add  to  the 
rest,  poor  girl,  that  she  had  heard  him  vilified 
for  her  sake,  and  that  she  had  suffered  for  his, 
and  where  the  wonder  that  his  occasional  tones 


of  serious  interest  (setting  off  his  carelessness,  as 
if  it  were  assumed  to  calm  her),  that  his  lightest 
touch, vhis  lightest  look,  his  very  presence  beside 
her  in  the  dark  common  street,  were  like  glimpses 
of  an  enchanted  world,  which  it  was  natural  for 
jealousy  and  malice  and  all  meanness  to  be  un- 
able to  bear  the  brightness  of,  and  to  gird  at  as 
bad  spirits  might. 

Nothing  more  being  said  of  repairing  to  Riah's, 
they  went  direct  to  Lizzie's  lodging.  A  little 
short  of  the  house-door  she  parted  from  them, 
and  went  in  alone. 

,  "Mr.  Aaron,"  said  Eugene,  when  they  were 
left  together  in  the  street,  "with  many  thanks 
for  your  company,  it  remains  for  me  unwillingly 
to  say  Farewell." 

"  Sir,"  returned  the  other,  "I  give  you  good- 
night, and  I  wish  that  you  were  not  so  thought- 
less." 

"Mr.  Aaron,"  returned  Eugene,  "I  give  you 
good-night,  and  I  wish  (for  you  are  a  little  dull) 
that  you  were  not  so  thoughtful." 

But  now,  that  his  part  was  played  out  for  the 
evening,  and  when  in  turning  his  back  upon  the 
Jew  he  came  off  the  stage,  he  was  thoughtful 
himself.  ' '  How  did  Lightwood's  catechism  run  ?  " 
he  murmured,  as  he  stopped  to  light  his  cigar. 
1 '  What  is  to  come  of  it  ?  What  are  you  doing  ? 
Where  are  you  going?  We  shall  soon  know 
now.     Ah ! "  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

The  heavy  sigh  was  repeated  as  if  by  an  echo, 
an  hour  afterward,  when  Riah,  who  had  been 
sitting  on  some  dark  steps  in  a  corner  over  against 
the  house,  arose  and  went  his  patient  way ;  steal- 
ing through  the  streets  in  his  ancient  dress,  like 
the  ghost  of  a  departed  Time. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AN   ANNIVERSARY   OCCASION. 

The  estimable  Twemlow,  dressing  himself  in 
his  lodgings  over  the  stable-yard  in  Duke  Street, 
*3aint  James's,  and  hearing  the  horses  at  their 
toilet  below,  finds  himself  on  the  whole  in  a  dis- 
advantageous position  as  compared  with  the  no- 
ble animals  at  livery.  •  For  whereas,  on  the  one 
hand,  he  has  no  attendant  to  slap  him  sounding- 
ly  and  require  him  in  gruff  accents  to  come  up 
and  come  over,  still,  on  "the  other  hand,  he  has 
no  attendant  at  all ;  and  .the  mild  gentleman's 
finger-joints  and  other  joints  working  rustily  in 
the  morning,  he  could  deem  it  agreeable  even  to 
be  tied  up  by  the  countenance  at  his  chamber- 
door,  so  he  were  there  skillfully  rubbed  down 
and  slushed  and  sluiced  and  polished  and  clothed, 
while  himself  taking  merely  a  passive  part  in 
these  trying  transactions. 

How  the  fascinating  Tippins  gets  on  when  ar- 
raying herself  for  the  bewilderment  of  the  senses 
of  men,  is  known  only  to  the  Graces  and  her 
maid ;  but  perhaps  even  that  engaging  creature, 
though  not  reduced  to  the  self-dependence  of 
Twemlow,  could  dispense  with  a  good  deal  of  the 
trouble  attendant  on  the  daily  restoration  of  her 
charms,  seeing  that  as  to  her  face  and  neck  this 
adorable  divinity  is,  as  it  were,  a  diurnal  species 
of  lobster — throwing  off  a  sh^ell  every  forenoon, 
and  needing  to  keep  in  a  retired  spot  until  the 
new  crust  hardens. 

Howbeit,  Twemlow  doth  at  length  invest  him- 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

BEQUEST 
OF 

Professor  Howard  Moise 


PR't5&3 
57? 


c       ^^<A>t^-X  ^Shoi* 


•     > 


CHARLES  DICKENS. 


NEW  YORK: 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN  SQUARE. 

1865. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  By  Charles  Dickens,  Author  of  "Our 
Mutual  Friend"  "Great  Expeaations,"  "The  Pickwick  Papers,"  &c,  &c.  2 
vols.,  i6mo,  Cloth,  $1   75. 


Published  by  HARPER  &   BROTHERS,  Franklin  Square,  New  York. 


dp*  Sent  by  Mail  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  pottage  free,  on  receipt  of  $1  75. 


• 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


%\\  jf0ttr  Sooks- 


BOOK  I,— THE  CUP  AND  THE  LIP, 


CHAPTER  I. 

ON  THE    LOOK-OUT. 

In  these  times  of  ours,  though  concerning  the 
exact  year  there  is  no  need  to  be  precise,  a  boat 
of  dirty  and  disreputable  appearance,  with  two 
figures  in  it,  floated  on  the  Thames,  between 
Southwark  Bridge  which  is  of  iron,  and  London 
Bridge  which  is  of  stone,  as  an  autumn  evening 
was  closing  in. 

The  figures  in  this  boat  were  those  of  a  strong 
man  with  ragged  grizzled  hair  and  a  sun-brown- 
ed face,  and  a  dark  girl  of  nineteen  or  twenty, 
sufficiently  like  him  to  be  recognizable  as  his 
daughter.  The  girl  rowed,  pulling  a  pair  of 
sculls  very  easily;  the  man,  with  the  rudder- 
lines  slack  in  his  hands,  and  his  hands  loose  in 
his  waistband,  kept  an  eager  look-out.  He  had 
no  net,  hook,  or  line,  and  he  could  not  be  a  fish- 
erman ;  his  boat  had  no  cushion  for  a  sitter,  no 
paint,  no  inscription,  no  appliance  beyond  a  rusty 
boat-hook  and  a  coil  of  rope,  and  he  could  not 
be  a  waterman ;  his  boat  was  too  crazy  and  too 
small  to  take  in  cargo  for  delivery,  and  he  could 
not  be  a  lighterman  or  river-carrier ;  there  was 
no  clew  to  what  he  looked  for,  but  he  looked  for 
something,  with  a  most  intent  and  searching 
gaze.  The  tide,  which  had  turned  an  hour  be- 
fore, was  running  down,  and  his  eyes  watched 
every  little  race  and  eddy  in  its  broad  sweep,  as 
the  boat  made  slight  headway  against  it,  or  drove 
stern  foremost  before  it,  according  as  he  directed 
his  daughter  by  a  movement  of  his  head.  She 
watched  his  face  as  earnestly  as  he  watched  the 
river.  But,  in  the  intensity  of  her  look  there 
was  a  touch  of  dread  or  horror. 

Allied  to  the  bottom  of  the  river  rather  than 
the  surface,  by  reason  of  the  slime  and  ooze  with 
which  it  was  covered,  and  its  sodden  state,  this 
boat  and  the  two  figures  in  it  obviously  were  do- 
ing something  that  they  often  did,  and  were  seek- 
ing what  they  often  sought.  Half  savage  as  the 
man  showed,  with  no  covering  on  his  matted 
head,  with  his  brown  arms  bare  to  between  the 
elbow  and  the  shoulder,  with  the  loose  knot  of  a 
looser  kerchief  lying  low  on  his  bare  breast  in  a 
wilderness  of  beard  and  whisker,  with  such  dress 
as  he  wore  seeming  to  be  made  out  of  the  mud 
that  begrimed  his  boat,  still  there  was  business- 
like usage  in  his  steady  gaze.  So  with  every 
lithe  action  of  the  girl,  with  every  turn  of  her 
wrist,  perhaps  most  of  all  with  her  look  of  dread 
or  horror  ;  they  were  things  of  usage. 
B 


"Keep  her  out,  Lizzie.  Tide  runs  strong 
here.     Keep  her  well  afore  the  sweep  of  it." 

Trusting  to  the  girl's  skill  and  making  no  use 
of  the  rudder,  he  eyed  the  coming  tide  with  an 
absorbed  attention.  So  the  girl  eyed  him.  But, 
it  happened  now,  that  a  slant  of  light  from  the 
setting  sun  glanced  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
and,  touching  a  rotten  stain  there  which  bore 
some  resemblance  to  the  outline  of  a  muffled  hu- 
man form,  colored  it  as  though  with  diluted 
blood.  This  caught  the  girl's  eye,  and  she  shiv- 
ered. 

"What  ails  you?"  said  the  man,  immediately 
aware  of  it,  though  so  intent  on  the  advancing 
waters ;  "  I  see  nothing  afloat." 

The  red  light  was  gone,  the  shudder  was  gone, 
and  his  gaze,  which  had  come  back  to  the  boat 
for  a  moment,  traveled  away  again.  Whereso- 
ever the  strong  tide  met  with  an  impediment,  his 
gaze  paused  for  an  instant.  At  every  mooring- 
chain  and  rope,  at  every  stationary  boat  or  barge 
that  split  the  current  into  a  broad  arrow-head,  at 
the  offsets  from  the  piers  of  Southwark  Bridge, 
at  the  paddles  of  the  river  steamboats  as  they 
beat  the  filthy  water,  at  the  floating  logs  of  tim- 
ber lashed  together  lying  off  certain  wharves,  his 
shining  eyes  darted  a  hungry  look.  After  a 
darkening  hour  or  so,  suddenly  the  rudder-lines 
tightened  in  his  hold,  and  he  steered  hard  toward 
the  Surrey' shore. 

Always  watching  his  face,  the  girl  instantly 
answered  to  the  action  in  her  sculling ;  presently 
the  boat  swung  round,  quivered  as  from  a  sudden 
jerk,  and  the  upper  half  of  the  man  was  stretch- 
ed out  over  the  stern. 

The  girl  pulled  the  hood  of  a  cloak  she  wore, 
over  her  head  and  over  her  face,  and,  looking 
backward  so  that  the  front  folds  of  this  hood 
were  turned  down  the  river,  kept  the  boat  in  that 
direction  going  before  the  tide.  Until  now,  the 
boat  had  barely  held  her  own,  and  had  hovered 
about  one  spot ;  but  now,  the  banks  changed 
swiftly,  and  the  deepening  shadows  and  the  kin- 
dling lights  of  London  Bridge  were  passed,  and 
the  tiers  of  shipping  lay  on  either  hand. 

It  was  not  until  now  that  the  upper  half  of  the 
man  came  back  into  the  boat.  His  arms  were 
wet  and  dirty,  and  he  washed  them  over  the 
side.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  something,  and 
he  washed  that  in  the  river  too.  It  was  money. 
He  chinked  it  once,  and  he  blew  upon  it  once, 
and  he  spat  upon  it  once—"  for  luckv,"  he  hoarse- 
ly said — before  he  put  it  in  his  pocket. 


18 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Lizzie!" 

The  girl  turned  her  face  toward  him  with  a 
start,  and  rowed  in  silence.  Her  face  was  very 
pale.  He  was  a  hook-nosed  man,  and  with  that 
and  his  bright  eyes  and  his  ruffled  head,  bore  a 
certain  likeness  to  a  roused  bird  of  prey. 

"Take  that  thing  off  your  face." 

She  put  it  back. 

"Here!  and  give  me  hold  of  the  sculls.  I'll 
take  the  rest  of  the  spell." 

"  No,  no,  father !  No !  I  can't  indeed.  Fa- 
ther ! — I  can  not  sit  so  near  it !" 


He  was  moving  toward  her  to  change  places, 
but  her  terrified  expostulation  stopped  him  and 
he  resumed  his  seat. 

"What  hurt  can  it  do  you?" 

"None,  none.     But  I  can  not  bear  it." 

"It's  my  belief  you  hate  the  sight  of  the  very 
river." 

"I— I  do  not  like  it,  father." 

"  As  if  it  wasn't  your  living !  As  if  it  wasn't 
meat  and  drink  to  you !" 

At  these  latter  words  the  girl  shivered  again, 
and  for  a  moment  paused  in  her  rowing,  seem- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


19 


ing  to  turn  deadly  faint.  It  escaped  his  atten- 
tion, for  he  was  glancing  over  the  stern  at  some- 
thing the  boat  had  in  tow. 

"How  can  you  be  so  thankless  to  your  best 
friend,  Lizzie  ?  The  very  fire  that  warmed  you 
when  you  were  a  babby,  was  picked  out  of  the 
river  alongside  the  coal  barges.  The  very  basket 
that  you  slept  in,  the  tide  washed  ashore.  The 
very  rockers  that  I  put  it  upon  to  make  a  cradle 
of  it,  I  cut  out  of  a  piece  of  wood  that  drifted 
from  some  ship  or  another." 

Lizzie  took  her  right  hand  from  the  scull  it 
held,  and  touched  her  lips  with  it,  and  for  a 
moment  held  it  out  lovingly  toward  him ;  then, 
without  speaking,  she  resumed  her  rowing,  as 
another  boat  of  similar  appearance,  though  in 
rather  better  trim,  came  out  from  a  dark  place 
and  dropped  softly  alongside. 

"In  luck  again,  Gaffer?"  said  a  man  with  a 
squinting  leer,  who  sculled  her  and  who  was 
alone.  "I  know'd  you  was  in  luck  again,  by 
your  wake  as  you  come  down." 

"  Ah  !"  replied  the  other,  dryly.  "  So  you're 
out,  are  you?" 

"Yes,  pardner." 

There  was  now  a  tender  yellow  moonlight  on 
the  river,  and  the  new-comer,  keeping  half  his 
boat's  length  astern  of  the  other  boat,  looked 
hard  at  its  track. 

"I  says  to  myself,"  he  went  on,  "directly 
1  you  hove  in  view,  Yonder's  Gaffer,  and  in  luck 
again,  by  George  if  he  ain't !  Scull  it  is,  pard- 
ner— don't  fret  yourself — I  didn't  touch  him." 
This  was  in  answer  to  a  quick  impatient  move- 
merit  on  the  part  of  Gaffer :  the  speaker  at  the 
same  time  unshipping  his  scull  on  that  side,  and 
laying  his  hand  on  the  gunwale  of  Gaffer's  boat 
and  holding  to  it. 

"He's  had  touches  enough  not  to  want  no 
more,  as  well  as  I  make  him  out,  Gaffer !  Been 
a  knocking  about  with  a  pretty  many  tides,  ain't 
he  pardner?  Such  is  my  out-of-luck  ways,  you 
see !  He  must  have  passed  me  when  he  went 
up  last  time,  for  I  was  on  the  look-out  below 
bridge  here.  I  a'most  think  you're  like  the  wul- 
turs,  pardner,  and  scent  'em  out." 

He  spoke  in  a  dropped  voice,  and  with  more 
than  one  glance  at  Lizzie  who  had  pulled  on 
her  hood  again.  Both  men  then  looked  with 
a  weird  unholy  interest  at  the  wake  of  Gaffer's 
boat. 

"  Easy  does  it,  betwixt  us.  Shall  I  take  him 
aboard,  pardner?" 

*  No,"  said  the  other.  In  so  surly  a  tone  that 
the  man,  after  a  blank  stare,  acknowledged  it 
with  the  retort : 

"  — Arn't  been  eating  nothing  as  has  disagreed 
with  you,  have  you,  pardner?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  have,"  said  Gaffer.  "I  have 
been  swallowing  too  much  of  that  word,  Pard- 
ner.    I  am  no  pardner  of  yours. " 

"Since  when  was  you  no  pardner  of  mine, 
Gaffer  Hexam,  Esquire  ?" 

"  Since  you  was  accused  of  robbing  a  man. 
Accused  of  robbing  a  live  man ! "  said  Gaffer, 
with  great  indignation. 

"And  what  if  I  had  been  accused  of  robbing 
a  dead  man,  Gaffer?" 
"You  couldn't  do  it." 
" Couldn't  you,  Gaffer?" 
"No.     Has  a  dead  man  any  use  for  money? 
Is  it  possible  for  a  dead  man  to  have  money  ? 


What  world  does  a  dead  man  belong  to  ?  'Toth- 
er  world.  What  world  does  money  belong  to? 
This  world.  How  can  money  be  a  corpse's? 
Can  a  corpse  own  it,  want  it,  spend  it,  claim  it, 
miss  it  ?  Don't  try  to  go  confounding  the  rights 
and  wrongs  of  things  in  that  way.  But  it's  wor- 
thy of  the  sneaking  spirit  that  robs  a  live  man." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is—" 

"No  you  won't,  /'ll  tell  you  what  it  is. 
You've  got  off  with  a  short  time  of  it  for  putting 
your  hand  in  the  pocket  of  a  sailor,  a  live  sailor. 
Make  the  most  of  it  and  think  yourself  lucky, 
but  don't  think  after  that  to  come  over  me  with 
your  pardners.  We  have  worked  together  in 
time  past,  but  we  work  together  no  more  in  time 
present  nor  yet  future.     Let  go.     Cast  off!" 

' '  Gaffer !  If  you  think  to  get  rid  of  me  this 
way — " 

"If  I  don't  get  rid  of  you  this  way,  I'll  try 
another,  and  chop  you  over  the  fingers  with  the 
stretcher,  or  take  a  pick  at  your  head  with  the 
boat-hook.  Cast  off!  Full  you,  Lizzie.  Pull 
home,  since  you  won't  let  your  father  pull." 

Lizzie  shot  ahead,  and  the  other  boat  fell 
astern.  Lizzie's  father,  composing  himself  into 
the  easy  attitude  of  one  who  had  asserted  the 
high  moralities  and  taken  an  unassailable  posi- 
tion, slowly  lighted  a  pipe,  and  smoked,  and 
took  a  survey  of  what  he  had  in  tow.  What  he 
had  in  tow,  lunged  itself  at  him  sometimes  in  an 
awful  manner  when  the  boat  was  checked,  and 
sometimes  seemed  to  try  to  wrench  itself  away, 
though  for  the  most  part  it  followed  submissive- 
ly A  neophyte  might  have  fancied  that  the 
ripples  passing  over  it  were  dreadfully  like  faint 
changes  of  expression  on  a  sightless  face ;  but 
Gaffer  was  no  neophyte  and  had  no  fancies. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   MAN   FROM   SOMEWHERE. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Veneering  were  bran-new  peo- 
ple in  a  bran-new  house  in  a  bran-new  quarter 
of  London.  Every  thing  about  the  Veneerings 
was  spick  and  span  new.  All  their  furniture 
was  new,  all  their  friends  were  new,  all  their 
servants  were  new,  their  plate  was  new,  their 
carriage  was  new,  their  harness  was  new,  their 
horses  were  new,  their  pictures  were  new,  they 
themselves  were  new,  they  were  as  newly  mar- 
ried as  was  lawfully  compatible  with  their  hav- 
ing a  bran-new  baby,  and  if  they  had  set  up  a 
great-grandfather,  he  would  have  come  home  in 
matting  from  the  Pantechnicon,  without  a  scratch 
upon  him,  French  polished  to  the  crown  of  his 
head. 

For,  in  the  Veneering  establishment,  from  the 
hall-chairs  with  the  new  coat  of  arms,  to  the 
grand  piano-forte  with  the  new  action,  and  up 
stairs  again  to  the  new  fire-escape,  all  things 
were  in  a  state  of  high  varnish  and  polish.  And 
what  was  observable  in  the  furniture,  was  observ- 
able in  the  Veneerings — the  surface  smelt  a  little 
too  much  of  the  work-shop  and  was  a  trifle  sticky. 

There  was  an  innocent  piece  of  dinner-furni- 
ture that  went  upon  easy  castors  and  was  kept 
over  a  livery  stable-yard  in  Duke  Street,  Saint 
James's,  when  not  in  use,  to  whom  the  Veneer- 
ings were  a  source  of  blind  confusion.  The  name 
of  this  article  was  Twemlow.    Being  first  cousin 


30 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


to  Lord  Snigsworth,  he  was  in  frequent  requisi- 
tion, and  at  many  houses  might  be  said  to  repre- 
sent the  dining-table  in  its  normal  state.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Veneering,  for  example,  arranging  a 
dinner,  habitually  started  with  Twemlow,  and 
then  put  leaves  in  him,  or  added  guests  to  him. 
Sometimes,  the  table  consisted  of  Twemlow  and 
half  a  dozen  leaves ;  sometimes,  of  Twemlow 
and  a  dozen  leaves;  sometimes,  Twemlow  was 
pulled  out  to  his  utmost  extent  of  twenty  leaves. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Veneering  on  occasions  of  cere- 
mony faced  each  other  in  the  centre  of  the  board, 
and  thus  the  parallel  still  held ;  for,  it  always 
happened  that  the  more  Twemlow  was  pulled 
out,  the  further  he  found  himself  from  the  cen- 
tre, and  the  nearer  to  the  side-board  at  the  one 
end  of  the  room,  or  the  window-curtains  at  the 
other. 

But,  it  was  not  this  which  steeped  the  feeble 
soul  of  Twemlow  in  confusion.  This  he  was 
used  to,  and  could  take  soundings  of.  The  abyss 
to  which  he  could  find  no  bottom,  and  from 
which  started  forth  the  engrossing  and  ever, 
swelling  difficulty  of  his  life,  was  the  insoluble 
question  whether  he  was  Veneering's  oldest  friend 
or  newest  friend.  To  the  excogitation  of  this 
problem,  the  harmless  gentleman  had  devoted 
many  anxious  hours,  both  in  his  lodgings  over 
the  livery  stable-yard,  and  in  the  cold  gloom, 
favorable  to  meditation,  of  Saint  James's  Square. 
Thus.  Twemlow  had  first  known  Veneering  at 
his  club,  where  Veneering  then  knew  nobody  but 
the  man  who  made  them  known  to  one  another, 
who  seemed  to  be  the  most  intimate  friend  he 
had  in  the  world,  and  whom  he  had  known  two 
days — the  bond  of  union  between  their  souls,  the 
nefarious  conduct  of  the  committee  respecting 
the  cookery  of  a  fillet  of  veal,  having  been  ac- 
cidentally cemented  at  that  date.  Immediately 
upon  this,  Twemlow  received  an  invitation  to 
dine  with  Veneering,  and  dined :  the  man  being 
of  the  party.  Immediately  upon  that,  Twemlow 
received  an  invitation  to  dine  with  the  man,  and 
dined :  Veneering  being  of  the  party.  At  the 
man's  were  a  Member,  an  Engineer,  a  Payer-off 
of  the  National  Debt,  a  Poet,  a  Grievance,  and 
a  Public  Officer  who  all  seemed  to  be  utter  stran- 
gers to  Veneering.  And  yet  immediately  after 
that,  Twemlow  received  an  invitation  to  dine  at 
Veneerings,  expressly  to  meet  the  Member,  the 
Engineer,  the  Payer-off  of  the  National  Debt, 
the  Poet,  the  Grievance,  and  the  Public  Office, 
and,  dining,  discovered  that  all  of  them  were  the 
most  intimate  friends  Veneering  had  in  the 
world,  and  that  the  wives  of  all  of  them  (who 
were  all  there)  were  the  objects  of  Mrs.  Veneer- 
ing's most  devoted  affection  and  tender  confi- 
dence. 

Thus  it  had  come  about,  that  Mr.  Twemlow 
had  said  to  himself  in  his  lodgings,  with  his 
hand  to  his  forehead :  "  I  must  not  think  of  this. 
This  is  enough  to  soften  any  man's  brain," — and 
yet  was  always  thinking  of  it,  and  could  never 
form  a  conclusion. 

This  evening  the  Veneerings  give  a  banquet. 
Eleven  leaves  in  the  Twemlow ;  fourteen  in  com- 
pany all  told.  Four  pigeon-breasted  retainers  in 
plain  clothes  standing  in  line  in  the  hall.  A 
fifth  retainer,  proceeding  up  the  staircase  with  a 
mournful  air — as  who  should  say,  "Here  is  an- 
other wretched  creature  come  to  dinner;  such  is 
life!"  announces,  "Mis-tress  Twemlow!" 


Mrs.  Veneering  welcomes  her  sweetMr.  Twem- 
low. Mr.  Veneering  welcomes  his  dear  Twem- 
low. Mrs.  Veneering  does  not  expect  that  Mr. 
Twemlow  can  in  nature  care  much  for  such  in- 
sipid things  as  babies,  but  so  old  a  friend  must 
please  to  look  at  baby.  "Ah!  You  will  know  the 
friend  of  your  family  better,  Tootleums,"  says 
Mr.  Veneering,  nodding  emotionally  at  that  new 
article,  "when  you  begin  to  take  notice."  He 
then  begs  to  make  his  dear  Twemlow  known  to 
his  two  friends,  Mr.  Boots  and  Mr.  Brewer — 
and  clearly  has  no  distinct  idea  which  is  which. 

But  now  a  fearful  circumstance  occurs. 

"  Mis-ter  and  Mis-sis  Podsnap !" 

"My  dear,"  says  Mr.  Veneering  to  Mrs.  Ve- 
neering, with  an  air  of  much  friendly  interest, 
while  the  door  stands  open,  "the  Podsnaps." 

A  too,  too  smiling  large  man,  with  a  fatal 
freshness  on  him,  appearing  with  his  wife,  in- 
stantly deserts  his  wife  and  darts  at  Twemlow 
with : 

"How  do  you  do?  So  glad  to  know  you. 
Charming  house  you  have  here.  I  hope  we  are 
not  late.  So  glad  of  this  opportunity,  I  am 
sure ! " 

When  the  first  shock  fell  upon  him,  Twemlow 
twice  skipped  back  in  his  neat  little  shoes  and 
his  neat  little  silk  stockings  of  a  by-gone  fashion, 
as  if  impelled  to  leap  over  a  sofa  behind  him ; 
but  the  large  man  closed  with  him  and  proved 
too  strong. 

"Let  me,"  says  the  large  man,  trying  to  at- 
tract the  attention  of  his  wife  in  the  distance, 
"have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  Mrs.  Podsnap 
to  her  host.  She  will  be,"  in  his  fatal  freshness 
he  seems  to  find  perpetual  verdure  and  eternal 
youth  in  the  phrase,  "she  will  be  so  glad  of  the 
opportunity,  I  am  sure." 

In  the  mean  time  Mrs.  Podsnap,  unable  to 
originate  a  mistake  on  her  own  account,  because 
Mrs.  Veneering  is  the  only  other  lady  there,  does 
her  best  in  the  way  of  handsomely  supporting 
her  husband's,  by  looking  toward  Mr.  Twem- 
low with  a  plaintive  countenance  and  remarking 
to  Mrs.  Veneering  in  a  feeling  manner,  firstly, 
that  she  fears  he  has  been  rather  bilious  of  late, 
and  secondly,  that  the  baby  is  already  very  like 
him. 

It  is  questionable  whether  any  man  quite  rel- 
ishes being  mistaken  for  any  other  man ;  but, 
Mr.  Veneering  having  this  very  evening  set  up 
the  shirt-front  of  the  young  Antinous  (in  new 
worked  cambric  just  come  home),  is  not  at  all 
complimented  by  being  supposed  to  be  Twem- 
low, who  is  dry  and  weazen  and  thirty-five  years 
older.  Mrs.  Veneering  equally  resents  the  im- 
putation of  being  the  wife  of  Twemlow.  As  to 
Twemlow,  he  is  so  sensible  of  being  a  much  bet- 
ter bred  man  than  Veneering,  that  he  considers 
the  large  man  an  offensive  ass. 

In  this  complicated  dilemma,  Mr.  Veneering 
approaches  the  large  man  with  extended  hand, 
and  smilingly  assures  that  incorrigible  personage 
that  he  is  delighted  to  see  him :  who  in  his  fatal 
freshness  instantly  replies : 

"Thank  you.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I 
can  not  at  this  moment  recall  where  we  met, 
but  I  am  so  glad  of  this  opportunity,  I  am  sure !" 

Then  pouncing  upon  Twemlow,  who  holds 
back  with  all  his  feeble  might,  he  is  haling  him 
off  to  present  him,  as  Veneering,  to  Mrs.  Pod- 
snap, when  the  arrival  of  more  guests  unravels 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


21 


the  mistake.  Whereupon,  having  re-shaken 
hands  with  Veneering  as  Veneering,  he  re-shakes 
hands  with.  Twemlow  as  Twemlow,  and  winds 
it  all  up  to  his  own  perfect  satisfaction  by  saying 
to  the  last-named,  ' '  Ridiculous  opportunity— but 
so  glad  of  it,  I  am  sure ! " 

Now,  Twemlow  having  undergone  this  terrific 
experience,  having  likewise  noted  the  fusion  of 
Boots  in  Brewer  and  Brewer  in  Boots,  and  hav- 
ing further  observed  that  of  the  remaining  seven 
guests  four  discreet  characters  enter  with  wan- 
dering eyes  and  wholly  decline  to  commit  them- 
selves as  to  which  is  Veneering,  until  Veneering 
has  them  in  his  grasp  ; — Twemlow  having  prof- 
ited by  these  studies,  finds  his  brain  wholesome- 
ly hardening  as  he  approaches  the  conclusion 
that  he  really  is  Veneering's  oldest  friend,  when 
his  brain  softens  again  and  all  is  lost,  through 
his  eyes  encountering  Veneering  and  the  large 
man  linked  together  as  twin  brothers  in  the  back 
drawing-room  near  the  conservatory  door,  and 
through  his  ears  informing  him  in  the  tones  of 
Mrs.  Veneering  that  the  same  large  man  is  to 
be  baby's  godfather. 

"  Dinner  is  on  the  table !" 

Thus  the  melancholy  retainer,  as  who  should 
say,  "Come  down  and  be  poisoned,  ye  unhappy 
children  of  men !" 

Twemlow,  having  no  lady  assigned  him,  goes 
down  in  the  rear,  with  his  hand  to  his  forehead. 
Boots  and  Brewer,  thinking  him  indisposed, 
whisper,  "Man  faint.  Had  no  lunch."  But 
he  is  only  stunned  by  the  unvanquishable  diffi- 
culty of  his  existence. 

Revived  by  soup,  Twemlow  discourses  mildly 
of  the  Court  Circular  with  Boots  and  Brewer. 
Is  appealed  to,  at  the  fish  stage  of  the  banquet, 
by  Veneering,  on  the  disputed  question  whether 
his  cousin  Lord  Snigsworth  is  in  or  out  of  town  ? 
Gives  it  that  his  cousin  is  out  of  town.  "At 
Snigsworthy  Park?"  Veneering  inquires.  "At 
Snigsworthy,"  Twemlow  rejoins.  Boots  and 
Brewer  regard  this  as  a  man  to  be  cultivated ; 
and  Veneering  is  clear  that  he  is  a  remunerative 
article.  Meantime  the  retainer  goes  round,  like 
a  gloomy  Analytical  Chemist :  always  seeming 
to  say,  after  "Chablis,  Sir?" — "You  wouldn't 
if  you  knew  what  it's  made  of." 

The  great  looking-glass  above  the  side-board 
reflects  the  table  and  the  company.  Reflects 
the  new  Veneering  crest,  in  gold  and  eke  in 
silver,  frosted  and  also  thawed,  a  camel  of  all 
work.  The  Heralds'  College  found  out  a  Cru- 
sading ancestor  for  Veneering  who  bore  a  camel 
on  his  shield  (or  might  have  done  it  if  he  had 
thought  of  it),  and  a  caravan  of  camels  take 
charge  of  the  fruits  and  flowers  and  candles,  and 
kneel  down  to  be  loaded  with  the  salt.  Reflects 
Veneering ;  forty,  wavy-haired,  dark,  tending  to 
corpulence,  sly,  mysterious,  filmy — a  kind  of  suf- 
ficiently well-looking  veiled-prophet,  not  proph- 
esying. Reflects  Mrs.  Veneering;  fair,  aquiline- 
nosed  and  fingered,  not  so  much  light  hair  as 
she  might  have,  gorgeous  in  raiment  and  jewels, 
enthusiastic,  propitiatory,  conscious  that  a  cor- 
ner of  her  husband's  veil  is  over  herself.  Re- 
flects Podsnap :  prosperously  feeding,  two  little 
light-colored  wiry  wings,  one  on  either  side  of 
his  else  bald  head,  looking  as  like  his  hair-brushes 
as  his  hair,  dissolving  view  of  red  beads  on  his 
forehead,  large  allowance  of  crumpled  shirt-col- 
lar up  behind.      Reflects  Mrs.  Podsnap ;  fine 


I  woman  for  Professor  Owen,  quantity  of  bone, 
neck  and  nostrils  like  a  rocking-horse,  hard  feat- 
ures, majestic  head-dress  in  which  Podsnap  has 
hung  golden  offerings.  Reflects  Twemlow;  gray, 
dry,  polite,  susceptible  to  east  wind,  First-Gentle- 
man-in-Europe  collar  and  cravat,  cheeks  drawn 
in  as  if  he  had  made  a  great  effort  to  retire  into 
himself  some  years  ago,  and  had  got  so  far  and 
had  never  got  any  farther.  Reflects  mature 
young  lady ;  raven  locks,  and  complexion  that 
lights  up  well  when  well  powdered — as  it  is — 
carrying  on  considerably  in  the  captivation  of 
mature  young  gentleman ;  with  too  much  nose 
in  his  face,  too  much  ginger  in  his  whiskers,  too 
much  torso  in  his  waistcoat,  too  much  sparkle 
in  his  studs,  his  eyes,  his  buttons,  his  talk,  and 
his  teeth.  Reflects  charming  old  Lady  Tippins 
on  Veneering's  right ;  with  an  immense  obtuse 
drab  oblong  face,  like  a  face  in  a  table-spoon, 
and  a  dyed  Long  Walk  up  to  the  top  of  her 
head,  as  a  convenient  public  approach  to  the 
bunch  of  false  hair  behind,  pleased  to  patronize 
Mrs.  Veneering  opposite,  who  is  pleased  to  be 
patronized.  Reflects  a  certain  "  Mortimer,"  an- 
other of  Veneering's  oldest  friends  ;  who  never 
was  in  the  house  before,  and  appears  not  to  want 
to  come  again,  who  sits  disconsolate  on  Mrs. 
Veneering's  left,  and  who  was  inveigled  by  Lady 
Tippins  (a  friend  of  his  boyhood)  to  come  to 
these  people's  and  talk,  and  who  won't  talk. 
Reflects  Eugene,  friend  of  Mortimer ;  buried 
alive  in  the  back  of  his  chair,  behind  a  shoulder 
— with  a  powder-epaulet  on  it — of  the  mature 
young  lady,  and  gloomily  resorting  to  the  Cham- 
pagne chalice  whenever  proffered  by  the  Ana- 
lytical Chemist.  Lastly,  the  looking-glass  re- 
flects Boots  and  Brewer,  and  two  other  stuffed 
Buffers  interposed  between  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany and  possible  accidents. 

The  Veneering  dinners  are  excellent  dinners 
— or  new  people  wouldn't  come — and  all  goes 
well.  Notably,  Lady  Tippins  has  made  a  series 
of  experiments  on  her  digestive  functions,  so 
extremely  complicated  and  daring,  that  if  they 
could  be  published  with  their  results  it  might 
benefit  the  human  race.  Having  taken  in  pro- 
visions from  all  parts  of  the  world,  this  hardy 
old  cruiser  has  last  touched  at  the  North  Pole, 
when,  as  the  ice-plates  are  being  removed,  the 
following  words  fall  from  her : 

"I  assure  you,  my  dear  Veneering — " 

(Poor  Twemlow's  hand  approaches  his  fore- 
head, for  it  would  seem  now  that  Lady  Tippins 
is  going  to  be  the  oldest  friend.) 

"I  assure  you,  my  dear  Veneering,  that  it  is 
the  oddest  affair !  Like  the  advertising  people, 
I  don't  ask  you  to  trust  me  without  offering  a 
respectable  reference.  Mortimer  there,  is  my 
reference,  and  knows  all  about  it." 

Mortimer  raises  his  drooping  eyelids,  and 
slightly  opens  his  mouth.  But  a  faint  smile, 
expressive  of  "What's  the  use !"  passes  over  his 
face,  and  he  drops  his  eyelids  and  shuts  his  mouth. 

"Now,  Mortimer,"  says  Lady  Tippins,  rap- 
ping the  sticks  of  her  closed  green  fan  upon  the 
knuckles  of  her  left  hand — which  is  particularly 
rich  in  knuckles,  "I  insist  upon  your  telling  afl 
that  is  to  be  told  about  the  man  from  Jamaica." 

"Give  you  my  honor  I  never  heard  of  any 
man  from  Jamaica,  except  the  man  who  was  a 
brother,"  replies  Mortimer. 

"Tobago,  then." 


22 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


M  Nor  yet  from  Tobago." 
"  Except,"  Eugene  strikes  in :  so  unexpected- 
ly that  the  mature  young  lady,  who  has  forgot- 
ten all  about  him,  with  a  start  takes  the  epaulet 
out  of  his  way:  "except  our  friend  who  long 
lived  on  rice-pudding  and  isinglass,  till  at  length 
to  his  something  or  other,  his  physician  said 
something  else,  and  a  leg  of  mutton  somehow 
ended  in  daygo." 

A  reviving  impression  goes  round  the  table 
that  Eugene  is  coming  out.  An  unfulfilled  im- 
pression, for  he  goes  in  again. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Veneering,"  quoth  Lady 
Tippins,  "I  appeal  to  you  whether  this  is  not 
the  basest  conduct  ever  known  in  this  world  ? 
I  carry  my  lovers  about,  two  or  three  at  a  time, 
on  condition  that  they  are  very  obedient  and  de- 
voted; and  here  is  my  old  lover-in-chief,  the 
head  of  all  my  slaves,  throwing  off  his  allegiance 
before  company.  And  here  is  another  of  my 
lovers,  a  rough  Cymon  at  present  certainly,  but 
of  whom  I  had  most  hopeful  expectations  as  to 
his  turning  out  well  in  course  of  time,  pretend- 
ing that  he  can't  remember  his  nursery  rhymes ! 
On  purpose  to  annoy  me,  for  he  knows  how  I 
dote  upon  them !" 

A  ghastly  little  fiction  concerning  her  lovers 
is  Lady  Tippins's  point.  She  is  always  attended 
by  a  lover  or  two,  and  she  keeps  a  little  list  of 
her  lovers,  and  she  is  always  booking  a  new 
lover,  or  striking  out  an  old  lover,  or  putting  a 
lover  in  her  black  list,  or  promoting  a  lover  to 
her  blue  list,  or  adding  up  her  lovers,  or  oth- 
erwise posting  her  book.  Mrs.  Veneering  is 
charmed  by  the  humor,  and  so  is  Veneering. 
Perhaps  it  is  enhanced  by  a  certain  yellow  play 
in  Lady  Tippins's  throat,  like  the  legs  of  scratch- 
ing poultry. 

"I  banish  the  false  wretch  from  this  moment, 
and  I  strike  him  out  of  my  Cupidon  (my  name 
for  my  Ledger,  my  dear,)  this' very  night.  But 
I  am  resolved  to  have  the  account  of  the  man 
from  Somewhere,  and  I  beg  you  to  elicit  it  for 
me,  my  love,"  to  Mrs.  Veneering,  "as  I  have 
lost  my  own  influence.  Oh,  you  perjured  man !" 
This  to  Mortimer,  with  a  rattle  of  her  fan. 

"We  are  all  very  much  interested  in  the  man 
from  Somewhere,"  Veneering  observes. 

Then  the  four  Buffers,  taking  heart  of  grace 
all  four  at  once,  say : 

(  "  Deeply  interested !" 

J  "  Quite  excited !" 

~)  "Dramatic!" 

V."  Man  from  Nowhere,  perhaps !" 

And  then  Mrs.  Veneering — for  Lady  Tip- 
pins's winning  wiles  are  contagious — folds  her 
hands  in  the  manner  of  a  supplicating  child, 
turns  to  her  left  neighbor,  and  says,  "Tease! 
Pay!  Man  from  Tumwhere!"  At  which  the 
four  Buffers,  again  mysteriously  moved  all  four 
at  once,  exclaim,  "You  can't  resist!" 

"Upon  my  life,"  says  Mortimer  languidly, 
"I  find  it  immensely  embarrassing  to  have  the 
eyes  of  Europe  upon  me  to  this  extent,  and  my 
only  consolation  is  that  you  will  all  of  you  exe- 
crate Lady  Tippins  in  your  secret  hearts  when 
you  find,  as  you  inevitably  will,  the  man  from 
Somewhere  a  bore.  Sorry  to  destroy  romance 
by  fixing  him  with  a  local  habitation,  but  he 
comes  from  the  place,  the  name  of  which  es- 
capes me,  but  will  suggest  itself  to  every  body 
else  here,  where  they  make  the  wine." 


Eugene  suggests  "Day  and  Martin's." 

"No,  not  that  place,"  returns  the  unmoved 
Mortimer,  "that's  where  they  make  the  Port. 
My  man  comes  from  the  country  where  they 
make  the  Cape  Wine.  But  look  here,  old  fellow"; 
it's  not  at  all  statistical  and  it's  rather  odd." 

It  is  always  noticeable  at  the  table  of  the 
Veneerings,  that  no  man  troubles  himself  much 
about  the  Veneerings  themselves,  and  that  any 
one  who  has  any  thing  to  tell,  generally  tells  it 
to  any  body  else  in  preference. 

"The  man,"  Mortimer  goes  on,  addressing 
Eugene,  "whose  name  is  Harmon,  was  only 
son  of  a  tremendous  old  rascal  who  made  his 
money  by  Dust." 

"Red  velveteens  and  a  bell ?"  the  gloomy  Eu- 
gene inquires. 

"And  a  ladder  and  basket  if  you  like.  By 
which  means,  or  by  others,  he  grew  rich  as  a 
Dust  Contractor,  and  lived  in  a  hollow  in  a 
hilly  country  entirely  composed  of  Dust.  On  his 
own  small  estate  the  growling  old  vagabond 
threw  up  his  own  mountain  range,  like  an  old 
volcano,  and  its  geological  formation  was  Dust. 
Coal-Dust,  vegetable-dust,  bone-dust,  crockery 
dust,  rough  dust  and  dust  sifted — all  manner  of 
Dust." 

A  passing  remembrance  of  Mrs.  Veneering, 
here  induces  Mortimer  to  address  his  next  half- 
dozen  words  to  her;  after  which  he  wanders 
away  again,  tries  Twemlow  and  finds  he  doesn't 
answer,  ultimately  takes  up  with  the  Buffers  who 
receive  him  enthusiastically. 

"The  moral  being — I  believe  that's  the  right 
expression — of  this  exemplary  person,  derived 
its  highest  gratification  from  anathematizing  his 
nearest  relations  and  turning  them  out  of  doors. 
Having  begun  (as  was  natural)  by  rendering 
these  attentions  to  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  he  next 
found  himself  at  leisure  to  bestow  a  similar  rec- 
ognition on  the  claims  of  his  daughter.  He 
chose  a  husband  for  her,  entirely  to  his  own 
satisfaction  and  not  in  the  least  to  hers,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  settle  upon  her,  as  her  marriage  por- 
tion, I  don't  know  how  much  Dust,  but  some- 
thing immense.  At  this  stage  of  the  affair  the 
poor  girl  respectfully  intimated  that  she  was  se- 
cretly engaged  to  that  popular  character  whom 
the  novelists  and  versifiers  call  Another,  and 
that  such  a  marriage  would  make  Dust  of  her 
heart  and  Dust  of  her  life — in  short,  would  set 
her  up,  on  a  very  extensive  scale,  in  her  father's 
business.  Immediately,  the  venerable  parent — 
on  a  cold  winter's  night,  it  is  said — anathema- 
tized and  turned  her  out." 

Here,  the  Analytical  Chemist,  (who  has  evi- 
dently formed  a  very  low  opinion  of  Mortimer's 
story)  concedes  a  little  claret  to  the  Buffers; 
who,  again  mysteriously  moved  all  four  at  once, 
screw  it  slowly  into  themselves  with  a  peculiar 
twist  of  enjoyment,  as  they  cry  in  chorus,  "Pray 
go  on." 

"The  pecuniary  resources  of  Another  were, 
as  they  usually  are,  of  a  very  limited  nature.  I 
believe  I  am  not  using  too  strong  an  expression 
when  I  say  that  Another  was  very  hard  up. 
However,  he  married  the  young  lady,  and  they 
lived  in  an  humble  dwelling,  probably  possessing 
a  porch  ornamented  with  honey-suckle  and  wood- 
bine twining,  until  she  died.  I  must  refer  you 
to  the  Registrar  of  the  District  in  which  the  hum- 
ble dwelling  was  situated,  for  the  certified  cause 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


of  death ;  but  early  sorrow  and  anxiety  may 
have  had  to  do  with  it,  though  they  may  not  ap- 
pear in  the  ruled  pages  and  printed  forms.  In- 
disputably this  was  the  case  with  Another,  for  he 
was  so  cut  up  by  the  loss  of  his  young  wife  that 
if  he  outlived  her  a  year  it  was  as  much  as  he 
did." 

There  is  that  in  the  indolent  Mortimer,  which 
seems  to  hint  that  if  good  society  might  on  any 
account  allow  itself  to  be  impressible,  he,  one  of 
good  society,  might  have  the  weakness  to  be  im- 
pressed by  what  he  here  relates.  It  is  hidden 
with  great  pains,  but  it  is  in  him.  The  gloomy 
Eugene  too,  is  not  without  some  kindred  touch ; 
for  when  that  appalling  Lady  Tippins  declares 
that  if  Another  had  survived,  he  should  have 
gone  down  at  the  head  of  her  list  of  lovers — and 
also  when  the  mature  young  lady  shrugs  her 
epaulets,  and  laughs  at  some  private  and  con- 
fidential comment  from  the  mature  young  gen- 
tleman— his  gloom  deepens  to  that  degree  that 
he  trifles  quite  ferociously  with  his  dessert-knife. 

Mortimer  proceeds. 

"We  must  now  return,  as  the  novelists  say, 
and  as  we  all  wish  they  wouldn't,  to  the  man 
from  Somewhere.  Being  a  boy  of  fourteen, 
cheaply  educated  at  Brussels  when  his  sister's 
expulsion  befell,  it  was  some  little  time  before 
he  heard  of  it — probably  from  herself,  for  the 
mother  was  dead ;  but  that  I  don't  know.  In- 
stantly, he  absconded,  and  came  over  here.  He 
must  have  been  a  boy  of  spirit  and  resource,  to 
get  here  on  a  stopped  allowance  of  five  sous  a 
week ;  but  he  did  it  somehow,  and  he  burst  in 
on  his  father,  and  pleaded  his  sister's  cause. 
Venerable  parent  promptly  resorts  to  anathema- 
tization, and  turns  him  out  of  doors.  Shocked 
and  terrified  boy  takes  flight,  seeks  his  fortune, 
gets  aboard  ship,  ultimately,  turns  up  on  dry  land 
among  the  Cape  wine :  a  small  proprietor,  farm- 
er, grower — whatever  you  like  to  call  it." 

At  this  juncture,  shuffling  is  heard  in  the  hall, 
and  tapping  is  heard  at  the  dining-room  door. 
Analytical  Chemist  goes  to  the  door,  confers  an- 
grily with  unseen  tapper,  appears  to  become  mol- 
ified  by  descrying  reason  in  the  tapping,  and 
goes  out. 

"  So  he  was  discovered,  only  the  other  day, 
after  having  almost  doubled  his  age ;  that  is 
to  say,  after  having  expatriated  about  fourteen 
years." 

A  Buffer,  suddenly  astounding  the  other  three, 
by  detaching  himself,  and  asserting  individuali- 
ty, inquires:   "How  discovered,  and  why?" 

"  Ah  !  To  be  sure.  Thank  you  for  remind- 
ing me.     Venerable  parent  dies." 

The  same  Buffer,  emboldened  by  success, 
says:  "When?" 

"The  other  day.    Ten  or  twelve  months  ago." 

The  same  Buffer  inquires  with  smartness, 
"  What  of?"  But  herein  perishes  a  melancholy 
example  ;  being  regarded  by  the  three  other  Buf- 
fers with  a  stony  stare,  and  attracting  no  further 
attention  from  any  mortal. 

"  Venerable  parent,"  Mortimer  repeats  with  a 
passing  remembrance  that  there  is  a  Veneering 
at  table,  and  for  the  first  time  addressing  him — 
"dies." 

The  gratified  Veneering  repeats,  gravely, 
"  dies ;"  and  folds  his  arms,  and  composes  his 
brow  to  hear  it  out  in  a  judicial  manner,  when  he 
finds  himself  again  deserted  in  the  bleak  world. 


"His  will  is  found,"  says  Mortimer,  catching 
Mrs.  Podsnap's  rocking-horse's  eye.  "It  is 
dated  very  soon  after  the  son's  flight.  It  leaves 
the  lowest  of  the  range  of  dust-mountains,  with 
some  sort  of  a  dwelling-house  at  its  foot,  to  an 
old  servant  who  is  sole  executor,  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  property — which  is  very  considerable — to 
the  son.  He  directs  himself  to  be  buried  with 
certain  eccentric  ceremonies  and  precautions 
against  his  coming  to  life,  with  which  I  need 
not  bore  you,  and  that's  all — except — "  and 
this  ends  the  story. 

The  Analytical  Chemist  returning,  every  body 
looks  at  him.  Not  because  any  body  wants  to 
see  him,  but  because  of  that  subtle  influence  in 
nature  which  impels  humanity  to  embrace  the 
slightest  opportunity  of  looking  at  any  thing 
rather  than  the  person  who  addresses  it. 

" — Except  that  the  son's  inheriting  is  made 
conditional  on  his  marrying  a  girl,  who  at  the 
date  of  the  will  was  a  child  of  four  years  old  or 
so,  and  who  is  now  a  marriageable  young  wo- 
man. Advertisement  and  inquiry  discovered  the 
son  in  a  man  from  Somewhere,  and  at  the  pres- 
ent moment  he  is  on  his  way  home  from  there — 
no  doubt,  in  a  state  of  great  astonishment — to  suc- 
ceed to  a  very  large  fortune,  and  to  take  a  wife." 

Mrs.  Podsnap  inquires  whether  the  young  per- 
son is  a  young  person  of  personal  charms  ?  Mor- 
timer is  unable  to  report. 

Mr.  Podsnap  inquires  what  would  become  of 
the  very  large  fortune,  in  the  event  of  the  mar- 
riage condition  not  being  fulfilled  ?  Mortimer 
replies,  that  by  special  testamentary  clause  it 
would  then  go  to  the  old  servant  above  mention- 
ed, passing  over  and  excluding  the  son ;  also,  that 
if  that  son  had  not  been  living,  the  same  old  serv- 
ant would  have  been  sole  residuary  legatee. 

Mrs.  Veneering  has  just  succeeded  in  waking 
Lady  Tippins  from  a  snore,  by  dextrously  shunt- 
ing a  train  of  plates  and  dishes  at  her  knuckles 
across  the  table ;  when  every  body  but  Morti- 
mer himself  becomes  aware  that  the  Analytical 
Chemist  is,  in  a  ghostly  manner,  offering  him  a 
folded  paper.  Curiosity  detains  Mrs.  Veneering 
a  few  moments. 

Mortimer,  in  spite  of  all  the  arts  of  the  chemist, 
placidly  refreshes  himself  with  a  glass  of  Madei- 
ra, and  remains  unconscious  of  the  document 
which  engrosses  the  general  attention,  until  Lady 
Tippins  (who  has  a  habit  of  waking  totally  in- 
sensible), having  remembered  where  she  is,  and 
recovered  a  perception  of  surrounding  objects, 
says  :  "  Falser  man  than  Don  Juan ;  why  don't 
you  take  the  note  from  the  Commendatore?" 
Upon  which,  the  chemist  advances  it  under  the 
nose  of  Mortimer,  who  looks  round  at  him,  and 
says : 

"What's  this?" 

Analytical  Chemist  bends  and  whispers. 

"Who?"  says  Mortimer. 

Analytical  Chemist  again  bends  and  whispers. 

Mortimer  stares  at  him  and  unfolds  the  paper. 
Reads  it,  reads  it  twice,  turns  it  over  to  look  at 
the  blank  outside,  reads  it  a  third  time. 

"  This  arrives  in  an  extraordinarily  opportune 
manner,"  says  Mortimer  then,  looking  with  an 
altered  face  round  the  table:  "this  is  the  con- 
clusion of  the  story  of  the  identical  man." 

"  Already  married  ?"  one  guesses. 

"Declines  to  many?"  another  guesses. 

"  Codicil  among  the  dust?"  another  guesses. 


24 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Why,  no,"  says  Mortimer;  "remarkable 
thing,  you  are  all  wrong.  The  story  is  complet- 
er and  rather  more  exciting  than  I  supposed. 
Man's  drowned !" 


CHAPTER  III. 

ANOTHER  MAN. 

As  the  disappearing  skirts  of  the  ladies  ascend- 
ed the  Veneering  staircase,  Mortimer,  following 
them  forth  from  the  dining-room,  turned  into  a 
back  library  of  bran-new  books,  in  bran-new  bind- 
i  lgs  liberally  gilded,  and  requested  to  see  the 
m  3ssenger  who  had  brought  the  paper.  He  was  a 
boy  of  about  fifteen .  Mortimer  looked  at  the  boy, 
and  the  boy  looked  at  the  bran-new  pilgrims  on 
the  wall,  going  to  Canterbury  in  more  gold  frame 
than  procession,"  and  more  carving  than  country. 

"  Whose  writing  is  this  ?" 

"  Mine,  Sir." 

"Who  told  you  to  write  it  ?" 

"My  father,  Jesse  Hexam." 

"  Is  it  he  who  found  the  body  ?" 

"Yes,  Sir." 

"  What  is  your  father  ?" 

The  boy  hesitated,  looked  reproachfully  at  the 
pilgrims  as  if  they  had  involved  him  in'a  little 
difficulty,  then  said,  folding  a  plait  in  the  right 
leg  of  his  trowsers,  "He  gets  his  living  along- 
shore." 

"Is  it  far?" 

"Is  which  far  ?"  asked  the  boy,  upon  his  guard, 
and  again  upon  the  road  to  Canterbury. 

"  To  your  father's  ?" 

"  It's  a  goodish  stretch,  Sir.  I  came  up  in  a 
cab,  and  the  cab's  waiting  to  be  paid.  We  could 
go  back  in  it  before  you  paid  it,  if  you  liked.  I 
went  first  to  your  office,  according  to  the  direc- 
tion of  the  papers  found  in  the  pockets,  and  there 
I  see  nobody  but  a  chap  of  about  my  age  who 
sent  me  on  here." 

There  was  a  curious  mixture  in  the  boy,  of  un- 
completed savagery,  and  uncompleted  civiliza- 
tion. His  voice  was  hoarse  and  coarse,  and  his 
face  was  coarse,  and  his  stunted  figure  was 
coarse ;  but  he.  was  cleaner  than  other  boys  of 
his  type;  and  his  writing,  though  large"  and 
round,  was  good ;  and  he  glanced  at  the  backs 
of  the  books  with  an  awakened  curiosity  that 
went  below  the  binding.  No  one  who  can  read 
ever  looks  at  a  book,  even  unopened  on  a  shelf, 
like  one  who  can  not. 

"  Were  any  means  taken,  do  you  know,  boy, 
to  ascertain  if  it  was  possible  to  restore  life?" 
Mortimer  inquired,  as  he  sought  for  his  hat. 

"  You  wouldn't  ask,  Sir,  if  you  knew  his  state. 
Pharaoh's  multitude  that  were  drowned  in  the 
lied  Sea,  ain't  more  beyond  restoring  to  life. 
If  Lazarus  was  only  half  as  far  gone,  that  was 
the  greatest  of  all  the  miracles." 

"Halloa !"  cried  Mortimer,  turning  round  with 
his  hat  upon  his  head,  "  you  seem  to  be  at  home 
in  the  Red  Sea,  my  young  friend  ?" 

"  Read  of  it  with  teacher  at  the  school,"  said 
the  boy. 

"And  Lazarus?" 

"Yes,  and  him  too.  But  don't  you  tell  my 
father !  We  should  have  no  peace  in  our  place 
if  that  got  touched  upon.  It's  my  sister's  con- 
triving." 


"You  seem  to  have  a  good  sister." 

"  She  ain't  half  bad,"  said  the  boy  ;  "  but  if 
she  knows  her  letters  it's  the  most  she  does — and 
them  I  learned  her." 

The  gloomy  Eugene,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  had  strolled  in  and  assisted  at  the  lat- 
ter part  of  the  dialogue ;  when  the  boy  spoke 
these  words  slightingly  of  his  sister,  he  took  him 
roughly  enough  by  the  chin,  and  turned  up  his 
face  to  look  at  it. 

"Well,  I'm  sure,  Sir  !"  said  the  boy,  resisting  ; 
"  I  hope  you'll  know  me  again." 

Eugene  vouchsafed  no  answer  ;  but  made  the 
proposal  to  Mortimer,  "I'll  go  with  you,  if  you 
like?''  So,  they  all  three  went  away  together 
in  the  vehicle  that  had  brought  the  boy  ;  the  two 
friends  (once  boys  together  at  a  public  school) 
inside,  smoking  cigars ;  the  boy  on  the  box  be- 
side the  driver. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Mortimer,  as  they  went 
along ;  "  I  have  been,  Eugene,  upon  the  honor- 
able roll  of  solicitors  of  the  High  Court  of  Chan- 
cery, and  attorneys  at  Common  Law,  five  years  ; 
and — except  gratuitously  taking  instructions  on 
an  average  once  a  fortnight,  for  the  will  of 
Lady  Tippins,  who  has  nothing  to  leave — I  have 
had  no  scrap  of  business  but  this  romantic  busi- 
ness." 

"And  I,"  said  Eugene,  "have  been  'called' 
seven  years,  and  have  had  no  business  at  all,  and 
never  shall  have  any.  And  if  I  had,  I  shouldn't 
know  how  to  doit." 

"I  am  far  from  being  clear  as  to  the  last 
particular,"  returned  Mortimer,  with  great  com- 
posure, "  that  I  have  much  advantage  over  you." 

"I  hate,"  said  Eugene,  putting  his  legs  up  on 
the  opposite  seat,  "I  hate  my  profession." 

"Shall  I  incommode  you,  if  I  put  mine  up 
too?"  returned  Mortimer.  "Thank  you.  I 
hate  mine." 

"It  was  forced  upon  me,"  said  the  gloomy 
Eugene,  "  because  it  was  understood  that  we 
wanted  a  barrister  in  the  family.  We  have  got 
a  precious  one." 

"It  was  forced  upon  me,"  said  Mortimer, 
"because  it  was  understood  that  we  wanted  a 
solicitor  in  the  family.  And  we  have  got  a 
precious  one." 

"  There  are  four  of  us,  with  our  names  paint- 
ed on  a  door-post  in  right  of  one  black  hole 
called  a  set  of  chambers,"  said  Eugene;  "and 
each  of  us  has  the  fourth  of  a  clerk — Cassim 
Baba,  in  the  robber's  cave — and  Cassim  is  the 
only  respectable  member  of  the  party." 

"I  am  one  by  myself,  one,"  said  Mortimer, 
"high  up  an  awful  staircase  commanding  a 
burial-ground ;  and  I  have  a  whole  clerk  to 
myself,  and  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  look  at 
the  burial-ground,  and  what  he  will  turn  out 
when  arrived  at  maturity  I  can  not  conceive. 
Whether,  in  that  shabby  rook's  nest,  he  is  always 
plotting  wisdom,  or  plotting  murder;  whether 
he  will  grow  up,  after  so  much  solitary  brood- 
ing, to  enlighten  his  fellow-creatures,  or  to  poison 
them  ;  is  the  only  speck  of  interest  that  presents 
itself  to  my  professional  view.  Will  you  give 
me  a  light?     Thank  you." 

' '  Then  idiots  talk, "  said  Eugene,  leaning  back, 
folding  his  arms,  smoking  with  his  eyes  shut, 
and  speaking  slightly  through  his  nose,  • '  of  En- 
ergy. If  there  is  a  word  in  the  dictionary  un- 
der any  letter  from  A  to  Z  that  I  abominate,  it 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


25 


is  energy.  It  is  such  a  conventional  supersti- 
tion, such  parrot  gabble !  What  the  deuce ! 
Am  I  to  rush  out  into  the  street,  collar  the  first 
man  of  a  wealthy  appearance  that  I  meet,  shake 
him,  and  say,  'Go  to  law  upon  the  spot,  you 
dog,  and  retain  me,  or  I'll  be  the  death  of  you  ?' 
Yet  that  would  be  energy." 

' '  Precisely  my  view  of  the  case,  Eugene.  But 
show  me  a  good  opportunity,  show  me  some- 
thing really  worth  being  energetic  about,  and 
7'11  show  you  energy." 

"  And  so  will  I, "  said  Eugene. 

And  it  is  likely  enough  that  ten  thousand 
other  young  men,  within  the  limits  of  the  London 
Post-office  town  delivery,  made  the  same  hope- 
ful remark  in  the  course  of  the  same  evening. 

The  wheels  rolled  on,  and  rolled  down  by  the 
Monument  and  the  Tower,  and  by  the  Docks ; 
down  by  Ratcliffe,  and  by  Rotherhithe;  down 
by  where  accumulated  scum  of  humanity  seemed 
to  be  washed  from  higher  grounds,  like  so  much 
moral  sewage,  and  to  be  pausing  until  its  own 
weight  forced  it  over  the  bank  and  sunk  it  in  the 
river.  In  and  out  among  ships  that  seemed  to 
have  got  ashore,  and  houses  that  seemed  to  have 
got  afloat — among  bowsprits  staring  into  win- 
dows, and  windows  staring  into  water  —  the 
wheels  rolled  on,  until  they  stopped  at  a  dark  cor- 
ner, river-washed  and  otherwise  not  washed  at  all, 
where  the  boy  alighted  and  opened  the  door. 

"You  must  walk  the  rest,  Sir;  it's  not  many 
yards."  He  spoke  in  the  singular  number,  to 
the  express  exclusion  of  Eugene. 

"This  is  a  confoundedly  out-of-the-way 
place,"  said  Mortimer,  slipping  over  the  stones 
and  refuse  on  the  shore,  as  the  boy  turned  the 
corner  sharp. 

"Here's  my  father's,  Sir ;  where  the  light  is." 

The  low  building  had  the  look  of  having  once 
been  a  mill.  There  was  a  rotten  wart  'of  wood 
upon  its  forehead  that  seemed  to  indicate  where 
the  sails  had  been,  but  the  whole  was  very  indis- 
tinctly seen  in  the  obscurity  of  the  night.  The 
boy  lifted  the  latch  of  the  door,  and  they  passed 
at  once  into  a  low  circular  room,  where  a  man 
stood  before  a  red  fire,  looking  down  into  it,  and 
a  girl  sat  engaged  in  needle-work.  The  fire  was 
in  a  rusty  brazier,  not  fitted  to  the  hearth ;  and 
a  common  lamp,  shaped  like  a  hyacinth-root, 
smoked  and  flared  in  the  neck  of  a  stone  bottle 
on  the  table.  There  was  a  wooden  bunk  or 
berth  in  a  corner,  and  in  another  corner  a  wood- 
en stair  leading  above — so  clumsy  and  steep  that 
it  was  little  better  than  a  ladder.  Two  or  three 
old  sculls  and  oars  stood  against  the  wall,  and 
against  another  part  of  the  wall  was  a  small 
dresser,  making  a  spare  show  of  the  commonest 
articles  of  crockery  and  cooking-vessels.  The 
roof  of  the  room  was  not  plastered,  but  was 
formed  of  the  flooring  of  the  room  above.  This, 
being  very  old,  knotted,  seamed  and  beamed, 
gave  a  lowering  aspect  to  the  chamber;  and 
roof,  and  walls,  and  floor,  alike  abounding  in 
old  smears  of  flour,  red-lead  (or  some  such  stain 
which  it  had  probably  acquired  in  warehousing), 
and  damp,  alike  had  a  look  of  decomposition. 

"The  gentleman,  father." 

The  figure  at  the  red  fire  turned,  raised  its 
ruffled  head,  and  looked  like  a  bird  of  prey. 

"You're  Mortimer  Lightwood,  Esquire;  are 
you,  Sir?" 

"Mortimer  Lightwood  is  my  name.     What 


you  found,"  said  Mortimer,  glancing  rather 
shrinkingly  toward  the  bunk ;   "  is  it  here  ?" 

"Tain't  not  to  say  here,  but  it's  close  by.  I 
do  every  thing  reg'lar.  I've  giv'  notice  of  the 
circumstarnce  to  the  police,  and  the  police  have 
took  possession  of  it.  No  time  ain't  been  lost, 
on  any  hand.  The  police  have  put  it  into  print 
already,  and  here's  what  the  print  says  of  it." 

Taking  up  the  bottle  with  the  lamp  in  it,  he 
held  it  near  a  paper  on  the  wall,  with  the  police 
heading,  Found  Drowned.  The  two  friends 
read  the  hand-bill  as  it  stuck  against  the  wall, 
and  Gaffer  read  them  as  he  held  the  light. 

"  Only  papers  on  the  unfortunate  man,  I  see," 
said  Lightwood,  glancing  from  the  description 
of  what  was  found,  to  the  finder. 

"Only  papers." 

Here  the  girl  arose  with  her  work  in  her  hand, 
and  went  out  at  the  door. 

"  No  money,"  pursued  Mortimer ;  "  but  three- 
pence in  one  of  the  skirt-pockets." 

1 '  Three.  Penny.  Pieces, "  said  Gaffer  Hex- 
am,  in  as  many  sentences. 

"The  trowsers  pockets  empty,  and  turned  in- 
side out." 

Gaffer  Hexam  nodded.  "  But  that's  common. 
Whether  it's  the  wash  of  the  tide  or  no,  I  can't 
say.  Now,  here,"  moving  the  light  to  another 
Found  Drowned  placard,  "  his  pockets  was  found 
empty,  and  turned  inside  out.  And  here,"  mov- 
ing the  light  to  another,  "her  pocket  was  found 
empty,  and  turned  inside  out.  And  so  was  this 
one's.  And  so  was  that  one's.  I  can't  read, 
nor  I  don't  want  to  it,  for  I  know  'em  by  their 
places  on  the  wall.  This  one  was  a  sailor,  with 
two  anchors  and  a  flag  and  G.  F.  T.  on  his  arm. 
Look  and  see  if  he  warn't." 

"  Quite  right." 

"This  one  was  the  young  woman  in'  gray 
boots,  and  her  linen  marked  with  a  cross.  Look 
and  see  if  she  warn't." 

"Quite  right." 

"  This  is  him  as  had  a  nasty  cut  over  the  eye. 
This  is  them  two  young  sisters  what  tied  them- 
selves together  with  a  handkecher.  This  is  the 
drunken  old  chap,  in  a  pair  of  list  slippers  and 
a  night-cap,  wot  had  offered — it  afterward  come 
out — to  make  a  hole  in  the  water  for  a  quartern 
of  rum  stood  aforehand,  and  kept  to  his  word  for 
the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life.  They  pretty 
well  papers  the  room,  you  see ;  but  I  know  'em 
all.     I'm  scholar  enough !" 

He  waved  the  light  over  the  whole,  as  if  to 
typify  the  light  of  his  scholarly  intelligence,  and 
then  put  it  down  on  the  table  and  stood  behind 
it  looking  intently  at  his  visitors.  He  had  the  spe- 
cial peculiarity  of  some  birds  of  prey,  that  when 
he  knitted  his  brow  his  ruffled  crest  stood  highest. 

"You  did  not  find  all  these  yourself;  did 
you?"  asked  Eugene. 

To  which  the  bird  of  prey  slowly  rejoined, 
"And  what  might  your  name  be,  now?" 

"This  is  my  friend,"  Mortimer  Lightwood 
interposed ;  "Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn." 

"Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn,  is  it?  And  what 
might  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn  have  asked  of  me  ?" 

"I  asked  you,  simply,  if  you  found  all  these 
yourself?" 

"I  answer  you,  simply,  most  on  'em." 

"Do  you  suppose  there  has  been  much  vio- 
lence and   robbery,  beforehand,   among  these 


2G 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"I  don't  suppose  at  all  about  it,"  returned 
Gaffer.  "I  ain't  one  of  the  supposing  sort.  If 
you'd  got  your  living  to  haul  out  of  the  river 
every  day  of  your  life,  you  mightn't  be  much 
given  to  supposing.     Am  I  to  show  the  way  ?" 

As  he  opened  the  door,  in  pursuance  of  a  nod 
from  Lightwood,  an  extremely  pale  and  dis- 
turbed face  appeared  in  the  doorway — the  face 
of  a  man  much  agitated. 

"A  body  missing?"  asked  Gaffer  Hexam, 
stopping  short ;  "  or  a  body  found  ?     Which  ?" 

"I  am  lost,"  replied  the  man,  in  a  hurried 
and  an  eager  manner. 

"Lost!" 

"I — I — am  a  stranger,  and  don't  know  the 
way.  I — I — want  to  find  the  place  where  I  can 
see  what  is  described  here.  It  is  possible  I  may 
know  it."  He  was  panting,  and  could  hardly 
speak;  but,  he  showed  a  copy  of  the  newly- 
printed  bill  that  was  still  wet  upon  the  wall. 
Perhaps  its  newness,  or  perhaps  the  accuracy  of 
his  observation  of  its  general  look,  guided  Gaffer 
to  a  ready  conclusion. 

"  This  gentleman,  Mr.  Lightwood,  is  on  that 
business." 

"Mr.  Lightwood?" 

During  a  pause,  Mortimer  and  the  stranger 
confronted  each  other.   Neither  knew  the  other. 

"I  think,  Sir,"  said  Mortimer,  breaking  the 
awkward  silence  with  his  airy  self-possession, 
"that  you  did  me  the  honor  to  mention  my 
name?" 

"I  repeated  it,  after  this  man." 

"You  said  you  were  a  stranger  in  London?" 

"An  utter  stranger." 

' '  Are  you  seeking  a  Mr.  Harmon  ?" 

"No." 

"  Then  I  believe  I  can  assure  you  that  you  are 
on  a  fruitless  errand,  and  will  not  find  what  you 
fear  to  find.     Will  you  come  with  us  ?" 

A  little  winding  through  some  muddy  alleys 
that  might  have  been  deposited  by  the  last  ill- 
savored  tide,  brought  them  to  the  wicket-gate 
and  bright  lamp  of  a  Police  Station ;  where  they 
found  the  Night-Inspector,  with  a  pen  and  ink, 
and  ruler,  posting  up  his  books  in  a  whitewashed 
office,  as  studiously  as  if  he  were  in  a  monastery 
on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  and  no  howling  fury 
of  a  drunken  woman  were  banging  herself  against 
a  cell- door  in  the  back-yard  at  his  elbow.  With 
the  same  air  of  a  recluse  much  given  to  study, 
he  desisted  from  his  books  to  bestow  a  distrust- 
ful nod  of  recognition  upon  Gaffer,  plainly  im- 
porting, "Ah!  we  know  all  about  you,  and  you'll 
overdo  it  some  day;"  and  to  inform  Mr.  Morti- 
mer Lightwood  and  friends,  that  he  would  at- 
tend them  immediately.  Then,  he  finished 
ruling  the  work  he  had  in  hand  (it  might  have 
been  illuminating  a  missal,  he  was  so  calm),  in 
a  very  neat  and  methodical  manner,  showing 
not  the  slightest  consciousness  of  the  woman  who 
was  banging  herself  with  increased  violence,  and 
shrieking  most  terrifically  for  some  other  wo- 
man's liver. 

"A  bull's-eye,"  said  the  Night-Inspector,  tak- 
ing up  his  keys.  Which  a  deferential  satellite 
produced.     "Now,  gentlemen." 

With  one  of  his  keys  he  opened  a  cool  grot  at 
the  end  of  the  yard,  and  they  all  went  in.  They 
quickly  came  out  again,  no  one  speaking  but 
Eugene :  who  remarked  to  Mortimer,  in  a  whis- 
per, "Not  much  worse  than  Lady  Tippins." 


So,  back  to  the  whitewashed  library  of  the 
monastery — with  that  liver  still  in  shrieking  req- 
uisition, as  it  had  been  loudly,  while  they  looked 
at  the  silent  sight  they  came  to  see — and  there 
through  the  merits  of  the  case  as  summed  up  by 
the  Abbot.  No  clew  to  how  body  came  into 
river.  Very  often  was  no  clew.  Too  late  to 
know  for  certain,  whether  injuries  received  be- 
fore or  after  death ;  one  excellent  surgical  opin- 
ion said,  before  ;  other  excellent  surgical  opin- 
ion said,  after.  Steward  of  ship  in  which  gen- 
tleman came  home  passenger,  had  been  round  to 
view,  and  had  no  doubt  of  identity.  Likewise 
could  swear  to  clothes.  And  then,  you  see,  you 
had  the  papers,  too.  How  was  it  he  had  totally 
disappeared  on  leaving  ship,  'till  found  in  river? 
Well !  Probably  had  been  upon  some  little  game. 
Probably  thought  it  a  harmless  game,  wasn't  up 
to  things,  and  it  turned  out  a  fatal  game,  In- 
quest to-morrow,  and  no  doubt  open  verdict. 

"It  appears  to  have  knocked  your  friend  over 
— knocked  him  completely  off  his  legs,"  Mr.  In- 
spector remarked,  when  he  had  finished  his  sum- 
ming up.  "  It  has  given  him  a  bad  turn  to  be 
sure  !"  This  was  said  in  a  very  low  voice*,  and 
with  a  searching  look  (not  the  first  he  had  cast) 
at  the  stranger. 

Mr.  Lightwood  explained  that  it  was  no  friend 
of  his. 

"Indeed?"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  with  an  at- 
tentive ear;  "where  did  you  pick  him  up?" 

Mr.  Lightwood  explained  further. 

Mr.  Inspector  had  delivered  his  summing  up, 
and  had  added  these  words,  with  his  elbows  lean- 
ing on  his  desk,  and  the  fingers  and  thumb  of  his 
right  hand,  fitting  themselves  to  the  fingers  and 
thumb  of  his  left.  Mr.  Inspector  moved  nothing 
but  his  eyes,  as  he  now  added,  raising  his  voice : 

"Turned  you  faint,  Sir!  Seems  you're  not 
accustomed  to  this  kind  of  work?" 

The  stranger,  who  was  leaning  against  the 
chimney-piece  with  drooping  head,  looked  round 
and  answered,  "No.     It's  a  horrible  sight!" 

"You  expected  to  identify,  lam  told,  Sir?" 

"Yes." 

"Have  you  identified?" 

"No.  It's  a  horrible  sight.  Oh !  a  horrible, 
horrible  sight!," 

"  Who  did  you  think  it  might  have  been  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Inspector.  "Give  us  a  description, 
Sir.     Perhaps  we  can  help  you." 

"No,  no,"  said  the  stranger;  "it  would  be 
quite  useless.     Good-night." 

Mr.  Inspector  had  not  moved,  and  had  given  no 
order ;  but  the  satellite  slipped  his  back  against 
the  wicket,  and  laid  his  left  arm  along  the  top 
of  it,  and  with  his  right  hand  turned  the  bull's- 
eye  he  had  taken  from  his  chief — in  quite  a  cas- 
ual manner — toward  the  stranger. 

"You  missed  a  friend,  you  know;  or  you 
missed  a  foe,  you  know ;  or  you  wouldn't  have 
come  here,  you  know.  Well,  then  ;  ain't  it  rea- 
sonable to  "ask,  who  was  it  ?"  Thus,  Mr.  In- 
spector. 

"You  must  excuse  my  telling  you.  No  class 
of  man  can  understand  better  than  you,  that 
families  may  not  choose  to  publish  their  disa- 
greements and  misfortunes,  except  upon  the  last 
necessity.  I  do  not  dispute  that  you  discharge 
your  duty  in  asking  me  the  question ;  you  will 
not  dispute  my  right  to  withhold  the  answer. 
Good-night." 


OUE  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


27 


Again  he  turned  toward  the  wicket,  where  the 
satellite,  with  his  eye  upon  his  chief,  remained  a 
dumb  statue. 

"At  least,"  said  Mr. Inspector,  "you  will  not 
object  to  leave  me  your  card,  Sir  ?" 

"  I  should  not  object,  if  I  had  one ;  but  I  have 
not."  He  reddened  and  was  much  confused  as 
he  gave  the  answer. 

"At  least,"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  with  no  change 
of  voice  or  manner,  "  you  will  not  object  to  write 
down  your  name  and  address  ?" 

"Not  at  all." 

Mr.  Inspector  dipped  a  pen  in  his  inkstand,  and 
softly  laid  it  on  a  piece  of  paper  close  beside  him; 
then  resumed  his  former  attitude.  The  stranger 
stepped  up  to  the  desk,  and  wrote  in  a  rather 
tremulous  hand — Mr.  Inspector  taking  sidelong 
note  of  every  hair  of  his  head  when  it  was  bent 
down  for  the  purpose — "Mr.  Julius  Handford, 
Exchequer  Coffee-House,  Palace  Yard,  West- 
minster." 

' '  Staying  there,  I  presume,  Sir  ?"     \ 

"  Staying  there." 

"Consequently,  from  the  country?" 

"  Eh  ?     Yes— from  the  country." 

"  Good-night,  Sir." 

The  satellite  removed  his  arm  and  opened  the 
wicket,  and  Mr.  Julius  Handford  went  out. 

"  Reserve ! "  said  Mr.  Inspector.  "  Take  care 
of  this  piece  of  paper,  keep  him  in  view  with- 
out giving  offense,  ascertain  that  he  is  staying 
there,  and  find  out  any  thing  you  can  about 
him." 

T.he  satellite  was  gone ;  and  Mr.  Inspector, 
becoming  once  again  the  quiet  Abbot  of  that 
Monastery,  dipped  his  pen  in  his  ink  and  re- 
sumed his  books.  The  two  friends  who  had 
watched  him,  more  amused  by  the  professional 
manner  than  suspicious  of  Mr.  Julius  Handford, 
inquired  before  taking  their  departure  too  wheth- 
er he  believed  there  was  any  thing  that  really 
looked  bad  here  ? 

The  Abbot  replied  with  reticence,  "  Couldn't 
say.  If  a  murder,  any  body  might  have  done  it. 
Burglary  or  pocket-picking  wanted  'prenticeship. 
Not  so,  murder.  We  were  all  of  us  up  to  that. 
Had  seen  scores  of  people  come  to  identify,  and 
never  saw  one  person  struck  in  that  particular 
way.  Might,  however,  have  been  Stomach,  and 
not  Mind.  If  so,  rum  stomach.  But  to  be  sure 
there  were  rum  every  things.  Pity  there  was 
not  a  word  of  truth  in  that  superstition  about 
bodies  bleeding  when  touched  by  the  right  hand  ; 
you  never  got  a  sign  out  of  bodies.  You  got  row 
enough  out  of  such  as  her — she  was  good  for  all 
night  now"  (referring  here  to  the  banging  de- 
mands for  the  liver),  "but  you  got  nothing  out 
of  bodies  if  it  was  ever  so." 

There  being  nothing  more  to  be  done  until  the 
Inquest  was  held  next  day,  the  friends  went  away 
together,  and  Gaffer  Hexam  and  his  son  went 
their  separate  way.  But,  arriving  at  the  last 
corner,  Gaffer  bade  his  boy  go  home  while  he 
turned  into  a  red-curtained  tavern,  that  stood 
dropsically  bulging  over  the  dirty  causeway,  "for 
a  half-a-pint." 

The  boy  lifted  the  latch  he  had  lifted  before, 
and  found  his  sister  again  seated  before  the  fire 
at  her  work.  Who  raised  her  head  upon  his 
coming  in  and  asking : 

"Where  did  you  go,  Liz?" 
"I  went  out  in  the  dark." 


"There  was  no  necessity  for  that.  It  was  all 
right  enough." 

"One  of  the  gentlemen,  the  one  who  didn't 
speak  while  I  was  there,  looked  hard  at  me. 
And  I  was  afraid  he  might  know  what  my  face 
meant.  But  there !  Don't  mind  me,  Charley ! 
I  was  all  in  a  tremble  of  another  sort  when  you 
owned  to  father  you  could  write  a  little." 

"  Ah !  But  I  made  believe  I  wrote  so  badly, 
as  that  it  was  odds  if  any  one  could  read  it. 
And  when  I  wrote  slowest  and  smeared  out  with 
my  finger  most,  father  was  best  pleased,  as  he 
stood  looking  over  me." 

The  girl  put  aside  her  work,  and  drawing  her 
seat  close  to  his  seat  by  the  fire,  laid  her  arm 
gently  on  his  shoulder. 

"You'll  make  the  most  of  your  time,  Charley  ; 
won't  you  ?" 

"Won't  I?     Come!    I  like  that.    Don't  I  ?" 

"Yes,  Charley,  yes.  You  work  hard  at  your 
learning,  I  know.  And  I  work  a  little,  Charley, 
and  plan  and  contrive  a  little  (wake  out  of  my 
sleep  contriving  sometimes),  how  to  get  together 
a  shilling  now,  and  a  shilling  then,  that  shall 
make  father  believe  you  are  beginning  to  earn  a 
stray  living  along  shore." 

"You  are  father's  favorite,  and  can  make  him 
believe  any  thing." 

"I  wish  I  could,  Charley!  For  if  I  could 
make  him  believe  that  learning  was  a  good  thing, 
and  that  we  might  lead  better  lives,  I  should  be 
a'most  content  to  die." 

"Don't  talk  stuff  about  dying,  Liz." 

She  placed  her  hands  in  one  another  on  his 
shoulder,  and  laying  her  rich  brown  cheek 
against  them  as  she  looked  down  at  the  fire, 
went  on  thoughtfully : 

"  Of  an  evening,  Charley,  when  you  are  at 
the  school,  and  father's — " 

"At  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship-Porters,"  the 
boy  struck  in,  with  a  backward  nod  of  his  head 
toward  the  public  house. 

"Yes.  Then  as  I  sit  a-looking  at  the  fire,  I 
seem  to  see  in  the  burning  coal — like  where  that 
glow  is  now — " 

"That's  gas,  that  is,"  said  the  boy,  "coming 
out  of  a  bit  of  a  forest  that's  been  under  the  mud 
that  was  under  the  water  in  the  days  of  Noah's 
Ark.  Look  here  !  When  I  take  the  poker — so 
— and  give  it  a  dig — " 

"  Don't  disturb  it,  Charley,  or  it'll  be  all  in  a 
blaze.  It's  that  dull  glow  near  it,  coming  and 
going,  that  I  mean.  When  I  look  at  it  of  an 
evening,  it  comes  like  pictures  to  me,  Charley." 

"  Show  us  a  picture,"  said  the  boy.  "  Tell  us 
where  to  look." 

"  Ah !     It  wants  my  eyes,  Charley." 

"  Cut  away  then,  and  tell  us  what  your  eyes 
make  of  it." 

"Why,  there  are  you  and  me,  Charley,  when 
you  were  quite  a  baby  that  never  knew  a  mo- 
ther—" 

"Don't  go  saying  I  never  knew  a  mother," 
interposed  the  boy,  "for  I  knew  a  little  sister 
th#t  was  sister  and  mother  both." 

The  girl  laughed  delightedly,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  pleasant  tears,  as  he  put  both  his 
arms  round  her  waist  and  so  held  her. 

"There  are  you  and  me,  Charley,  when  fa- 
ther was  away  at  work  and  locked  us  out,  for 
fear  we  should  set  ourselves  afire  or  fall  out  of 
window,  sitting  on  the  door-sill,  sitting  on  other 


28 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND.   , 


door-stepst  sitting  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  wan- 
daring  about  to  get  through  the  time.  You  are 
rather  heavy  to  carry,  Charley,  and  I  am  often 
obliged  to  rest.  Sometimes  we  are  sleepy  and 
fall  asleep  together  in  a  corner,  sometimes  we 
are  very  hungry,  sometimes  we  are  a  little  fright- 
ened, but  what  is  oftenest  hard  upon  us  is  the 
cold.     You  remember,  Charley  ?" 

"I  remember,"  said  the  boy,  pressing  her  to 
him  twice  or  thrice,  "that  I  snuggled  under  a 
little  shawl,  and  it  was  warm  there." 

"  Sometimes  it  rains,  and  we  creep  under  a 
boat  or  the  like  of  that ;  sometimes  it's  dark, 
and  we  get  among  the  gaslights,  sitting  watching 
the  people  as  they  go  along  the  streets.  At  last, 
up  comes  father  and  takes  us  home.  And  home 
seems  such  a  shelter  after  out  of  doors !  And 
father  pulls  my  shoes  off,  and  dries  my  feet  at 
the  fire,  and  has  me  to  sit  by  him  while  he  smokes 
his  pipe  long  after  you  are  abed,  and  I  notice 
that  father's  is  a  large  hand  but  never  a  heavy 
one  when  it  touches  me,  and  that  father's  is  a 
rough  voice  but  never  an  angry  one  when  it 
speaks  to  me.  So,  I  grow  up,  and  little  by  little 
father  trusts  me,  and  makes  me  his  companion, 
and,  let  him  be  put  out  as  he  may,  never  once 
strikes  me." 

The  listening  boy  gave  a  grunt  here,  as  much 
as  to  say  "But  he  strikes  me  though !" 

"Those  are  some  of  the  pictures  of  what  is 
past,  Charley." 

"Cut  away  again,"  said  the  boy,  "and  give 
us  a  fortune-telling  one  ;  a  future  one." 

"  Well !  There  am  I,  continuing  with  father 
and  holding  to  father,  because  father  loves  me 
and  I  love  father.  I  can't  so  much  as  read  a 
book,  because,  if  I  had  learned,  father  would 
have  thought  I  was  deserting  him,  and  I  shoul'd 
have  lost  my  influence.  I  have  not  the  influ- 
ence I  want  to  have ;  I  can  not  stop  some  dread- 
ful things  I  try  to  stop,  but  I  go  on  in  the  hope 
and  trust  that  the  time  will  come.  In  the  mean 
while  I  know  that  I  am  in  some  things  a  stay  to 
father,  and  that  if  I  was  not  faithful  to  him  he 
would — in  revenge-like,  or  in  disappointment,  or 
both — go  wild  and  bad." 

"Give  us  a  touch  of  the  fortune-telling  pic- 
tures about  me." 

"I  was  passing  on  to  them,  Charley,"  said  the 
girl,  who  had  not  changed  her  attitude  since  she 
began,  and  who  now  mournfully  shook  her  head ; 
"the  others  were  all  leading  up.  There  are 
you — " 

"Where  am  I,  Liz?" 

"  Still  in  the  hollow  down  by  the  flare." 

"There  seems  to  be  the  deuce-and-all  in  the 
hollow  down  by  the  flare,"  said  the  boy,  glan- 
cing from  her  eyes  to  the  brazier,  which  had  a 
grisly  skeleton  look  on  its  long  thin  legs. 

"There  are  you,  Charley,  working  your  way, 
in  secret  from  father,  at  the  school ;  and  you  get 
prizes;  and  you  go  on  better  and  better;  and 
you  come  to  be  a — what  was  it  you  called  it 
when  you  told  me  about  that?" 

"Ha,  ha!  Fortune-telling  not  know  the 
name !"  cried  the  boy,  seeming  to  be  rather  re- 
lieved by  this  default  on  the  part  of  the  hollow 
down  by  the  flare.     "  Pupil-teacher." 

"You  come  to  be  a  pupil-teacher,  and  you 
still  go  on  better  and  better,  and  you  rise  to  be  a 
master  full  of  learning  and  respect.  But  the 
secret  has  come  to  father's  knowledge  long  be- 


fore, and  it  has  divided  you  from  father,  and 
from  me." 

"No  it  hasn't!" 

"Yes  it  has,  Charley.  I  see,  as  plain  as  plain 
can  be,  that  your  way  is  not  ours,  and  that  even 
if  father  could  be  got  to  forgive  your  taking  it 
(which  he  never  could  be),  that  way  of  yours 
would  be  darkened  by  our  way.  But  I  see  too, 
Charley — " 

"Still  as  plain  as  plain  can  be,  Liz?"  asked 
the  boy,  playfully. 

"  Ah !  Still.  That  it  is  a  great  work  to  have 
cut  you  away  from  father's  life,  and  to  have 
made  a  new  and  good  beginning.  So  there  am 
I,  Charley,  left  alone  with  father,  keeping  him 
as  straight  as  I  can,  watching  for  more  influence 
than  I  have,  and  hoping  that  through  some  for- 
tunate chance,  or  when  he  is  ill,  or  when — I 
don't  know  what — I  may  turn  him  to  wish  to  do 
better  things." 

"You  said  you  couldn't  read  a  book,  Lizzie. 
Your  library  of  books  is  the  hollow  down  by  the 
flare,  I  think." 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  be  able  to  read  real 
books.  I  feel  my  want  of  learning  very  much, 
Charley.  But  I  should  feel  it  much  more,  if  I 
didn't  know  it  to  be  a  tie  between  me  and  fa- 
ther.—Hark  !     Father's  tread !" 

It  being  now  past  midnight,  the  bird  of  prey 
went  straight  to  roost.  At  mid-day  following 
he  reappeared  at  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship-Por- 
ters, in  the  character,  not  new  to  him,  of  a  wit- 
ness before  a  Coroner's  Jury. 

Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood,  besides  sustaining 
the  character  of  one  of  the  witnesses,  doubled 
the  part  with  that  of  the  eminent  solicitor  who 
watched  the  proceedings  on  behalf  of  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  deceased,  as  was  duly  recorded 
in  the  newspapers.  Mr.  Inspector  watched  the 
proceedings  too,  and  kept  his  watching  closely 
to  himself.  Mr.  Julius  Handford  having  given 
his  right  address,  and  being  reported  in  solvent 
circumstances  as  to  his  bill,  though  nothing  more 
was  known  of  him  at  his  hotel  except  that  his 
way  of  life  was  very  retired,  had  no  summons 
to  appear,  and  was  merely  present  in  the  shades 
of  Mr.  Inspector's  mind. 

The  case  was  made  interesting  to  the  public 
by  Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood  giving  evidence 
touching  the  circumstances  under  which  the  de- 
ceased, Mr.  John  Harmon,  had  returned  to  En- 
gland ;  exclusive  private  proprietorship  in  which 
circumstances  was  set  up  at  dinner-tables  for 
several  days,  by  Veneering,  Twemlow,  Podsnap, 
and  all  the  Buffers :  who  all  related  them  ir- 
reconcilably with  one  another,  and  contradicted 
themselves.  It  was  also  made  interesting  by  the 
testimony  of  Job  Potterson,  the  ship's  steward, 
and  one  Mr.  Jacob  Kibble,  a  fellow-passenger, 
that  the  deceased  Mr.  John  Harmon  did  bring 
over,  in  a  hand-valise  with  which  he  did  disem- 
bark, the  sum  he  had  realized  by  the  forced  sale 
of  hi*  little  landed  property,  and  that  the  sum  ex- 
ceeded, in  ready  money,  seven  hundred  pounds. 
It  was  further  made  interesting  by  the  remark- 
able experiences  of  Jesse  Hexam  in  having  res- 
cued from  the  Thames  so  many  dead  bodies, 
and  for  whose  behoof  a  rapturous  admirer,  sub- 
scribing himself  "A  friend  to  Burial"  (perhaps 
an  undertaker),  sent  eighteen  postage-stamps, 
and  five  "Now  Sir"s  to  the  editor  of  the  Times. 
Upon  the  evidence  adduced  before  them  the 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


29 


Jury  found,  That  the  body  of  Mr.  John  Harmon 
had  been  discovered  floating  in  the  Thames,  in 
an  advanced  state  of  decay,  and  much  injured, 
and  that  the  said  Mr.  John  Harmon  had  come 
by  his  death  under  highly  suspicious  circum- 
stances, though  by  whose  act  or  in  what  precise 
manner  there  was  no  evidence  before  this  Jury 
to  show.  And  they  appended,  to  their  verdict  a 
recommendation  to  the  Home  Office  (which  Mr. 
Inspector  appeared  to  think  highly  sensible),  to 
offer  a  reward  for  the  solution  of  the  mystery. 
Within  eight-and-forty  hours  a  reward  of  One 
Hundred  Pounds  was  proclaimed,  together  with 
a  free  pardon  to  any  person  or  persons  not  the 
actual  perpetrator  or  perpetrators,  and  so  forth 
in  due  form. 

This  Proclamation  rendered  Mr.  Inspector 
additionally  studious,  and  caused  him  to  stand 
meditating  on  river-stairs  and  causeways,  and  to 
go  lurking  about  in  boats,  putting  this  and  that 
together.  But,  according  to  the  success  with 
which  you  put  this  and  that  together,  you  get  a 
woman  and  a  fish  apart,  or  a  Mermaid  in  com- 
bination. And  Mr.  Inspector  could  turn  out 
nothing  better  than  a  Mermaid,  which  no  Judge 
and  Jury  would  believe  in. 

Thus,  like  the  tides  on  which  it  had  been  borne 
to  the  knowledge  of  men,  the  Harmon  Murder 
— as  it  came  to  be  popularly  called — went  up  and 
down,  and  ebbed  and  flowed,  now  in  the  town, 
now  in  the  country,  now  among  palaces,  now 
among  hovels,  now  among  lords  and  ladies  and 
gentlefolks,  now  among  laborers  and  hammerers 
and  ballast-heavers,  until  at  last,  after  a  long 
interval  of  slack- water,  it  got  out  to  sea  and  drift- 
ed away. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   K.   WILFER  FAMILY. 

Reginald  Wilfer  is  a  name  with  rather  a 
grand  sound,  suggesting  on  first  acquaintance 
brasses  in  country  churches,  scrolls  in  stained- 
glass  windows,  and  generally  the  De  Wilfers  who 
came  over  with  the  Conqueror.  For,  it  is  a  re- 
markable fact  in  genealogy  that  no  De  Any  ones 
ever  came  over  with  Any  body  else. 

But,  the  Reginald  Wilfer  family  were  of  such 
commonplace  extraction  and  pursuits  that  their 
forefathers  had  for  generations  modestly  sub- 
sisted on  the  Docks,  the  Excise-Office,  and  the 
Custom-House,  and  the  existing  R.  Wilfer  was 
a  poor  clerk.  So  poor  a  clerk,  though  having  a 
limited  salary  and  an  unlimited  family,  that  he 
had  never  yet  attained  the  modest  object  of  his 
ambition :  which  was,  to  wear  a  complete  new 
suit  of  clothes,  hat  and  boots  included,  at  one 
time.  His  black  hat  was  brown  before  he  could 
afford  a  coat,  his  pantaloons  were  white  at  the 
seams  and  knees  before  he  could  buy  a  pair  of 
boots,  his  boots  had  worn  out  before  he  could 
treat  himself  to  new  pantaloons,  and,  by  the  time 
he  worked  round  to  the  hat  again,  that  shining 
modern  article  roofed-in  an  ancient  ruin  of  va- 
rious periods. 

If  the  conventional  Cherub  could  ever  grow 
up  and  clothed,  he  might  be  photographed  as  a 
view  of  Wilfer.  His  chubby,  smooth,  innocent 
appearance  was  a  reason  for  his  being  always 
treated  with  condescension  when  he  was  not  put 
down.     A  stranger  entering  his  own  poor  house 


at  about  ten  o'clock  p.m.  might  have  been  sur- 
prised to  find  him  sitting  up  to  supper.  So  boy- 
ish was  he  in  his  curves  and  proportions,  that 
his  old  schoolmaster  meeting  him  in  Cheapside, 
might  have  been  unable  to  withstand  the  tempt- 
ation of  caning  him  on  the  spot.  In  short,  he 
was  the  conventional  cherub,  after  the  supposi- 
titious shoot  just  mentioned,  rather  gray,  with 
signs  of  care  on  his  expression,  and  in  decidedly 
insolvent  circumstances. 

He  was  shy,  and  unwilling  to  own  to  the  name 
of  Reginald,  as  being  too  aspiring  and  self-assert- 
ive a  name.  In  his  signature  he  used  only  the 
initial  R.,  and  imparted  what  it  really  stood  for 
to  none  but  chosen  friends,  under  the  seal  of  con- 
fidence. Out  of  this,  the  facetious  habit  had 
arisen  in  the  neighborhood  surrounding  Mincing 
Lane  of  making  Christian  names  for  him  of  ad- 
jectives and  participles  beginning  with  R.  Some 
of  these  were  more  or  less  appropriate :  as  Rusty, 
Retiring,  Ruddy,  Round,  Ripe,  Ridiculous,  Ru- 
minative ;  others  derived  their  point  from  their 
want  of  application — as  Paging,  Rattling,  Roar- 
ing, Raffish.  But  his  popular  name  was  Rum- 
ty,  which  in  a  moment  of  inspiration  had  been 
bestowed  upon  him  by  a  gentleman  of  convivial 
habits  connected  with  the  drug-market,  as  the 
beginning  of  a  social  chorus,  his  leading  part  in 
the  execution  of  which  had  led  this  gentleman 
to  the  Temple  of  Fame,  and  of  which  the  whole 
expressive  burden  ran : 

"Eumty  iddity,  row  dow  dow, 
Sing  toodlely,  teedlely,  bow  wow  wow." 

Thus  he  was  constantly  addressed,  even  in  minor 
notes  on  business,  as  "  Dear  Rumpty ;"  in  answer 
to  which,  he  sedately  signed  himself,  "Yours 
truly,  R.  Wilfer." 

He  was  clerk  in  the  drug-house  of  Chicksey, 
Veneering,  and  Stobbles.  Chicksey  and  Stob- 
bles,  his  former  masters,  had  both  become  ab- 
sorbed in  Veneering,  once  their  traveler  or  com- 
mission agent :  who  had  signalized  his  accession 
to  supreme  power  by  bringing  into  the  business 
a  quantity  of  plate-glass  window  and  French- 
polished  mahogany  partition,  and  a  gleaming 
and  enormous  door-plate. 

R.  Wilfer  locked  up  his  desk  one  evening, 
and,  putting  his  bunch  of  keys  in  his  pocket 
much  as  if  it  were  his  peg-top,  made  for  home. 
His  house  was  in  the  Holloway  region  north  of 
London,  and  then  divided  from  it  by  fields  and 
trees.  Between  Battle  Bridge  and  that  part  of 
the  Holloway  district  in  which  he  dwelt,  was  a 
tract  of  suburban  Sahara,  where  tiles  and  bricks 
were  burnt,  bones  were  boiled,  carpets  were  beat, 
rubbish  was  shot,  dogs  were  fought,  and  dust 
was  heaped  by  contractors.  Skirting  the  border 
of  this  desert,  by  the  way  he  took,  when  the  light 
of  its  kiln-fires  made  lurid  smears  on  the  fog,  R. 
Wilfer  sighed  and  shook  his  head. 

"Ah  me!"  said  he,  "what  might  have  been 
is  not  what  is !" 

With  which  commentary  on  human  life,  indi- 
cating an  experience  of  it  not  exclusively  his 
own,  he  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  the  end  of 
his  journey. 

Mrs.  Wilfer  was,  of  course,  a  tall  woman  and 
an  angular.  Her  lord  being  cherubic,  she  was 
necessarily  majestic,  according  to  the  principle 
which  matrimonially  unites  contrasts.  She  was 
much  given  to  tying  up  her  head  in  a  pocket- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


handkerchief,  knotted  under  the  chin.  This 
head-gear,  in  conjunction  with  a  pair  of  gloves 
worn  within  doors,  she  seemed  to  consider  as  at 
once  a  kind  of  armor  against  misfortune  (invari- 
ably assuming  it  when  in  low  spirits  or  difficul- 
ties), and  as  a  species  of  full  dress.  It  was  there- 
fore with  some  sinking  of  the  spirit  that  her  hus- 
band beheld  her  thus  heroically  attired,  putting 
down  her  candle  in  the  little  hall,  and  coming 
down  the  door-steps  through  the  little1  front  court 
to  open  the  gate  for  him. 

Something  had  gone  wrong  with  the  house- 
door,  for  R.  Wilfer  stopped  on  the  steps,  staring 
at  it,  and  cried :  "Halloa?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  "the  man  came 
himself  with  a  pair  of  pincers,  and  took  it  off, 
and  took  it  away.  He  said  that  as  he  had  no 
expectation  of  ever  being  paid  for  it,  and  as  he 
had  an  order  for  another  Ladies'  School  door- 
plate,  it  was  better  (burnished  up)  for  the  inter- 
ests of  all  parties." 

"Perhaps  it  was,  my  dear;  what  do  you 
think?" 

"You  are  master  here,  R.  W.,"  returned  his 
wife.  "It  is  as  you  think;  not  as  I  do.  Per- 
haps it  might  have  been  better  if  the  man  had 
taken  the  door  too  ?" 

' '  My  dear,  we  couldn't  have  done  without  the 
door." 

"  Couldn't  we  ?" 

"Why,  my  dear !     Could  we ?" 

"It  is  as  you  think,  R.  W.  ;  not  as  I  do." 
With  those  submissive  words,  the  dutiful  wife 
preceded  him  down  a  few  stairs  to  a  little  base- 
ment front-room,  half  kitchen,  half  parlor,  where 
a  girl  of  about  nineteen,  with  an  exceedingly 
pretty  figure  and  face,  but  with  an  impatient 
and  petulant  expression  both  in  her  face  and  in 
her  shoulders  (which  in  her  sex  and  at  her  age 
are  very  expressive  of  discontent),  sat  playing 
draughts  with  a  younger  girl,  who  was  the  youn- 
gest of  the  House  of  Wilfer.  Not  to  encumber 
this  page  by  telling  off  the  Wilfers  in  detail  and 
casting  them  up  in  the  gross,  it  is  enough  for 
the  present  that  the  rest  were  what  is  called 
"out  in  the  world,"  in  various  ways,  and  that 
they  were  Many.  So  many,  that  when  one  of 
his  dutiful  children  called  in  to  see  him,  R.  Wil- 
fer generally  seemed  to  say  to  himself,  after  a 
little  mental  arithmetic,  "  Oh !  here's  another 
of  'em!"  before  adding  aloud,  "How  de  do, 
John,"  or  Susan,  as  the  case  might  be. 

"  Well,  Piggy vviggies,"  said  R.  W.,  "  how  de 
do  to-night  ?  What  I  was  thinking  of,  my  dear, " 
to  Mrs.  Wilfer  already  seated  in  a  corner  with 
folded  gloves,  "was,  that  as  we  have  let  our  first 
floor  so  well,  and  as  we  have  now  no  place  in 
which  you  could  teach  pupils,  even  if  pupils — " 

"The  milkman  said  he  knew  of  two  young 
ladies  of  the  highest  respectability  who  were  in 
search  of  a  suitable  establishment,  and  he  took 
a  card,"  interposed  Mrs.  Wilfer,  with  severe  mo- 
notony, as  if  she  were  reading  an  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment aloud.  "Tell  your  father  whether  it  was 
last  Monday,  Bella." 

"But  we  never  heard  any  more  of  it,  ma," 
said  Bella,  the  elder  girl. 

"In  addition  to  which,  my  dear,"  her  hus- 
band urged,  "if  you  have  no  place  to  put  two 
young  persons  into — " 

"Pardon  me,"  Mrs.  Wilfer  again  interposed ; 
"they  were  not  young  persons.     Two  young 


ladies  of  the  highest  respectability.  Tell  your 
father,  Bella,  whether  the  milkman  said  so." 

"My  dear,  it  is  the  same  thing." 

"No  it  is  not,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  with  the 
same  impressive  monotony.     " Pardon  me!" 

"I  mean,  my  dear,  it  is  the  same  thing  as  to 
space.  As  to  space.  If  you  have  no  space  in 
which  to  put  two  youthful  fellow-creatures,  how- 
ever eminently  respectable,  which  I  do  not  doubt, 
where  are  those  youthful  fellow-creatures  to  be 
accommodated  ?  I  carry  it  no  further  than  that. 
And  solely  looking  at  it,"  said  her  husband, 
making  the  stipulation  at  once  in  a  conciliatory, 
complimentary,  and  argumentative  tone — "as  I 
am  sure  you  will  agree,  my  love — from  a  fellow- 
creature  point  of  view,  my  dear." 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,"  returned  Mrs. 
Wilfer,  with  a  meek  renunciatory  action  of  her 
gloves.     "  It  is  as  you  think,  R.  W. ;  not  as  I  do." 

Here,  the  huffing  of  Miss  Bella  and  the  loss 
of  three  of  her  men  at  a  swoop,  aggravated  by 
the  coronation  of  an  opponent,  led  to  that  young 
lady's  jerking  the  draught-board  and  pieces  off 
the  table:  which  her  sister  went  down  on  her 
knees  to  pick  up. 

"Poor  Bella!"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer. 

' '  And  poor  Lavinia,  perhaps,  my  dear  ?"  sug- 
gested R.  W. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  "no!" 

It  was  one  of  the  worthy  woman's  specialties 
that  she  had  an  amazing  power  of  gratifying 
her  splenetic  or  worldly-minded  humors  by  ex- 
tolling her  own  family :  which  she  thus  proceed- 
ed, in  the  present  case,  to  do. 

"No,  R.  W.  Lavinia  has  not  known  the 
trial  that  Bella  has  known.  The  trial  that  your 
daughter  Bella  has  undergone,  is,  perhaps,  with- 
out a  parallel,  and  has  been  borne,  I  will  say, 
Nobly.  When  you  see  your  daughter  Bella  in 
her  black  dress,  which  she  alone  of  all  the  family 
wears,  and  when  you  remember  the  circum- 
stances which  have  led  to  her  wearing  it,  and 
when  you  know  how  those  circumstances  have 
been  sustained,  then,  R.  W.,  lay  your  head  upon 
your  pillow  and  say,  'Poor  Lavinia!'  " 

Here,  Miss  Lavinia,  from  her  kneeling  situa- 
tion under  the  table,  put  in  that  she  didn't  want 
to  be  "poored  by  pa,"  or  any  body  else. 

"I  am  sure  you  do  not,  my  dear,"  returned 
her  mother,  ' '  for  you .  have  a  fine  brave  spirit. 
And  your  sister  Cecilia  has  a  fine  brave  spirit 
of  another  kind,  a  spirit  of  pure  devotion,  a 
beau-ti-ful  spirit !  The  self-sacrifice  of  Cecilia 
reveals  a  pure  and  womanly  character,  very 
seldom  equaled — never  surpassed.  I  have  now 
in  my  pocket  a  letter  from  your  sister  Cecilia, 
received  this  morning — received  three  months 
after  her  marriage,  poor  child ! — in  which  she 
tells  me  that  her  husband  must  unexpectedly 
shelter  under  their  roof  his  reduced  aunt.  'But 
I  will  be  true  to  him,  mamma,'  she  touchingly 
writes,  '  I  will  not  leave  him,  I  must  not  forget 
that  he  is  my  husband.  Let  his  aunt  come !' 
If  this  is  not  pathetic,  if  this  is  not  woman's  de- 
votion— !"  The  good  lady  waved  her  gloves  in 
a  sense  of  the  impossibility  of  saying  more,  and 
tied  the  pocket-handkerchief  over  her  head  in  a 
tighter  knot  under  her  chin. 

Bella,  who  was  now  seated  on  the  rug  to  warm 
herself,  with  her  brown  eyes  on  the  fire  and  a 
handful  of  her  brown  curls  in  her  mouth,  laughed 
at  this,  and  then  pouted  and  half  cried. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


31 


"I  am  sure,"  said  she,  "  though -you  have  no 
feeling  for  me,  pa,  I  am  one  of  the  most  unfor- 
tunate girls  that  ever  lived.  You  know  how 
poor  we  are"  (it  is  probable  he  did,'  having  some 
reason  to  know  it!),  "and  what  a  glimpse  of 
wealth  I  had,  and  how  it  melted  away,  and  how 
I  am  here  in  this  ridiculous  mourning — which  I 
hate ! — a  kind  of  a  widow  who  never  was  mar- 
ried. And  yet  you  don't  feel  for  me. — Yes  you 
do,  yes  you  do." 

This  abrupt  change  was  occasioned  by  her  fa- 
ther's, face.  She  stopped  to  pull  him  down  from 
his  chair  in  an  attitude  highly  favorable  to  stran- 
gulation, and  to  give  him  a  kiss  and  a  pat  or 
two  on  the  cheek. 

"  But  you  ought  to  feel  for  me,  you  know,  pa." 

"My  dear,  I  do." 

"Yes,  and  I  say  you  ought  to.  If  they  had 
only  left  me  alone  and  told  me  nothing  about 
it,  it  would  have  mattered  much  less.  But  that 
nasty  Mr.  Lightwood  feels  it  his  duty,  as  he 
says,  to  write  and  tell  me  what  is  in  reserve  for 
me,  and  then  I  am  obliged  to  get  rid  of  George 
Sampson." 

Here,  Lavinia,  rising  to  the  surface  with  the 
last  draughtman  rescued,  interposed,  "You never 
cared  for  George  Sampson,  Bella." 

"And  did  I  say  I  did,  miss?"  Then,  pout- 
ing again,  with  the  curls  in  her  mouth ;  "  George 
Sampson  was  very  fond  of  me,  and  admired  me 
very  much,  and  put  up  with  every  thing  I  did  to 
him." 

"You  were  rude  enough  to  him,"  Lavinia 
again  interposed. 

' '  And  did  I  say  I  wasn't,  miss  ?  I  am  not 
setting  up  to  be  sentimental  about  George  Samp- 
son. I  only  say  George  Sampson  was  better 
than  nothing." 

"You  didn't  show  him  that  you  thought  even 
that,"  Lavinia  again  interposed. 

"You  are  a  chit  and  a  little  idiot,"  returned 
Bella,  "or  you  wouldn't  make  such  a  dolly 
speech.  What  did  you  expect  me  to  do  ?  Wait 
till  you  are  a  woman,  and  don't  talk  about  what 
you  don't  understand.  You  only  show  your  ig- 
norance !"  Then,  whimpering  again,  and  at  in- 
tervals biting  the  curls,  and  stopping  to  look  how 
much  was  bitten  off,  "It's  a  shame!  There 
never  was  such  a  hard  case !  I  shouldn't  care 
so  much  if  it  wasn't  so  ridiculous.  It  was  ridic- 
ulous enough  to  have  a  stranger  coming  over  to 
marry  me,  whether  he  liked  it  or  not.  It  was 
ridiculous  enough  to  know  what  an  embarrass- 
ing meeting  it  would  be,  and  how  we  never  could 
pretend  to  have  an  inclination  of  our  own,  either 
of  us.  It  was  ridiculous  enough  to  know  I 
shouldn't  like  him — how  could  I  like  him,  left  to 
him  in  a  will  like  a  dozen  of  spoons,  with  every 
thing  cut  and  dried  beforehand,  like  orange 
chips.  Talk  of  orange  flowers  indeed!  I  de- 
clare again  it's  a  shame!  Those  ridiculous 
points  would  have  been  smoothed  away  by  the 
money,  for  I  love  money,  and  want  money — 
want  it  dreadfully.  I  hate  to  be  poor,  and  we 
are  degradingly  poor,  offensively  poor,  misera- 
bly poor,  beastly  poor.  But  here  I  am,  left  with 
all  the  ridiculous  parts  of  the  situation  remain- 
ing, and,  added  to  them  all,  this  ridiculous 
dress !  And  if  the  truth  was  known,  when  the 
Harmon  murder  was  all  over  the  town,  and  peo- 
ple were  speculating  on  its  being  suicide,  I  dare 
say  those  impudent  wretches  at  the  clubs  and 


places  made  jokes  about  the  miserable  creature's 
having  preferred  a  watery  grave  to  me.  It's 
likely  enough  they  took  such  liberties ;  I 
shouldn't  wonder !  I  declare  it's  a  very  hard 
case  indeed,  and  I  am  a  most  unfortunate  girl. 
The  idea  of  being  a  kind  of  a  widow,  and  never 
having  been  married !  And  the  idea  of  being  as 
poor  as  ever  after  all,  and  going  into  black,  be- 
sides, for  a  man  I  never  saw,  and  should  have 
hated — as  far  as  he  was  concerned — if  I  had 
seen !" 

The  young  lady's  lamentations  were  checked 
at  this  point  by  a  knuckle,  knocking  at  the  half- 
open  door  of  the  room.  The  knuckle  had  knock- 
ed two  or  three  times  already,  but  had  not  been 
heard. 

"Who  is  it?"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  in  her  Act- 
of-Parliament  manner.     "Enter !" 

A  gentleman  coming  in,  Miss  Bella,  with  a 
short  and  sharp  exclamation,  scrambled  off  the 
hearth-rug  and  massed  the  bitten  curls  together 
in  their  right  place  on  her  neck. 

"The  servant-girl  had  her  key  in  the  door  as 
I  came  up,  and  directed  me  to  this  room,  telling 
me  I  was  expected.  I  am  afraid  I  should  have 
asked  her  to  announce  me." 

"Pardon  me,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilfer.  "Not 
at  all.  Two  of  my  daughters.  R.  W.,  this  is 
the  gentleman  who  has  taken  our  first-floor. 
He  was  so  good  as  to  make  an  appointment  for 
to-night,  when  you  would  be  at  home." 

A  dark  gentleman.  Thirty  at  the  most.  An 
expressive,  one  might  say  handsome,  face.  A 
very  bad  manner.  In  the  last  degree  constrain- 
ed, reserved,  diffident,  troubled.  His  eyes  were 
on  Miss  Bella  for  an  instant,  and  then  looked  at 
the  ground  as  he  addressed  the  master  of  the 
house. 

"  Seeing  that  I  am  quite  satisfied,  Mr.  Wil- 
fer, with  the  rooms,  and  with  their  situation,  and 
with  their  price,  I  suppose  a  memorandum  be- 
tween us  of  two  or  three  lines,  and  a  payment 
down,  will  bind  the  bargain  ?  I  wish  to  send  in 
furniture  without  delay." 

Two  or  three  times  during  this  short  address, 
the  cherub  addressed  had  made  chubby  motions 
towards  a  chair.  The  gentleman  now  took  it, 
laying  a  hesitating  hand  on  a  corner  of  the  ta- 
ble, and  with  another  hesitating  hand  lifting  the 
crown  of  his  hat  to  his  lips,  and  drawing  it  be- 
fore his  mouth. 

"The  gentleman,  R.  W.,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
"proposes  to  take  our  apartments  by  the  quar- 
ter.    A  quarter's  notice  on  either  side." 

"Shall  I  mention,  Sir,"  insinuated  the  land- 
lord, expecting  it  to  be  received  as  a  matter  of 
course,  "the  form  of  a  reference?" 

"I  think,"  returned  the  gentleman,  after  a 
pause,  "that  a  reference  is  not  necessary;  nei- 
ther, to  say  the  truth,  is  it  convenient,  for  I  am 
a  stranger  in  London.  I  require  no  reference 
from  you,  and  perhaps,  therefore,  you  will  re- 
quire none  from  me.  That  will  be  fair  on  both 
sides.  Indeed,  I  show  the  greater  confidence 
of  the  two,  for  I  will  pay  in  advance  whatever 
you  please,  and  I  am  going  to  trust  my  furni- 
ture here.  Whereas,  if  you  were  in  embarrassed 
circumstances — this  is  merely  supposititious — " 

Conscience  causing  R.  Wilfer  to  color,  Mrs. 
Wilfer,  from  a  corner  (she  always  got  into  state- 
ly corners)  came  to  the  rescue  with  a  deep-toned 
"  Per-fectly." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


WITNESSING  THE   AGREEMENT. 


"—Why  then  I— I  might  lose  it." 

"Well!"  observed  R.  Wilfer,  cheerfully, 
"money  and  goods  are  certainly  the  best  of 
references." 

"Do  you  think  they  are  the  best,  pa?"  asked 
Miss  Bella,  in  a  low  voice,  and  without  looking 
over  her  shoulder  as  she  warmed  her  foot  on  the 
fender. 

"Among  the  best,  my  dear." 

"I  should  have  thought,  myself,  it  was  so 
easy  to  add  the  usual  kind  of  one,"  said  Bella, 
with  a  toss  of  her  curls. 

The  gentleman  listened  to  her,  with  a  face  of 
marked  attention,  though  he  neither  looked  up 
nor  changed  his  attitude.  He  sat,  still  and  si- 
lent, until  his  future  landlord  accepted  his  pro- 


posals, and  brought  writing  materials  to  com- 
plete the  business.  He  sat,  still  and  silent, 
while  the  landlord  wrote. 

When  the  agreement  was  ready  in  duplicate 
(the  landlord  having  worked  at  it  like  some 
cherubic  scribe,  in  what  is  conventionally  called  a 
doubtful,  which  means  a  not  at  all  doubtful,  Old 
Master),  it  was  signed  by  the  contracting  par- 
ties, Bella  looking  on  as  scornful  witness.  The 
contracting  parties  were  R.  Wilfer,  and  John 
j  Rokesmith,  Esquire. 

When  it  came  to  Bella's  turn  to  sign  her 

name,  Mr.  Rokesmith,  who  was  standing,  as  he 

!  had  sat,  with  a  hesitating  hand  upon  the  table, 

I  looked  at  her  stealthily,  but  narrowly.     He  look- 

i  ed  at  the  pretty  figure  bending  down  over  the 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


33 


paper  and  saying,  "Where  am  I  to  go,  pa? 
Here,  in  this  corner  ?"  He  looked  at  the  beau- 
tiful brown  hair,  shading  the  coquettish  face; 
he  looked  at  the  free  (jash  of  the  signature, 
which  was  a  bold  one  for  a  woman's;  and  then 
they  looked  at  one  another. 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Wilfer." 
"Obliged?" 

"I  have  given  you  so  much  trouble." 
"Signing  my  name?    Yes,  certainly.     But  I 
am  your  landlord's  daughter,  Sir." 

As  there  was  nothing  more  to  do  but  pay 
eight  sovereigns  in  earnest  of  the  bargain,  pock- 
et the  agreement,  appoint  a  time  for  the  arrival 
of  his  furniture  and  himself,  and  go,  Mr.  Roke- 
smith  did  that  as  awkwardly  as  it  might  be  done, 
and  was  escorted  by  his  landlord  to  the  outer 
air.  When  R.  Wilfer  returned,  candlestick  in 
hand,  to  the  bosom  of  his  family,  he  found  the 
bosom  agitated. 

"Pa,"  said  Bella,  "we  have  got  a  Murderer 
for  a  tenant." 

"  Pa,"  said  Lavinia,  "we  have  got  a  Robber." 
"To  see  him  unable  for  his  life  to  look  any 
body  in  the  face!"  said  Bella.     "There  never 
was  such  an  exhibition." 

"My  dears,"  said  their  father,  "  he  is  a  diffi- 
dent gentleman,  and  I  should  say  particularly 
so  in  the  society  of  girls  of  your  age." 

"Nonsense,  our  age !"  cried  Bella,  impatient- 
ly.    "What's  that  got  to  do  with  him ?" 

"Besides,  we  are  not  of  the  same  age: — 
which  age?"  demanded  Lavinia. 

"Never  you  mind,  Lavvy,"  retorted  Bella; 
"you  wait  till  you  are  of  an  age  to  ask  such 
questions.  Pa,  mark  my  words  !  Between  Mr. 
Rokesmith  and  me  there  is  a  natural  antipathy 
and  a  deep  distrust ;  and  something  will  come 
of  it!" 

"My  dear,  and  girls,"  said  the  cherub-patri- 
arch, "  between  Mr.  Rokesmith  and  me  there  is 
a  matter  of  eight  sovereigns^  and  something  for 
supper  shall  come  of  it,  if  you'll  agree  upon  the 
article." 

This  was  a  neat  and  happy  turn  to  give  the 
subject,  treats  being  rare  in  the  Wilfer  house- 
hold, where  a  monotonous  appearance  of  Dutch- 
cheese  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  had  been 
rather  frequently  commented  on  by  the  dimpled 
shoulders  of  Miss  Bella.  Indeed,  the  modest 
Dutchman  himself  seemed  conscious  of  his  want 
of  variety,  and  generally  came  before  the  family 
in  a  state  of  apologetic  perspiration.  After  some 
discussion  on  the  relative  merits  of  veal-cutlet, 
sweet-bread,  and  lobster,  a  decision  was  pro- 
nounced in  favor  of  veal-cutlet.  Mrs.  Wilfer 
then  solemnly  divested  herself  of  her  handker- 
chief and  gloves,  as  a  preliminary  sacrifice  to 
preparing  the  frying-pan,  and  R.  W.  himself 
went  out  to  purchase  the  viand.  He  soon  re- 
turned, bearing  the  same  in  a  fresh  cabbage- 
leaf,  where  it  coyly  embraced  a  rasher  of  ham. 
Melodious  sounds  were  not  long  in  rising  from 
the  frying-pan  on  the  fire,  or  in  seeming,  as  the 
fire-light  danced  in  the  mellow  halls  of  a  couple 
of  full  bottles  on  the  table,  to  play  appropriate 
dance-music. 

Tlje  cloth  was  laid  by  Lavvy.  Bella,  as  the 
acknowledged  ornament  of  the  family,  employed 
both  her  hands  in  giving  her  hair  an  additional 
wave  while  sitting  in  the  easiest  chair,  and  oc- 
casionally threw  in  a  direction  touching  the  sup- 
C 


per:  as,  "Very  brown,  ma;"  or,  to  her  sister, 
"Put  the  salt-cellar  straight,  miss,  and  don't  be 
a  dowdy  little  puss." 

Meantime  her  father,  chinking  Mr.  Roke- 
smith's  gold  as  he  sat  expectant  between  his 
knife  and  fork,  remarked  that  six  of  those  sov- 
ereigns came  just  in  time  for  their  landlord,  and 
stood  them  in  a  little  pile  on  the  white  table- 
cloth to  look  at. 

"  I  hate  our  landlord !"  said  Bella. 
But,  observing  a  fall  in  her  father's  face,  she 
went  and  sat  down  by  him  at  the  table,  and  be- 
gan touching  up  his  hair  with  the  handle  of  a 
fork.  It  was  one  of  the  girl's  spoiled  ways  to  be 
always  arranging  the  family's  hair — perhaps  be- 
cause her  own  was  so  pretty,  and  occupied  so 
much  of  her  attention. 

"You  deserve  to  have  a  house  of  your  own ; 
don't  you,  poor  pa?" 

"I  don't  deserve  it  better  than  another,  my 
dear." 

"At  any  rate  I,  for  one,  want  it  more  than 
another,"  said  Bella,  holding  him  by  the  chin, 
as  she  stuck  his  flaxen  hair  on  end,  "and  I 
grudge  this  money  going  to  the  Monster  that 
swallows  up  so  much,  when  we  all  want — even- 
thing.  And  if  you  say  (as  you  want  to  say ;  I 
know  you  want  to  say  so,  pa)  '  that's  neither 
reasonable  nor  honest,  Bella,'  then  I  answer, 
*  May  be  not,  pa — very  likely — but  it's  one  of 
the  consequences  of  being  poor,  and  of  thorough- 
ly hating  and  detesting  to  be  poor,  and  that's  my 
case.'  Now,  you  look  lovely,  pa;  why  don't 
you  always  wear  your  hair  like  that  ?  And  here's 
the  cutlet !  If  it  isn't  very  brown,  ma,  I  can't 
eat  it,  and  must  have  a  bit  put  back  to  be  done 
expressly." 

However,  as  it  was  brown,  even  to  Bella's 
taste,  the  young  lady  graciously  partook  of  it 
without  reeonsignment  to  the  frying-pan,  and 
also,  in  due  course,  of  the  contents  of  the  two 
bottles:  whereof  one  held  Scotch  ale  and  the 
other  rum.  The  latter  perfume,  with  the  fos- 
tering aid  of  boiling  water  and  lemon-peel,  dif- 
fused itself  throughout  the  room,  and  became  ^o 
highly  concentrated  around  the  warm  fireside, 
that  the  wind  passing  over  the  house  roof  must 
have  rushed  oft*  charged  with  a  delicious  whiff 
of  it,  after  buzzing  like  a  great  bee  at  that  par- 
ticular chimney-pot. 

'  ■  Pa, "  said  Bella,  sipping  the  fragrant  mixt- 
ure and  warming  her  favorite  ankle ;  "  when 
old  Mr.  Harmon  made  such  a  fool  of  me  (not  to 
mention  himself,  as  he  is  dead),  what  do  you 
suppose  he  did  it  for?" 

"  Impossible  to  say,  my  dear.  As  I  have  told 
you  times  out  of  number  since  his  will  was 
brought  to  light,  I  doubt  if  I  ever  exchanged  a 
hundred  words  with  the  old  gentleman.  If  it 
was  his  whim  to  surprise  us,  his  whim  succeed- 
ed.    For  he  certainly  did  it." 

"And  I  was  stamping  my  foot  and  screaming, 
when  he  first  took  notice  of  me  ;  was  I?"  said 
Bella,  contemplating  the  ankle  before  mentioned. 
"  You  were  stamping  your  little  foot,  my  dear, 
and  screaming  with  your  little  voice,  and  laying 
into  me  with  your  little  bonnet,  which  you  had 
snatched  off  for  the  purpose,"  returned  her  fa- 
ther, as  if  the  remembrance  gave  a  relish  to  the 
rum;  "you  were  doing  this  one  Sunday  morn- 
ing when  I  took  you  out,  because  I  didn't  go 
the  exact  way  you  wanted,  when  the  old  gentle- 


84 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


man,  sitting  on  a  seat  near,  said,  '  That's  a  nice 
girl;  that's  a  very  nice  girl;  a  promising  girl!' 
And  so  you  were,  my  dear." 

"And  then  he  asked  my  name,  did  he,  pa?" 

"Then  he  asked  your  name,  my  dear,  and 
mine ;  and  on  other  Sunday  mornings,  when  we 
walked  his  way,  we  saw  him  again,  and— and 
really  that's  all." 

As  that  was  all  the  rum  and  water  too,  or,  in 
other  words,  as  R.  W.  delicately  signified  that 
his  glass  was  empty,  by  throwing  back  his  head 
and  standing  the  glass  upside  down  on  his  nose 
and  upper  lip,  it  might  have  been  charitable  in 
Mrs.  Wilfer  to  suggest  replenishment.  But  that 
heroine  briefly  suggesting  "Bedtime"  instead, 
the  bottles  were  put  away,  and  the  family  re- 
tired; she  cherubically  escorted,  like  some  se- 
vere saint  in  a  painting,  or  merely  human  mat- 
ron allegorically  treated. 

"And  by  this  time  to-morrow,"  said  Lavinia, 
when  the  two  girls  were  alone  in  their  room, 
"  we  shall  have  Mr.  Rokesmith  here,  and  shall 
be  expecting  to  have  our  throats  cut." 

"You  needn't  stand  between  me  and  the  can- 
dle for  all  that,"  retorted  Bella.  "This  is  an- 
other of  the  consequences  of  being  poor !  The 
idea  of  a  girl  with  a  really  fine  head  of  hair 
having  to  do  it  by  one  flat  candle  and  a  few 
inches  of  looking-glass!" 

"You  caught  George  Sampson  with  it,  Bella, 
bad  as  your  means  of  dressing  it  are." 

"  You  low  little  thing.  Caught  George  Samp- 
son with  it !  Don't  talk  about  catching  people, 
miss,  till  your  own  time  for  catching — as  you 
call  it — comes." 

"Perhaps  it  has  come," muttered  Lavvy,  with 
a  toss  of  her  head. 

"What  did  you  say  ?"  asked  Bella,  very  sharp- 
ly.    "  What  did  you  say,  miss  ?" 

Lavvy  declining  equally  to  repeat  or  to  ex- 
plain, Bella  gradually  lapsed  over  her  hair-dress- 
ing into  a  soliloquy  on  the  miseries  of  being 
poor,  as  exemplified  in  having  nothing  to  put 
on,  nothing  to  go  out  in,  nothing  to  dress  by, 
only  a  nasty  box  to  dress  at  instead  of  a  com- 
modious dressing-table,  and  being  obliged  to  take 
in  suspicious  lodgers.  On  the  last  grievance  as 
her  climax  she  laid  great  stress — and  might 
have  laid  greater,  had  she  known  that  if  Mr. 
Julius  Handford  had  a  twin  brother  upon  earth 
Mr.  John  Rokesmith  was  the  man. 


CHAPTER  V. 

boffin's  bower. 

Over  against  a  London  house,  a  corner 
house  not  far  from  Cavendish  Square,  a  man 
with  a  wooden  leg  had  sat  for  some  years,  with 
his  remaining  foot  in  a  basket  in  cold  weather, 
picking  up  a  living  on  this  wise : — Every  morn- 
ing at  eight  o'clock  he  stumped  to  the  corner, 
carrying  a  chair,  a  clothes-horse,  a  pair  of  tres- 
tles, a 'board,  a  basket,  and  an  umbrella,  all 
strapped  together.  Separating  these,  the  board 
and  trestles  became  a  counter,  the  basket  sup- 
plied the  few  small  lots  of  fruit  and  sweets  that 
he  offered  for  sale  upon  it  and  became  a  foot- 
warmer,  the  unfolded  clothes-horse  displayed  a 
choice  eollection  of  half-penny  ballads  and  be- 
came a  screen,  and  the  stool  planted  within  it 


became  his  post  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  All 
weathers  saw  the  man  at  the  post.  This  is  to 
be  accepted  in  a  double  sense,  for  he  contrived 
a  back  to  his  wooden  stool  by  placing  it  against 
the  lamp-post.  When  the  weather  was  wet,  he 
put  up  his  umbrella  over  his  stock  in  trade,  not 
over  himself;  when  the  weather  was  dry,  he 
furled  that  faded  article,  tied  it  round  with  a 
piece  of  yarn,  and  laid  it  cross-wise  under  the 
trestles :  where  it  looked  like  an  unwholesomely- 
forced  lettuce  that  had  lost  in  color  and  crisp- 
ness  what  it  had  gained  in  size. 

He  had  established  his  right  to  the  corner,  by 
imperceptible  prescription.  He  had  never  va- 
ried his  ground  an  inch,  but  had  in  the  begin- 
ning diffidently  taken  the  corner  upon  which  the 
side  of  the  house  gave.  A  howling  corner  in 
the  winter-time,  a  dusty  corner  in  the  summer- 
time, an  undesirable  corner  at  the  best  of  times. 
Shelterless  fragments  of  straw  and  paper  got  up 
revolving  storms  there,  when  the  main  street 
was  at  peace ;  and  the  water-cart,  as  if  it  were 
drunk  or  short-sighted,  came  blundering  and 
jolting  round  it,  making  it  muddy  when  all  else 
was  clean. 

On  the  front  of  his  sale-board  hung  a  little 
placard,  like  a  kettle-holder,  bearing  the  inscrip- 
tion in  his  own  small  text : 


Errands  gone 

On  loith  fi 

Delity  By 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen 

1  remain 

Your  humble  Serv1: 

Silas  Wegg. 


He  had  not  only  settled  it  with  himself  in  course 
of  time,  that  he  was  errand-goer  by  appointment 
to  the  house  at  the  corner  (though  he  received 
such  commissions  not  half  a  dozen  times  in  a 
year,  and  then  only  as  some  servant's  deputy), 
but  also  that  he  was  one  of  the  house's  retainers 
and  owed  vassalage  to  it  and  was  bound  to  leal 
and  loyal  interest  in  it.  For  this  reason,  he  al- 
ways spoke  of  it  as  "Our  House,"  and,  though 
his  knowledge  of  its  affairs  was  mostly  specula- 
tive and  all  wrong,  claimed  to  be  in  its  confi- 
dence. On  similar  grounds  he  never  beheld  an 
inmate  at  any  one  of  its  windows  but  he  touched 
his  hat.  Yet,  he  knew  so  little  about  the  in- 
mates that  he  gave  them  names  of  his  own  in- 
vention :  as  "Miss  Elizabeth,"  "Master  George," 
"Aunt  Jane,"  "Uncle  Parker" — having  no  au- 
thority whatever  for  any  such  designations,  but 
particularly  the  last — to  which,  as  a  natural  con- 
sequence, he  stuck  with  great  obstinacy. 

Over  the  house  itself  he  exercised  the  same 
hnaginary  power  as  over  its  inhabitants  and  their 
affairs.  He-  had  never  been  in  it,  the  length  of 
a  piece  of  fat  black  water-pipe  which  trailed  it- 
self over  the  area-door  into  a  damp  stone  pas- 
sage, and  had  rather  the  air  of  a  leech  on  the 
house  that  had  "taken"  wonderfully;  but  this 
was  no  impediment  to  his  arranging  it  accord- 
ing to  a  plan  of  his  own.  It  was  a  great  dingy 
house  with  a  quantity  of  dim  side  window  and 
blank  back  premises,  and  it  cost  his  mind  a 
world  of  trouble  so  to  lay  it  out  as  to  account 
for  every  thing  in  its  external  appearance.  But, 
this  once  done,  was  quite  satisfactory,  and  he 
rested  persuaded  that  he  knew  his  way  about 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


35 


the  house  blindfold :  from  the  barred  garrets  in 
the  high  roof,  to  the  two  iron  extinguishers  be- 
fore the  main  door — which  seemed  to  request  all 
lively  visitors  to  have  the  kindness  to  put  them- 
selves out,  before  entering. 

Assuredly,  this  stall  of  Silas  Wegg's  was  the 
hardest  little  stall  of  all  the  sterile  little  stalls  in 
London.  It  gave  you  the  face-ache  to  look  at 
his  apples,  the  stomach-ache  to  look  at  his  or- 
anges, the  tooth-ache  to  look  at  his  nuts.  Of 
the  latter  commodity  he  had  always  a  grim  lit- 
tle heap,  on  which  lay  a  little  wooden  measure 
which  had  no  discernible  inside,  and  was  con- 
sidered to  represent  the  penn'orth  appointed  by 
Magna  Charta.  Whether  from  too  much  east 
wind  or  no — it  was  an  easterly  corner — the  stajl, 
the  stock,  and  the  keeper,  were  all  as  dry  as  the 
Desert.  Wegg  was  a  knotty  man,  and  a  close- 
grained,  with  a  face  carved  out  of  very  hard  ma- 
terial, that  had  just  as  much  play  of  expression 
as  a  watchman's  rattle.  When  he  laughed,  cer- 
tain jerks  occurred  in  it,  and  the  rattle  sprung. 
Sooth  to  say,  he  was  so  wooden  a  man  that  he 
seemed  to  have  taken  his  wooden  leg  naturally, 
and  rather  suggested  to  the  fanciful  observer, 
that  he  might  be  expected — if  his  development 
received  no  untimely  check — to  be  completely 
set  up  with  a  pair  of  wooden  legs  in  about  six 
months.  * 

Mr.  Wegg  was  an  observant  person,  or,  as  he 
himself  said,  "  took  a  powerful  sight  of  notice." 
He  saluted  all  his  regular  passers-by  every  day, 
as  he  sat  on  his  stool  backed  up  by  the  lamp- 
post; and  on  the  adaptable  character  of  these 
salutes  he  greatly  plumed  himself.  Thus,  to 
the  rector,  he  addressed  a  bow,  compounded  of 
lay  deference,  and  a  slight  touch  of  the  shady 
preliminary  meditation  at  church ;  to  the  doc- 
tor, a  confidential  bow,  as  to  a  gentleman  whose 
acquaintance  with  his  inside  he  begged  respect- 
fully to  acknowledge  ;  before  the  Quality  he  de- 
lighted to  abase  himself;  and  for  Uncle  Parker, 
who  was  in  the  army  (at  least,  so  he  had  settled 
it),  he  put  his  open  hand  to  the  side  of  his  hat, 
in  a  military  manner  which  that  angry-eyed, 
buttoned-up  inflammatory-faced  old  gentleman 
appeared  but  imperfectly  to  appreciate. 

The  only  article  in  which  Silas  dealt,  that  was 
not  hard,  was  gingerbread.  On  a  certain  day, 
some  wretched  infant  having  purchased  the  damp 
gingerbiead-horse  (fearfully  out  of  condition), 
and  the  adhesive  bird-cage,  which  had  been  ex- 
posed for  the  day's  sale,  he  had  taken  a  tin  box 
from  under  his  stool  to  produce  a  relay  of  those 
dreadful  specimens,  and  was  going  to  look  in  at 
the  lid,  when  he  said  to  himself,  pausing :  "Oh ! 
Here  you  are  again!" 

The  words  referred  to  a  broad,  round-shoul- 
dered, one-sided  old  fellow  in  mourning,  coming 
comically  ambling  toward  the  corner,  dressed  in 
a  pea  over-coat,  and  carrying  a  large  stick.  He 
wore  thick  shoes,  and  thick  leather  gaiters,  and 
thick  gloves  like  a  hedger's.  Both  as  to  his  dress 
and  to  himself  he  was  of  an  overlapping  rhinoc- 
eros build,  with  folds  in  his  cheeks,  and  his  fore- 
head, and  his  eyelids,  and  his  lips,  and  his  ears ; 
but  with  bright,  eager,  childishly-inquiring,  gray 
eyes,  under  his  ragged  eyebrows,  and  broad- 
brimmed  hat.  A  very  odd-looking  old  fellow 
altogether. 

"  Here  you  are  again,"  repeated  Mr.  Wegg, 
musing.     "And  what  are  you  now?     Are  you 


in  the  Funns,  or  where  are  you  ?  Have  you 
lately  come  to  settle  in  this  neighborhood,  or  do 
you  own  to  another  neighborhood  ?  Are  you  in 
independent  circumstances,  or  is  it  wasting  the 
motions  of  a  bow  on  you  ?  Come !  I'll  specu- 
late !     I'll  invest  a  bow  in  you !" 

Which  Mr.  Wegg,  having  replaced  his  tin  box, 
accordingly  did,  as  he  rose  to  bait  his  ginger- 
bread-trap for  some  other  devoted  infant.  The 
salute  was  acknowledged  with : 

"  Morning,  Sir !     Morning !     Morning !" 

("  Calls  me  Sir!"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  to  himself. 
"He  won't  answer.     A  bow  gone !") 

"Morning,  morning,  morning!" 

"Appears  to  be  rather  a  'arty  old  cock,  too," 
said  Mr.  Wegg,  as  before.  "Good-morning  to 
you,  Sir." 

'  •  Do  you  remember  me,  then  ?"  asked  his  new 
acquaintance,  stopping  in  his  amble,  one-sided, 
before  the  stall,  and  speaking  in  a  pouncing  way, 
though  with  great  good-humor. 

"I  have  noticed  you  go  past  our  house,  Sir, 
several  times  in  the  course  of  the  last  week  or  so. " 

"Our  house,"  repeated  the  other.  "Mean- 
ing—?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  nodding,  as  the  other 
pointed  the  clumsy  forefinger  of  his  right  glove 
at  the  corner  house. 

"Oh!  Now,  what,"  pursued  th^old  fellow, 
in  an  inquisitive  manner,  carrying  his  knotted 
stick  in  his  left  arm  as  if  it  were  a  baby,  "  what 
do  they  allow  you  now  ?" 

"It's  job  work  that  I  do  for  our  house,"  re- 
turned Silas,  dryly,  and  with  reticence;  ^it's 
not  yet  brought  to  an  exact  allowance." 

"Oh!  It's  not  yet  brought  to  an  exact  al- 
lowance ?  No  !  It's  not  yet  brought  to  an  exact 
allowance.    Oh  ! — Morning,  morning,  morning !" 

"Appears,  to  be  rather  a  cracked  old  cock," 
thought  Silas,  qualifying  his  former  good  opin- 
ion, as  the  other  ambled  off.  But,  in  a  moment 
he  was  back  again  with  the  question : 

"How  did  you  get  your  wooden  leg ?" 

Mr.  Wegg  replied  (tartly  to  this  personal  in- 
quiry), "In  an  accident." 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"Weil !  I  haven't  got  to  keep  it  warm,"  Mr. 
Wegg  made  answer,  in  a  sort  of  desperation  oc- 
casioned by  the  singularity  of  the  question. 

"He  hasn't,"  repeated  the  other  to  his  knot- 
ted stick,  as  he  gave  it  a  hug ;  "he  hasn't  got — 
ha  ! — ha  ! — to  keep  it  warm !  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  the  name  of  Boffin  ?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  who  was  growing  rest- 
ive under  this  examination.  "  I  never  did  hear 
of  the  name  of  Boffin.'' 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"Why,  no,"  retorted  Mr.  Wegg,  again-  ap- 
proaching desperation  ;  '•'  I  can't  say  I  do." 

"Why  don't  you  like  it?" 

"I  don't  know  why  I  don't,"  retorted  Mr. 
Wegg,  approaching  frenzy,  "but  I  don't  at  all." 

"Now,  I'll  tell  you  something  that'll  make 
you  sorry  for  that,"  said  the  stranger,  smiling. 
"  My  name's  Boffin." 

"I  can't  help  it!"  returned  Mr.  Wegg.  Im- 
plying in  his  manner  the  offensive  addition, 
"  and  if  I  could,  I  wouldn't." 

"But  there's  another  chance  for  you,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin,  smiling  still ;  "  Do  you  like  the  nam.' 
ofNicodemus?  Think  it  over.    Nick,  or  Noddy." 

"  It  is  not,  Sir,"  Mr.  Wegg  xejoined,  as  he  sat 


36 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


down  on  his  stool,  with  an  air  of  gentle  resigna- 
tion, combined  with  melancholy  candor;  " it  is 
not  a  name  as  I  could  wish  any  one  that  I  had 
a  respect  for,  to  call  vie  by ;  but  there  may  be 
persons  that  would  not  view  it  with  the  same  ob- 
jections.— I  don't  know  why,"  Mr.  Wegg  added, 
anticipating  another  question. 

"  Noddy  Boffin,"  said  that  gentleman.  "Nod- 
dy. That's  my  name.  Noddy — or  Nick — Bof- 
fin.    What's  your  name  ?" 

"Silas  Wegg.— I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Wegg, 
bestirring  himself  to  take  the  same  precaution 
as  before,  "I  don't  know  why  Silas,  and  I  don't 
know  why  Wegg." 

"Now,  Wegg,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  hugging  his 
stick  closer,  "I  want  to  make  a  sort  of  offer  to 
you.    Do  you  remember  when  you  first  see  me  ?" 

The  wooden  Wegg  looked  at  him  with  a  med- 
itative eye,  and  also  with  a  softened  air  as  de- 
scrying possibility  of  profit.  "Let  me  think.  I 
ain't  quite  sure,  and  yet  I  generally  take  a  pow- 
erful sight  of  notice,  too.  Was  it  on  a  Monday 
morning,  when  the  butcher-boy  had  been"  to  our 
house  for  orders,  and  bought  a  ballad  of  me, 
which,  being  unacquainted  with  the  tune,  I  run 
it  over  to  him  ?" 

"Right,  Wegg,  right !  But  he  bought  more 
than  one." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  Sir ;  he  bought  several ;  and 
wishing  to  lay  out  his  money  to  the  best,  he  took 
my  opinion  to  guide  his  choice,  and  we  went  over 
the  collection  together.  To  be  sure  we  did. 
Here  was  him  as  it  might  be,  and  here  was  my- 
self as  it  might  be,  and  there  was  you,  Mr.  Boffin, 
as  you  identically  are,  with  your  self-same  stick 
under  your  very  same  arm,  and  your  very  same 
back  toward  us.  To — be — sure!"  added  Mr. 
Wegg,  looking  a  little  round  Mr.  Boffin,  to  take 
him  in  the  rear,  and  identify  this  last  extraordi- 
nary coincidence,  "your  wery  self-same  back." 

"What  do  you  think  I  was  doing,  Wegg?" 

"I  should  judge,  Sir,  that  you  might  be  glan- 
cing your  eye  down  the  street." 

"  No,  Wegg.     I  was  a-listening." 

"Was  you,  indeed?"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  dubi- 
ously. 

"Not  in  a  dishonorable  way,  Wegg,  because 
you  was  singing  to  the  butcher ;  and  you  wouldn't 
sing  secrets  to  a  butcher  in  the  street,  you  know." 

"It  never  happened  that  I  did  so  yet,  to  the 
best  of  my  remembrance,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  cau- 
tiously. "  But  I  might  do  it.  A  man  can't 
say  what  he  might  wish  to  do  some  day  or  an- 
other." (This,  not  to  release  any  little  advant- 
age he  might  derive  from  Mr.  Boffin's  avowal.) 

"Well,"  repeated  Boffin,  "I  was  a-listening 
to  you  and  to  him.  And  what  do  you — you 
haven't  got  another  stool,  have  you  ?  I'm  rath- 
er thick  in  my  breath." 

1 '  I  haven't  got  another,  but  you're  welcome 
to  this,"  said  Wegg,  resigning  it.  "  It's  a  treat 
to  me  to  stand." 

"Lard!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Boffin,  in  a  tone  of 
great  enjoyment,  as  he  settled  himself  down, 
still  nursing  his  stick  like  a  baby,  "  it's  a  pleas- 
ant place,  this !  And  then  to  be  shut  in  on  each 
side,  with  these  ballads,  like  so  many  book-leaf 
blinkers !     Why,  it's  delightful !" 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  Sir,"  Mr.  Wegg  deli- 
cately hinted,  resting  a  hand  on  his  stall,  and 
bending  over  the  discursive  Boffin,  "  you  alluded 
to  some  offer  or  another  that  was  in  your  mind  ?" 


"I'm  coming  to  it!  All  right.  I'm  coming 
to  it!  I  was  going  to  say  that  when  I  listen- 
ed that  morning,  I  listened  with  hadmiration 
amounting  to  haw.  1  thought  to  myself,  '  Here's  a 
man  with  a  wooden  leg — a  literary  man  with — ' " 

"N — not  exactly  so,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Wegg. 

"  Why,  you  know  every  one  of  these  songs  by 
name  and  by  tune,  and  if  you  want  to  read  or 
to  sing  any  one  on  'em  off  straight,  you've  only 
to  whip  on  your  spectacles  and  do  it !"  cried  Mr. 
Boffin.     "I  see  you  at  it!" 

"  Well,  Sir,"  returned  Mr.  Wegg,  with  a  con- 
scious inclination  of  the  head;  "we'll  say  liter- 
ary, then." 

"'A  literary  man — with  a  wooden  leg — and 
all  Print  is  open  to  him ! '  That's  what  I  thought 
to  myself,  that  morning,"  pursued  Mr.  Boffin, 
leaning  forward  to  describe,  uncramped  by  the 
clothes-horse,  as  large  an  arc  as  his  right  arm 
could  make ;  " '  all  Print  is  open  to  him !'  And 
it  is,  ain't  it?" 

"Why,  truly,  Sir,"  Mr. Wegg  admitted,  with 
modesty;  "I  believe  you  couldn't  show  me  the 
piece  of  English  print  that  I  wouldn't  be  equal 
to  collaring  and  throwing." 

"On  the  spot?"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"On  the  spot." 

"I  know'd  it!  Then  consider  this.  Here 
am  I,  a  man  without  a  wooden  leg,  and  yet  all 
print  is  shut  to  me." 

"Indeed,  Sir?"  Mr.  Wegg  returned  with  in- 
creasing self-complacency.  "Education  neg- 
lected?" 

"Neg — lected!"  repeated  Boffin  with  empha- 
sis. "  That  ain't  no  word  for  it.  I  don't  mean 
to  say  but  what  if  you  showed  me  a  B,  I  could 
so  far  give  you  change  for  it,  as  to  answer  Bof- 
fin." 

"  Come,  come,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  throwing 
in  a  little  encouragement,  "that's  something, 
too." 

"  It's  something,"  answered  Mr.  Boffin,  "  but 
I'll  take  my  oath  it  ain't  much." 

"Perhaps  it's  not  as  much  as  could  be  wish- 
ed by  an  inquiring  mind,  Sir,"  Mr.  Wegg  ad- 
mitted. 

"Now, look  here.  I'm  retired  from  business. 
Me  and  Mrs.  Boffin — Henerietty  Boffin — which 
her  father's  name  was  Henery,  and  her  mother's 
name  was  Hetty,  and  so  you  get  it — we  live  on 
a  compittance,  under  the  will  of  a  diseased  gov- 
ernor." 

"Gentleman  dead,  Sir?" 

"Man  alive,  don't  I  tell  you?  A  diseased 
governor?  Now,  it's  too  late  for  me  to  begin 
shoveling  and  sifting  at  alphabeds  and  gram- 
mar-books. I'm  getting  to  be  a  old  bird,  and 
I  want  to  take  it  easy.  But  I  want  some  read- 
ing— some  fine  bold  reading,  some  splendid  book 
in  a  gorging  Lord  Mayor's-Show  of  wollumes" 
(probably  meaning  gorgeous,  but  misled  by  as- 
sociation of  ideas) ;  "  as'll  reach  right  down  your 
pint  of  view,  and  take  time  to  go  by  you.  How 
can  I  get  that  reading,  Wegg?  fey,"  tapping 
him  on  the  breast  with  the  head  of  his  thick 
stick,  "paying  a  man  truly  qualified  to  do  it,  so 
much  an  hour  (say  twopence)  to  come  and  do 
it." 

"Hem!  Flattered,  Sir,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Wegg,  beginning  to  regard  himself  in  quite  a 
new  light.  "  Hem !  This  is  the  offer  you  men- 
tioned, Sir?" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


37 


"Yes.     Do  you  like  it?" 

11 1  am  considering  of  it,  Mr.  Boffin." 

"I  don't,"  said  Boffin,  in  a  free-handed  man- 
ner, "want  to  tie  a  literary  man — with  a  wood- 
en leg — down  too  tight.  A  half-penny  an  hour 
sha'n't  part  us.  The  hours  are  your  own  to 
choose,  after  you've  done  for  the  day  with  your 
house  here.  I  live  over  Maiden  Lane  way — out 
llolloway  direction — and  you've  only  got  to  go 
East-and-by-North  when  you've  finished  here, 
and  you're  there.  Twopence  half-penny  an 
hour,"  said  Boffin,  taking  a  piece  of  chalk  Yrom 
his  pocket  and  getting  off  the  stool  to  work  the 
sum  on  the  top  of  it  in  his  own  way;  "two 
long'uns  and  a  short' un — twopence  half-penny ; 
two  short'uns  is  a  long'un  and  two  long'uns  is 
four  long'uns — making  five  long'uns ;  six  nights 
a  week  at  five  long'uns  a  night,"  scoring  them 
all  down  separately,  "  and  you  mount  up  to 
thirty  long'uns.    A  round' un !    Half  a  crown !" 

Pointing  to  this  result  as  a  large  and  satis- 
factory one,  Mr.  Boffin  smeared  it  out  with  his 
moistened  glove,  and  sat  down  on  the  remains. 

"Half  a  crown,"  said  Wegg,  meditating. 
"Yes.     (It  ain't  much,  Sir.)    Haifa  crown." 

"Per  week,  you  know." 

"Per  week.  Yes.  As  to  the  amount  of 
strain  upon  the  intellect  now.  Was  you  think- 
ing at  all  of  poetry?"  Mr.  Wegg  inquired,  mus- 
ing. 

"Would  it  come  dearer?"  Mr.  Boffin  asked. 

"It  would  come  dearer,"  Mr.  Wegg  returned. 
"For  when  a  person  comes  to  grind  off  poetry 
night  after  night,  it  is  but  right  he  should  expect 
to  be  paid  for  its  weakening  effect  on  his  mind." 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Wegg,"  said  Boffin, 
"I  wasn't  thinking  of  poetry,  except  in  so  fur 
as  this : — If  you  was  to  happen  now  and  then 
to  feel  yourself  in  the  mind  to  tip  me  and  Mrs. 
Boffin  one  of  your  ballads,  why  then  we  should 
drop  into  poetry." 

"I  follow  you,  Sir,"  said  Wegg.  "But  not 
being  a  regular  musical  professional,  I  should 
be  loath  to  engage  myself  for  that ;  and  there- 
fore when  I  dropped  into  poetry,  I  should  ask 
to  be  considered  so  fur,  in  the  light  of  a  friend." 

At  this,  Mr.  Boffin's  eyes  sparkled,  and  he 
shook  Silas  earnestly  by  the  hand :  protesting 
that  it  was  more  than  he  could  have  asked,  and 
that  he  took  it  very  kindly  indeed. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  terms,  Wegg?" 
Mr.  Boffin  then  demanded,  with  unconcealed 
anxiety. 

Silas,  who  had  stimulated  this  anxiety  by  his 
hard  reserve  of  manner,  and  who  had  begun  to 
understand  his  man  very  well,  replied  with  an 
air;  as  if  he  were  saying  something  extraordi- 
narily generous  and  great : 

"Mr.  Boffin,  I  never  bargain." 

"  So  I  should  have  thought  of  you !"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  admiringly. 

"No,  Sir.  I  never  did  'aggie  and  I  never 
will  'aggie.     Consequently  I  meet  you  at  once, 

free  and  fair,  with Done,   for  double  the 

money !" 

Mr.  Boffin  seemed  a  little  unprepared  for  this 
conclusion,  but  assented,  with  the  remark,  "You 
know  better  what  it  ought  to  be  than  I  do, 
Wegg,"  and  again  shook  hands  with  him  upon 
it. 

"Could  you  begin  to-night,  Wegg?"  he  then 
demanded. 


"Yes,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  careful  to  leave 
all  the  eagerness  to  him.  "I  see  no  difficulty 
if  you  wish  it.  You  are  provided  with  the  need- 
ful implement — a  book,  Sir?" 

"Bought  him  at  a  sale,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 
"  Eight  wollumes.  Red  and  gold.  Purple  rib- 
bon in  every  wollume,  to  keep  the  place  where 
you  leave  off.     Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"The  book's  name,  Sir?"  inquired  Silas. 

"I  thought  you  might  haveknow'd  him  with- 
out it,"  said  Mr.  Boffin  slightly  disappointed. 
*'  His  name  is  Decline- And-Fall-Off-The-Roo- 
shan-Empire."  (Mr.  Boffin  went  over  these 
stones  slowly,  and  with  much  caution.) 

"Ay  indeed!"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  nodding  his 
head  with  an  air  of  friendly  recognition. 

"You  know  him,  Wegg?" 

"I  haven't  been  not  to  say  right  slap  through 
him,  very  lately,"  Mr.  Wegg  made  answer, 
"having  been  otherways  employed,  Mr.  Boffin. 
But  know  him  ?  Old  familiar  declining  and 
falling  off  the  Rooshan  ?  Rather,  Sir !  Ever 
since  I  was  not  so  high  as  your  stick.  Ever 
since  my  eldest  brother  left  our  cottage  to  enlist 
into  the  army.  On  which  occasion,  as  the  bal- 
lad that  was  made  about  it  describes  : 

u  Beside  that  cottage  door,  Mr.  Boffin, 
A  girl  was  on  her  knees; 
She  held  aloft  a  snowy  scarf,  Sir, 
Which  (my  eldest  brother  noticed)  fluttered  in  the 
breeze. 
She  breathed  a  prayer  for  him,  Mr.  Boffin; 

A  prayer  he  coold  not  hear. 
And  my  eldest  brother  lean'd  upon  his  sword,  Mr.  Boffin, 
And  wiped  away  a  tear." 

Much  impressed  by  this  family  circumstance, 
and  also  by  the  friendly  disposition  of  Mr.  Wegg, 
as  exemplified  in  his  so  soon  dropping  into  po- 
etry, Mr.  Boffin  again  shook  hands  with  that 
ligneous  sharper,  and  besought  him  to  name  his 
hour.     Mr.  Wegg  named  eight. 

"Where  I  live,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "is  called 
The  Bower.  Boffin's  Bower  is  the  name  Mrs. 
Boffin  christened  it  when  we  come  into  it  as  a 
property.  If  you  should  meet  with  any  body 
that  don't  know  it  by  that  name  (which  hardly 
any  body  does),  when  you've  got  nigh  upon  about 
a  odd  mile,  or  say  and  a  quarter  if  you  like,  up 
Maiden  Lane,  Battle  Bridge,  ask  for  Harmony 
Jail,  and  you'll  be  put  right.  I  shall  expect 
you,  Wegg,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  clapping  him  on 
the  shoulder  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm,  "most 
jyfully.  I  shall  have  no  peace  or  patience  till 
you  come.  Print  is  now  opening  ahead  of  me. 
This  night,  a  literary  man — with  a  wooden  leg — " 
he  bestowed  an  admiring  look  upon  that  decora- 
tion, as  if  it  greatly  enhanced  the  relish,  of  Mr. 
Wegg's  attainments — "will  begin  to  lead  me  a 
new  life!  My  fist  again,  Wegg.  Morning, 
morning,  morning!" 

Left  alone  at  his  stall  as  the  other  ambled  off, 
Mr.  Wegg  subsided  into  his  screen,  produced  a 
small  pocket-handkerchief  of  a  penitentially- 
scrubbing  character,  and  took  himself  by  the 
nose  with  a  thoughtful  aspect.  Also,  while  he 
still  grasped  that  feature,  he  directed  several 
thoughtful  looks  down  the  street,  after  the  re- 
tiring figure  of  Mr.  Boffin.  But  profound  grav- 
ity sat  enthroned  on  Wegg's  countenance.  For, 
while  he  considered  within  himself  that  this  was 
an  old  fellow  of  rare  simplicity,  that  this  was  an 
opportunity  to  be  improved,  and  that  here  might 
be  money  to  be  got  beyond  present  calculation, 


BB 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


still  he  compromised  himself  by  no  admission  that 
his  new  engagement  was  at  all  out  of  his  way, 
or  involved  the  least  element  of  the  ridiculous. 
Mr.  Wegg  would  even  have  picked  a  handsome 
quarrel  with  any  one  who  should  have  chal- 
lenged his  deep  acquaintance  with  those  afore- 
said eight  volumes  of  Decline  and  Fall.  His 
gravity  was  unusual,  portentous,  and  immeas- 
urable, not  because  he  admitted  any  doubt  of 
himself,  but  because  he  perceived  it  necessary  to 
forestall  any  doubt  of  himself  in  others.  And 
herein  he  ranged  with  that  very  numerous  class 
of  impostors,  who  are,  quite  as  determined  to 
keep  up  appearances  to  themselves,  as  to  their 
neighbors. 

A  certain  loftiness,  likewise,  took  possession 
of  Mr.  Wegg ;  a  condescending  sense  of  being 
in  request  as  an  official  expounder  of  mysteries. 
It  did  not  move  him  to  commercial  greatness, 
but  rather  to  littleness,  insomuch  that  if  it  had 
been  within  the  possibilities  of  things  for  the 
wooden  measure  to  hold  fewer  nuts  than  usual, 
it  would  have  done  so  that  day.  But,  when 
night  came,  and  with  her  veiled  eyes  beheld 
him  stumping  toward  Boffin's  Bower,  he  was 
elated  too. 

The  Bower  was  as  difficult  to  find  as  Fair 
Rosamond's  without  the  clew.  Mr.  Wegg,  hav- 
ing reached  the  quarter  indicated,  inquired  for 
the  Bower  half  a  dozen  times  without  the  least 
success,  until  he  remembered  to  ask  for  Har- 
mony Jail.  This  occasioned  a  quick  change  in 
the  spirits  of  a  hoarse  gentleman  and  a  donkey, 
whom  he  had  much  perplexed. 

"Why,  yer  mean  Old  Harmon's,  do  yer?" 
said  the  hoarse  gentleman,  who  was  driving  his 
donkey  in  a  truck,  with  a  carrot  for  a  whip. 
"  Why  didn't  yer  niver  say  so  ?  Eddard  and 
me  is  a  goin'  by  him  !    Jump  in." 

Mr.  Wegg  complied,  and  the  hoarse  gentle- 
man invited  his  attention  to  the  third  person  in 
company,  thus : 

"Now,  you  look  at  Eddard's  ears.  What  was 
it  as  you  named,  agin  ?     Whisper." 

Mr.  Wegg  whispered,  "Boffin's  Bower." 

"  Eddard !  (keep  yer  hi  on  his  ears)  cut  away 
to  Boffin's  Bower !" 

Edward,  with  his  ears  lying  back,  remained 
immovable. 

"  Eddard !  (keep  yer  hi  on  his  ears)  cut  away 
to  Old  Harmon's." 

Edward  instantly  pricked  uphis  ears  to  their 
utmost,  and  rattled  off  at  such  a  pace  that  Mr. 
Wegg's  conversation  was  jolted  out  of  him  in  a 
most  dislocated  state. 

"  Was-it-Ev-verajail  ?"  asked  Mr.  Wegg,  hold- 
ing on. 

"Not  proper  jail,  wot  you  and  me  would  get 
committed  to,"  returned  his  escort;  "they  giv' 
it  the  name,  on  accounts  of  Old  Harmon  living 
solitary  there." 

' '  And-why-did-they-callitharm-Ony  ?  "  asked 
Wegg. 

"On  accounts  of  his  never  agreeing  with  no- 
body. Like  a  speeches  of  chaff.  Harmon's  Jail ; 
Harmony  Jail.     Working  it  round  like." 

"  Doyouknow-Mist-Erboff-in  ?"  asked  Wegg. 

"I  should  think  so!  Every  body  do  about 
here.  Eddard  knows  him.  (Keep  yer  hi  on  his 
ears.)    Noddy  Boffin,  Eddard !" 

The  effect  of  the  name  was  so  very  alarming, 
in  respect  of  causing  a  temporary  disappearance 


of  Edward's  head,  casting  his  hind  hoofs  in  the 
air,  greatly  accelerating  the  pace  and  increasing 
the  jolting,  that  Mr.  Wegg  was  fain  to  devote 
his  attention  exclusively  to  holding  on,  and  to 
relinquish  his  desire  of  ascertaining  whether  this 
homage  to  Boffin  was  to  be  considered  compli- 
mentary or  the  reverse. 

Presently,  Edward  stopped  at  a  gateway,  and 
Wegg  discreetly  lost  no  time  in  slipping  out  at 
the  back  of  the  truck.  The  moment  he  was 
landed,  his  late  driver, with  a  wave  of  the  carrot, 
said,  "  Supper,  Eddard  !"  and  he,  the  hind  hoofs, 
the  truck,  and  Edwai-d,  all  seemed  to  fly  into  the 
air  together,  in  a  kind  of  apotheosis. 

Pushing  the  gate,  which  stood  ajar,  Wegg 
looked  into  an  inclosed  space  where  certain  tall 
dark  mounds  rose  high  against  the  sky,  and 
where  the  pathway  to  the  Bower  was  indicated, 
as  the  moonlight  showed,  between  two  lines  of 
broken  crockery  set  in  ashes.  A  white  figure  ad- 
vancing along  this  path,  proved  to  be  nothing 
more  ghostly  than  Mr.  Boffin,  easily  attired  for 
the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  in  an  undress  garment 
of  short  white  smock-frock.  Having  received 
his  literary  friend  with  great  cordiality,  he  con- 
ducted him  to  the  interior  of  the  Bower  and 
there  presented  him  to  Mrs.  Boffin: — a  stout 
lady  of  a  rubicund  and  cheerful  aspect,  dressed 
(to  Mr.  Wegg's  consternation)  in  a  low  evening- 
dress  of  sable  satin,  and  a  large  black  velvet  hat 
and  feathers. 

"Mrs.  Boffin,  Wegg,  "said  Boffin,  "is  a  high- 
flier at  Fashion.  And  her  make  is  such,  that 
she  does  it  credit.  As  to  myself,  I  ain't  yet  as 
Fash'nable  as  I  may  come  to  be.  Henerietty, 
old  lady,  this  is  the  gentleman  that's  a-going  to 
decline  and  fall  off  the  Rooshan  Empire." 

"And  I  am  sure  I  hope  it'll  do  you  both 
good,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin. 

It  was  the  queerest  of  rooms,  fitted  and  fur- 
nished more  like  a  luxurious  amateur  tap-room 
than  any  thing  else  within  the  ken  of  Silas  Wegg. 
There  were  two  wooden  settles  by  the  fire,  one 
on  either  side  of  it,  with  a  corresponding  table 
before  each.  On  one  of  these  tables  the  eight 
volumes  were  ranged  flat,  in  a  row,  like  a  gal- 
vanic battery ;  on  the  other,  certain  squat  case- 
bottles  of  inviting  appearance  seemed  to  stand 
on  tip-toe  to  exchange  glances  with  Mr.  Wegg 
over  a  front  row  of  tumblers  and  a  basin  of  white 
sugar.  On  the  hob,  a  kettle  steamed ;  on  the 
hearth,  a  cat  reposed.  Facing  the  fire  between 
the  settles,  a  sofa,  a  foot-stool,  and  a  little  table, 
formed  a  centre-piece  devoted  to  Mrs.  Boffin. 
They  were  garish  in  taste  and  color,  but  were 
expensive  articles  of  drawing-room  furniture  that 
had  a  very  odd  look  beside  the  settles  and  the 
flaring  gaslight  pendent  from  the  ceiling.  There 
was  a  flowery  carpet  on  the  floor ;  but,  instead 
of  reaching  to  the  fireside,  its  glowing  vegetation 
stopped  short  at  Mrs.  Boffin's  footstool,  and  gave 
place  to  a  region  of  sand  and  saw-dust.  Mr. 
Wegg  also  noticed,  with  admiring  eyes,  that, 
while  the  flowery  land  displayed  such  hollow 
ornamentation  as  stuffed  birds  and  waxen  fruits 
under  glass-shades,  there  were,  in  the  territory 
where  vegetation  ceased,  compensatory  shelves 
on  which  the  best  part  of  a  large  pie  and  like- 
wise of  a  cold  joint  were  plainly  discernible 
among  other  solids.  The  room  itself  was  large, 
though  low ;  and  the  heavy  frames  of  its  old- 
fashioned  windows,  and  the  heavy  beams  in  its 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


39 


crooked  ceiling,  seemed  to  indicate  that  it  had 
once  been  a  house  of  some  mark  standing  alone 
in  the  country. 

"Do  you  like  it,  Wegg?"  asked  Mr.  Boffin, 
in  his  pouncing  manner. 

"I  admire  it  greatly,  Sir,"  said  Wegg.  "Pe- 
culiar comfort  at  this  fireside,  Sir. " 

"Do  you  understand  it,  Wegg?" 

°  Why,  in  a  general  way,  Sir,"  Mr.  Wegg  was 
beginning  slowly  and  knowingly,  with  his  head 
stuck  on  one  side,  as  evasive  people  do  begin, 
when  the  other  cut  him  short : 

"You  don't  understand  it,  Wegg,  and  I'll  ex- 
plain it.  These  arrangements  is  made  by  mutual 
consent  between  Mrs.  Boffin  and  me.  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin, as  I've  mentioned,  is  a  highflier  at  Fashion ; 
at  present  I'm  not.  I  don't  go  higher  than  com- 
fort, and  comfort  of  the  sort  that  I'm  equal  to 
the  enjyment  of.  Well  then.  Where  would  be 
the  good  of  Mrs.  Boffin  and  me  quarreling  over 
it?  We  never  did  quarrel,  before  we  come 
into  Boffin's  Bower  as  a  property ;  why  quarrel 
when  we  have  come  into  Boffin's  Bower  as  a 
property?  So  Mrs.  Boffin,  she  keeps  up  her 
part  of  the  room,  in  her  way;  I  keep  up  my 
part  of  the  room  in  mine.  In  consequence  of 
which  we  have  at  once,  Sociability  (I  should  go 
melancholy  mad  without^Mrs.  Boffin),  Fashion, 
and  Comfort.  If  I  get  by  degrees  to  be  a  high- 
er-flier at  Fashion,  then  Mrs.  Boffin  will  by  de- 
grees come  for'arder.  If  Mrs.  Boffin  should 
ever  be  less  of  a  dab  at  Fashion  than  she  is  at 
the  present  time,  then  Mrs.  Boffin's  carpet  would 
go  back'arder.  If  we  should  both  continny  as 
we  are,  why  then  here  we  are,  and  give  us  a  kiss, 
old  lady." 

Mrs.  Boffin,  who,  perpetually  smiling,  had 
approached  and  drawn  her  plump  arm  through 
her  lord's,  most  willingly  complied.  Fashion, 
in  the  form  of  her  black  velvet  hat  and  feathers, 
tried  to  prevent  it;  but  got  deservedly  crushed 
in  the  endeavor. 

"  So  now,  Wegg,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  wiping  his 
mouth  with  an  air  of  much  refreshment,  "you 
begin  to  know  us  as  we  are.  This  is  a  charm- 
ing spot,  is  the  Bower,  .but  you  must  get  to  ap- 
preciate it  by  degrees.  It's  a  spot  to  find  out 
the  merits  of,  little  by  little,  and  a  new'un  every 
day.  There's  a  serpentining  walk  up  each  of" 
the  mounds,  that  gives  you  the  yard  and  neigh- 
borhood changing  every  moment.  When  you 
get  to  the  top,  there's  a  view  of  the  neighboring 
premises,  not  to  be  surpassed.  The  premises 
of  Mrs.  Boffin's  late  father  (Canine  Provision 
Trade),  you  look  down  into,  as  if  they  was  your 
own.  And  the  top  of  the  High  Mound  is  crowned 
with  a  lattice-work  Arbor,  in  which,  if  you  don't 
read  out  loud  many  a  book  in  the  summer,  ay, 
and  as  a  friend,  drop  many  a  time  into  poetry  too, 
it  sha'n't  be  my  fault.  Now,  what'll  you  read  on  ?" 

"Thank  you,  Sir,"  returned  Wegg,  as  if  there 
were  nothing  new  in  his  reading  at  all.  "  I  gen- 
erally do  it  on  gin  and  water." 

"Keeps  the  organ  moist,  does  it,  Wegg?" 
asked  Mr.  Boffin,  with  innocent  eagerness. 

"N-no,  Sir,-" replied  Wegg,  coolly,  "I should 
hardly  describe  it  so,  Sir.  I  should  say,  mellers 
it.  Mellers  it,  is  the  word  I  should  employ,  Mr. 
Boffin." 

His  wooden  conceit  and  craft  kept  exact  pace 
with  the  delighted  expectation,  of  his  victim. 
The  visions  rising  before  his  mercenary  mind, 


of  the  many  ways  in  which  this  connection  was 
to  be  turned  to  account,  never  obscured  the  fore- 
most idea  natural  to  a  dull  overreaching  man, 
that  he  must  not  make  himself  too  cheap. 

Mrs.  Boffin's  Fashion,  as  a  less  inexorable 
deity  than  the  idol  usually  worshiped  under  that 
name,  did  not  forbid  her  mixing  for  her  literary 
guest,  or  asking  if  he  found  the  result  to  his 
liking.  On  his-  returning  a  gracious  answer 
and  taking  his  place  at  the  literary  settle,  Mr. 
Boffin  began  to  compose  himself  as  a  listener,  at 
the  opposite  settle,  with  exultant  eyes. 

"Sorry  to  deprive  you  of  a  pipe,  Wegg,"  he 
said,  filling  his  own,  "but  you  can't  do  both  to- 
gether. Oh!  and  another  thing  I  forgot  to 
name !  When  you  come  in  here  of  an  evening, 
and  look  round  you,  and  notice  any  thing  on  a 
shelf  that  happens  to  catch  vour  fancy,  mention 
it." 

Wegg,  who  had  been  going  to  put  on  his 
spectacles,  immediately  laid  them  down,  with 
the  sprightly  observation : 

"You  read  my  thoughts,  Sir.  Do  my  eyes 
deceive  me,  or  is  that  object  up  there  a — a  pie  ? 
It  can't  be  a  pie." 

"Yes,  it's  a  pie,  Wegg,"  replied  Mr.  Boffin, 
with  a  glance  of  some  little  discomfiture  at  the 
Decline  and  Fall. 

ilHave  I  lost  my  smell  for  fruits,  or  is  it  a 
apple-pie,  Sir?"  asked  Wegg. 

"It's  a  veal  and  ham  pie,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"Is  it  indeed,  Sir?  And  it  would  be  hard, 
Sir,  to  name  the  pie  that  is  a  better  pie  than  a 
weal  and  hammer,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  nodding 
his  head  emotionally. 

"Have  some,  Wegg?" 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Boffin,  I  think  I  will,  at 
your  invitation.    I  wouldn't  at  any  other  party's, 

at  the  present  juncture ;  but  at  yours,  Sir  ! 

And  meaty  jelly  too,  especially  when  a  little 
salt,  which  is  the  case  where  there's  ham,  is 
mellering  to  the  organ,  is  very  mellering  to  the 
organ."  Mr.  Wegg  did  not  say  what  organ, 
but  spoke  with  a  cheerful  generality. 

So  the  pie  was  brought  down,  and  the  worthy 
Mr.  Boffin  exercised  his  patience  until  Wegg,  in 
the  exercise  of  his  knife  and  fork,  had  finished 
the  dish :  only  profiting  by  the  opportunity  to 
inform  Wegg  that,  although  it  was  not  strictly 
Fashionable  to  keep  the  contents  of  a  larder 
thus  exposed  to  view,  he  (Mr.  Boffin)  considered 
it  hospitable ;  for  the  reason,  that  instead  of  say- 
ing, in  a  comparatively  unmeaning  manner,  to  a 
visitor,  '  There  are  such  and  such  edibles  down 
stairs ;  will  you  have  any  thing  up  ?'  you  took 
the  bold  practical  course  of  saying,  '  Cast  your 
eye  along  the  shelves,  and,  if  you  see  any  thing 
you  like  there,  have  it  down.'  " 

And  now,  Mr.  Wegg  at  length  pushed  away 
his  plate  and  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  Mr. 
Boffin  lighted  his  pipe  and  looked  with  beaming 
eyes  into  the  opening  world  before  him,  and  Mrs. 
Boffin  reclined  in  a  fashionable  manner  on  her 
sofa :  as  one  who  would  be  part  of  the  audience 
if  she  found  she  could,  and  would  go  to  sleep  if 
she  found  she  couldn't. 

"Hem  !"  began  Wegg,  "This,  Mr.  Boffin  and 
Lady,  is  the  first  chapter  of  the  first  wollume  of 
the  Decline  and  Fall  off—"  here  he  looked  hard 
at  the  book,  and  stopped. 

"What's  the  matter,  Wegg?" 

"  Why,  it  comes  into  my  mind,  do  you  know, 


40 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Sir,"  said  Wegg,  with  an  air  of  insinuating 
frankness  (having  first  again  looked  hard  at  the 
book),  "that  you  made  a  little  mistake  this 
morning,  which  I  had  meant  to  set  you  right 
in,  only  something  put  it  out  of  my  head.  I 
think  you  said  Rooshan  Empire,  Sir?" 

"It  is  Rooshan  ;  ain't  it,  Wegg?" 

"No,  Sir.     Roman.     Roman." 

"What's  the  difference,  Wegg?" 

"The  difference,  Sir?"  Mr.  Wegg  was  fal- 
tering and  in  danger  of  breaking  down,  when  a 
bright  thought  flashed  upon  him.  "The  differ- 
ence, Sir?  There  you  place  me  in  a  difficulty, 
Mr.  Boffin.  Suffice  it  to  observe,  that  the  dif- 
ference is  best  postponed  to  some  other  occasion 
when  Mrs.  Boffin  does  not  honor  us  with  her 
company.  In  Mrs.  Boffin's  presence,  Sir,  we 
had  better  drop  it." 

Mr.  Wegg  thus  came  out  of  his  disadvantage 
with  quite  a  chivalrous  air,  and  not  only  that, 
but  by  dint  of  repeating  with  a  manly  delicacy, 
"In  Mrs.  Boffin's  presence,  Sir,  we  had  better 
drop  it !"  turned  the  disadvantage  on  Boffin,  who 
felt  that  he  had  committed  himself  in  a  very 
painful  manner. 

Then,  Mr.  Wegg,  in  a  dry  unflinching  way, 
entered  on  his  task  ;  going  straight  across  coun- 
try at  every  thing  that  came  before  him  ;  taking 
all  the  hard  words,  biographical  and  geograph- 
ical ;  getting  rather  shaken  by  Hadrian,  Trajan, 
and  the  Antonines ;  stumbling  at  Polybius  (pro- 
nounced Polly  Beeious,  and  supposed  by  Mr. 
Boffin  to  be  a  Roman  virgin,  and  by  Mrs.  Boffin 
to  be  responsible  for  that  necessity  of  dropping 
it) ;  heavily  unseated  by  Titus  Antoninus  Pius ; 
up  again  and  galloping  smoothly  with  Augustus ; 
finally,  getting  over  the  ground  well  with  Com- 
modus :  who,  under  the  appellation  of  Commo- 
dious, was  held  by  Mr.  Boffin  to  have  been  quite 
inworthy  of  his  English  origin,  and  "not  to 
have  acted  up  to  his  name"  in  his  government  of 
the  Roman  people.  With  the  death  of  this  per- 
sonage, Mr.  Wegg  terminated  his  first  reading  ; 
long  before  which  consummation  several  total 
eclipses  of  Mrs.  Boffin's  candle  behind  her  black 
velvet  disk,  would  have  been  very  alarming,  but 
for  being  regularly  accompanied  by  a  potent 
smell  of  burnt  pens  when  her  feathers  took  fire, 
which  acted  as  a  restorative  and  woke  her.  Mr. 
Wegg,  having  read  on  by  rote  and  attached  as 
few  ideas  as  possible  to  the  text,  came  out  of  the 
encounter  fresh  ;  but,  Mr.  Boffin,  who  had  soon 
laid  down  his  unfinished  pipe,  and  had  ever  since 
sat  intently  staring  with  his  eyes  and  mind  at 
the  confounding  enormities  of  the  Romans,  was 
so  severely  punished  that  he  could  hardly  wish 
his  literary  friend  Good-night,  and  articulate 
"To-morrow." 

"  Commodious,"  gasped  Mr.  Boffin,  staring  at 
the  moon,  after  letting  Wegg  out  at  the  gate 
and  fastening  it:  "Commodious  fights  in  that 
wild-beast-show,  seven  hundred  and  thirty-five 
times,  in  one  character  only  !  As  if  that  wasn't 
stunning  enough,  a  hundred  lions  is  turned  into 
the  same  wild-beast-show  all  at  once  !  As  if  that 
wasn't  stunning  enough,  Commodious,  in  another 
character,  kills  'em  all  off  in  a  hundred  goes ! 
As  if  that  wasn't  stunning  enough,  Vittle-us  (and 
well  named  too)  eats  six  millions'  worth,  English 
money,  in  seven  months  !  Wegg  takes  it  easy, 
but  upon-my-soul  to  a  old  bird  like  myself  these 
are  scarers.    And  even  now  that  Commodious  is 


strangled,  I  don't  see  a  way  to  our  bettering  our- 
selves.'' Mr.  Boffin  added,  as  he  turned  his  pen- 
sive steps  toward  the  Bower  and  shook  his  head, 
"I  didn't  think  this  morning  there  was  half  so 
many  Scarers  in  Print.   But  I'm  in  for  it  now  !" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CUT  ADRIFT. 


The  Six  Jolly  Fellowship -Porters,  already 
mentioned  as  a  tavern  of  a  dropsical  appearance, 
had  long  settled  down  into  a  state  of  hale  infirm- 
ity. In  its  whole  constitution  it  had  not  a  straight 
floor,  and  hardly  a  straight  line ;  but  it  had  out- 
lasted, and  clearly  would  yet  outlast,  many  a 
better-trimmed  building,  many  a  sprucer  public 
house.  Externally,  it  was  a  narrow  lopsided 
wooden  jumble  of  corpulent  windows  heaped  one 
upon  another  as  you  might  heap  as  many  top- 
pling oranges,  with  a  crazy  wooden  veranda 
impending  over  the  water;  indeed  the  whole 
house,  inclusive  of  the  complaining  flag-staff  on 
the  roof,  impended  over  the  water,  but  seemed 
to  have  got  into  the  condition  of  a  faint-hearted 
diver  who  has  paused  so  long  on  the  brink  that 
he  will  never  go  in  at  all. 

This  description  applies  to  the  river-frontage 
of  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship-Porters.  The  back 
of  the  establishment,  though  the  chief  entrance 
was  there,  so  contracted  that  it  merely  repre- 
sented in  its  connection  with  the  front,  the  han- 
dle of  a  flat-iron  set  upright  on  its  broadest  end. 
This  handle  stood  at  the  bottom  of  a  wilderness 
of  court  and  alley :  which  wilderness  pressed  so 
hard  and  close  upon  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship- 
Porters  as  to  leave  the  hostelry  not  an  inch  of 
ground  beyond  its  door.  For  this  reason,  in 
combination  with  the  fact  that  the  house  was 
all  but  afloat  at  high-water,  when  the  Porters 
had  a  family  wash  the  linen  subjected  to  that 
operation  might  usually  be  seen  drying  on  lines 
stretched  across  the  reception-rooms  and  bed- 
chambers. 

The  wood  forming. the  chimney-pieces,  beams, 
partitions,  floors  and  doors,  of  the  Six  Jolly  Fel- 
lowship-Porters, seemed  in  its  old  age  fraught 
with  confused  memories  of  its  youth.  In  many 
places  it  had  become  gnarled  and  riven,  accord- 
ing to  the  manner  of  old  trees;  knots  started  out 
of  it ;  and  here  and  there  it  seemed  to  twist  it- 
self into  some  likeness  of  boughs.  In  this  state 
of  second  childhood  it  had  an  air  of  being  in  its 
own  way  garrulous  about  its  early  life.  Not 
without  reason  was  it  often  asserted  by  the  reg- 
ular frequenters  of  the  Porters,  that  when  the 
light  shone  full  upon  the  grain  of  certain  panels, 
and  particularly  upon  an  old  corner  cupboard  of 
walnut-wood  in  the  bar,  you  might  trace  little 
forests  there,  and  tiny  trees  like  the  parent  tree, 
in  full  umbrageous  leaf. 

The  bar  of  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship-Porters 
was  a  bar  to  soften  the  human  breast.  The 
available  space  in  it  was  not  much  larger  than  a 
hackney-coach ;  but  no  one  could  have  wished 
the  bar  bigger,  that  space  was  so  girt  in  by  cor- 
pulent little  casks,  and  by  cordial-bottles  radiant 
with  fictitious  grapes  in  bunches,  and  by  lemons 
in  nets,  and  by  biscuits  in  baskets,  and  by  the 
polite  beer-pulls  that  made  low  bows  when  cus- 
tomers were  served  with  beer,  and  by  the  cheese 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


41 


in  a  snug  corner,  and  by  the  landlady's  own 
small  table  in  a  snugger  corner  near  the  fire, 
with  the  cloth  everlastingly  laid.  This  haven 
was  divided  from  the  rough  world  by  a  glass 
partition  and  a  half  door,  with  a  leaden  sill  upon 
it  for  the  convenience  of  resting  your  liquor ; 
but,  over  this  half  door  the  bar's  snugness  so 
gushed  forth,  that,  albeit  customers  drank  there 
standing,  in  a  dark  and  draughty  passage  where 
they  were  shouldered  by  other  customers  passing 
in  and  out,  they  always  appeared  to  drink  under 
an  enchanting  delusion  that  they  were  in  the  bar 
itself. 

For  the  rest,  both  the  tap  and  parlor  of  the 
Six  Jolly  Fellowship-Porters  gave  upon  the  river, 
and  had  red  curtains  matching  the  noses  of  the 
regular  customers,  and  were  provided  with  com- 
fortable fireside  tin  utensils,  like  models  of  sugar- 
loaf  hats,  made  in  that  shape  that  they  might, 
with  their  pointed  ends,  seek  out  for  themselves 
glowing  nooks  in  the  depths  of  the  red  coals, 
when  they  mulled  your  ale,  or  heated  for  you 
those  delectable  drinks,  Purl,  Flip,  and  Dog's 
Nose.  The  first  of  these  humming  compounds 
was  a  specialty  of  the  Porters,  which,  through 
an  inscription  on  its  door-posts,  gently  appealed 
to  your  feelings  as,  "The  Early  Purl  House." 
For,  it  would  seem  that  Purl  must  always  be 
taken  early ;  though  whether  for  any  more  dis- 
tinctly stomachic  reason  than  that,  as  the  early 
bird  catches  the  worm,  so  the  early  purl  catches 
the  customer,  can  not  here  be  resolved.  It  only 
remains  to  add  that  in  the  handle  of  the  flat- 
iron,  and  opposite  the  bar,  was  a  very  little  room 
like  a  three-cornered  hat,  into  which  no  direct 
ray  of  sun,  moon,  or  star,  ever  penetrated,  but 
which  was  superstitiously  regarded  as  a  sanctu- 
ary replete  with  comfort  and  retirement  by  gas- 
light, and  on  the  door  of  which  was  therefore 
painted  its  alluring  name  :  Cozy. 

Miss  Potterson,  sole  proprietor  and  manager 
of  the  Fellowship-Porters,  reigned  supreme  on 
her  throne,  the  Bar,  and  a  man  must  have  drunk 
himself  mad  drunk  indeed  if  he  thought  he  could 
contest  a  point  with  her.  Being  known  on  her 
own  authority  as  Miss  Abbey  Potterson,  some 
water-side  heads,  which  (like  the  water)  were 
none  of  the  clearest,  harbored  muddled  notions 
that,  because  of  her  dignity  and  firmness,  she 
was  named  after,  or  in  some  sort  related  to,  the 
Abbey  at  Westminster.  But,  Abbey  was  only 
short  for  Abigail,  by  which  name  Miss  Potter- 
son had  been  christened  at  Limehouse  Church, 
some  sixty  and  odd  years  before. 

"Now,  you  mind,  you  Riderhood,"  said  Miss 
Abbey  Potterson,  with  emphatic  forefinger  over 
the  half  door,  "the  Fellowships  don't  want  you 
at  all,  and  would  rather  by  far  have  your  room 
than  your  company ;  but  if  you  were  as  welcome 
here  as  you  are  not,  you  shouldn't  even  then  have 
another  drop  of  drink  here  this  night,  after  this 
present  pint  of  beer.     So  make  the  most  of  it." 

"But  you  know,  Miss  Potterson,"  this  was 
suggested  very  meekly  though,  "if  I  behave  my- 
self, you  can't  help  serving  me,  miss." 

"  Cant  I!"  said  Abbey,  with  infinite  expres- 
sion. 

\  "No,  Miss  Potterson;  because,  you  see,  the 
law—" 

"  I  am  the  law  here,  my  man,"  returned  Miss 
Abbey,  "and  I'll  soon  convince  you  of  that,  if 
you  doubt  it  at  all." 


"I  never  said  I  did  doubt  it  at  all,  Miss 
Abbey." 

"So  much  the  better  for  you." 

Abbey  the  supreme  threw  the  customer's  half- 
pence* into  the  till,  and,  seating  herself  in  her 
fireside-chair,  resumed  the  newspaper  she  had 
been  reading.  She  was  a  tall,  upright,  well- 
favored  woman,  though  severe  of  countenance, 
and  had  more  of  the  air  of  a  schoolmistress  than 
mistress  of  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship  -  Porters. 
The  man  on  the  other  side  of  the  half  door  was 
a  water-side  man  with  a  squinting  leer,  and  he 
eyed  her  as  if  he  were  one  of  her  pupils  in  dis- 
grace. 

"You're  cruel  hard  upon  me,  Miss  Potterson." 

Miss  Potterson  read  her  newspaper  with  con- 
tracted brows,  and  took  no  notice  until  he  whis- 
pered : 

' '  Miss  Potterson  !  Ma'am !  Might  I  have 
half  a  word  with  you  ?" 

Deigning  then  to  turn  her  eyes  sideways  to- 
ward the  suppliant,  Miss  Potterson  beheld  him 
knuckling  his  low  forehead,  and  ducking  at  her 
with  his  head,  as  if  he  were  asking  leave  to  fling 
himself  head  foremost  over  the  half  door  and 
alight  on  his  feet  in  the  bar. 

"Well?"  said  Miss  Potterson,  with  a  manner 
as  short  as  she  herself  was  long,  "  say  your  half 
word.     Bring  it  out." 

"Miss  Potterson!  Ma'am!  Would  you 
'sxcuse  me  taking  the  liberty  of  asking,  is  it  my 
character  that  you  take  objections  to?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Miss  Potterson. 

"Is  it  that  you're  afraid  of—" 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  yoa,"  interposed  Miss 
Potterson,  "if  you  mean  that." 

"But  I  humbly  don't  mean  that,  Miss  Abbey." 

"Then  what  do  you  mean?" 
.  "You  really  are  so  cruel  hard  upon  me! 
What  I  was  going  to  make  inquiries  was  no 
more  than,  might  you  have  any  apprehensions 
—  leastways  beliefs  or  suppositions  —  that  the 
company's  property  mightn't  be  altogether  to  be 
considered  safe,  if  I  used  the  house  too  regular  ?" 

"What  do  you  want  to  know  for?" 

"Well,  Miss  Abbey,  respectfully  meaning  no 
offense  to  you,  it  would  be  some  satisfaction  to 
a  man's  mind  to  understand  why  the  Fellow- 
ship-Porters is  not  to  be  free  to  such  as  me,  and 
is  to  be  free  to  such  as  Gaffer." 

The  face  of  the  hostess  darkened  with  some 
shadow  of  perplexity,  as  she  replied:  "Gaffer 
has  never  been  where  you  have  been." 

"Signifying  in  Quod,  Miss?  Perhaps  not. 
But  he  may  have  merited  it.  He  may  be  sus- 
pected of  far  worse  than  ever  I  was." 

"Who  suspects  him?" 

"Many,  perhaps.  One,  beyond  all  doubts. 
I  do." 

"  You  are  not  much,"  said  Miss  Abbey  Pot- 
terson, knitting  her  brows  again  with  disdain. 

"But  I  was  his  pardner.  Mind  you,  Miss 
Abbey,  I  was  his  pardner.  As  such  I  know 
more  of  the  ins  and  outs  of  him  than  any  person 
living  does.  Notice  this!  I  am  the  man  that 
was  his  pardner,  and  I  am  the  man  that  sus- 
pects him." 

"Then,"  suggested  Miss  Abbey,  though  with 
a  deeper  shade  of  perplexity  than  before,  "you 
criminate  yourself." 

"No  I  don't,  Miss  Abbey.  For  how  does  it 
stand  ?    It  stands  this  way.    When  I  was  his 


42 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


pardner,  I  couldn't  never  give  him  satisfaction. 
Why  couldn't  I  never  give  him  satisfaction? 
Because  my  luck  was  bad;  because  I  couldn't 
find  many  enough  of 'em.  How  was  his  luck? 
Always  good.  Notice  this !  Always  good !  Ah  ! 
There's  a  many  games,  Miss  Abbey,  in  which 
there's  chance,  but  there's  a  many  others  in 
which  there's  skill  too,  mixed  along  with  it." 

"That  Gaffer  has  a  skill  in  finding  what  he 
finds,  who  doubts,  man  ?"  asked  Miss  Abbey. 

"A  skill  in  purwiding  what  he  finds,  per- 
haps," said  Riderhood,  shaking  his  evil  head. 

Miss  Abbey  knitted  her  brow  at  him,  as  he 
darkly  leered  at  her. 

"  If  you're  out  upon  the  river  pretty  nigh  ev- 
ery tide,  and  if  you  want  to  find  a  man  or  woman 
in  the  river,  you'll  greatly  help  your  luck,  Miss 


Abbey,  by  knocking  a  man  or  woman  on  the 
head  aforehand  and  pitching  'em  in." 

"Gracious  Lud!"  was  the  involuntary  ex- 
clamation of  Miss  Potterson. 

"  Mind  you !"  returned  the  other,  stretching 
forward  over  the  half  door  to  throw  his  words 
into  the  bar ;  for  his  voice  was  as  if  the  head  of 
his  boat's  mop  were  down  his  throat;  "I  say 
so,  Miss  Abbey !  And  mind  you !  I'll  follow 
him  up,  Miss  Abbey !  And  mind  you !  I'll 
bring  him  to  book  at  last,  if  it's  twenty  year 
hence,  I  will!  Who's  he,  to  be  favored  along 
of  his  daughter  ?  Ain't  I  got  a  daughter  of  my 
own!" 

With  that  flourish,  and  seeming  to  have  talked 
himself  rather  more  drunk  and  much  more  fero- 
cious than  he  had  begun  by  being,  Mr.  Rider- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


43 


hood  took  up  his  pint  pot  and  swaggered  off  to 
the  tap-room. 

Gaffer  was  not  there,  but  a  pretty  strong  mus- 
ter of  Miss  Abbey's  pupils  were,  who  exhibited, 
when  occasion  required,  the  greatest  docility. 
On  the  clock's  striking  ten,  and  Miss  Abbey's 
appearing  at  the  door,  and  addressing  a  certain 
person  in  a  faded  scarlet  jacket,  with  "  George 
Jones,  your  time's  up !  I  told  your  wife  you 
should  be  punctual,"  Jones  submissively  rose, 
gave  the  company  good-night,  and  retired.  At 
half-past  ten,  on  Miss  Abbey's  looking  in  again, 
and  saying,  "William  Williams,  Bob  Glamour, 
and  Jonathan,  you  are  all  due, "  Williams,  Bob, 
and  Jonathan  with  similar  meekness  took  their 
leave  and  evaporated.  Greater  wonder  than 
these,  when  a  bottle- nosed  person  in  a  glazed 
hat  had  after  some  considerable  hesitation  or- 
dered another  glass  of  gin-and-water  of  the  at- 
tendant pot-boy,  and  when  Miss  Abbey,  instead 
of  sending  it,  appeared  in  person,  saying,  "  Cap- 
tain Joey,  you  have  had  as  much  as  will  do  you 
good,"  not  only  did  the  captain  feebly  rub  his 
knees  and  contemplate  the  fire  without  offering 
a  word  of  protest,  but  the  rest  of  the  company 
murmured,  "Ay,  ay,  Captain,  Miss  Abbey's 
right ;  you  be  guided  by  Miss  Abbey,  Captain." 
Nor  was  Miss  Abbey's  vigilance  in  anywise  abat- 
ed by  this  submission,  but  rather  sharpened ;  for, 
looking  round  on  the  deferential  faces  of  her 
school,  and  descrying  two  other  young  persons  in 
need  of  admonition,  she  thus  bestowed  it :  "  Tom 
Tootle,  it's  time  for  a  young  fellow  who's  going 
to  be  married  next  month,  to  be  at  home  and 
asleep.  And  you  needn't  nudge  him,  Mr.  Jack 
Mullins,  for  I  know  your  work  begins  early  to- 
morrow, and  I  say  the  same  to  you.  So  come ! 
Good-night,  like  good  lads !"  Upon  which,  the 
blushing  Tootle  looked  to  Mullins,  and  the  blush- 
ing Mullins  looked  to  Tootle,  on  the  question 
who  should  rise  first,  and  finally  both  rose  to- 
gether and  went  out  on  the  broad  grin,  followed 
by  Miss  Abbey ;  in  whose  presence  the  company 
did  not  take  the  liberty  of  grinning  likewise. 

In  such  an  establishment,  the  white-aproned 
pot-boy  with  his  shirt-sleeves  arranged  in  a  tight 
roll  on  each  bare  shoulder,  was  a  mere  hint  of 
the  possibility  of  physical  force,  thrown  out  as  a 
matter  of  state  and  form.  Exactly  at  the  closing 
hour,  all  the  guests  who  were  left  filed  out  in 
the  best  order  :  Miss  Abbey  standing  at  the  half 
door  of  the  bar,  to  hold  a  ceremony  of  review 
and  dismissal.  All  wished  Miss  Abbey  good- 
night, and  Miss  Abbey  wished  good-night  to  all, 
except  Riderhood.  The  sapient  pot-boy,  looking 
on  officially,  then  had  the  conviction  borne  in 
upon  his  soul,  that  the  man  was  evermore  out- 
cast and  excommunicate  from  the  Six  Jolly  Fel- 
lowship-Porters. 

"You  Bob  Glibbery,"  said  Miss  Abbey  to  this 
pot-boy,  "run  round  to  Hexam's  and  tell  his 
daughter  Lizzie  that  I  want  to  speak  to  her." 

With  exemplary  swiftness  Bob  Glibbery  de- 
parted, and  returned.  Lizzie,  following  him, 
arrived  as  one  of  the  two  female  domestics  of 
the  Fellowship-Porters  arranged  on  the  snug 
little  table  by  the  bar  fire  Miss  Potterson's  sup- 
per of  hot  sausages  and  mashed  potatoes. 

"Come  in  and  sit  ye  down,  girl,"  said  Miss 
Abbey.     "Can  you  eat  a  bit?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  Miss.  I  have  had  my  sup- 
per." 


"I  have  had  mine  too,  I  think,"  said  Miss 
Abbey,  pushing  away  the  untasted  dish,  "and 
more  than  enough  of  it.     I  am  put  out,  Lizzie." 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  it,  Miss." 

"Then  why,  in  the  name  of  Goodness,"  quoth 
Miss  Abbey,  sharply,  "  do  you  do  it?" 

"/doit,  Miss!" 

"There,  there!  Don't  look  astonished.  I 
ought  to  have  begun  with  a  word  of  explanation, 
but  it's  my  way  to  make  short  cuts  at  things.  I 
always  was  a  pepperer.  You  Bob  Glibbery  there, 
put  the  chain  upon  the  door  and  get  ye  down  to 
your  supper." 

With  an  alacrity  that  seemed  no  less  referable 
to  the  pepperer  fact  than  to  the  supper  fact,  Bob 
obeyed,  and  his  boots  were  heard  descending  to- 
ward the  bed  of  the  river. 

"Lizzie  Hexam,  Lizzie  Hexam,"  then  began 
Miss  Potterson,  "how  often  have  I  held  out  to 
you  the  opportunity  of  getting  clear  of  your  fa- 
ther, and  doing  well?" 

"Very  often,  Miss." 

"Very  often?  Yes!  And  I  might  as  well 
have  spoken  to  the  iron  funnel  of  the  strongest 
sea-going  steamer  that  passes  the  Fellowship- 
Porters." 

"No,  Miss,"  Lizzie  pleaded:  "because  that 
would  not  be  thankful,  and  I  am." 

"I  vow  and  declare  I  am  half  ashamed  of 
myself  for  taking  such  an  interest  in  you,"  said 
Miss  Abbey,  pettishly,  "for  I  don't  believe  I 
should  do  it  if  you  were  not  good-looking.  Why 
ain't  you  ugly?" 

Lizzie  merely  answered  this  difficult  question 
with  an  apologetic  glance. 

"However,  you  ain't,"  resumed  Miss  Pot- 
terson, "so  it's  no  use  going  into  that.  I  must 
take  you  as  I  find  you.  Which  indeed  is  what 
I've  done.  And  you  mean  to  say  you  are  still 
obstinate?" 

"Not  obstinate,  Miss,  I  hope." 

"Firm  (I  suppose  you  call  it)  then?" 

"Yes,  Miss.     Fixed  like." 

"Never  was  an  obstinate  person  yet,  who 
would  own  to  the  word !"  remarked  Miss  Pot- 
terson, rubbing  her  vexed  nose ;  "  I'm  sure  I 
would,  if  I  was  obstinate ;  but  I  am  a  pepperer, 
which  is  different.  Lizzie  Hexam,  Lizzie  Hex- 
am, think  again.  Do  you  know  the  worst  of  your 
father  ?" 

"Do  I  know  the  worst  of  father!"  she  repeat- 
ed, opening  her  eyes. 

"Do  you  know  the  suspicions  to  which  your 
father  makes  himself  liable  ?  Do  you  know  the 
suspicions  that  are  actually  about  against  him?" 

The  consciousness  of  what  he  habitually  did 
oppressed  the  girl  heavily,  and  she  slowly  cast 
down  her  eyes. 

"Say,  Lizzie.  Do  you  know?"  urged  Miss 
Abbey. 

"Please  to  tell  me  what  the  suspicions  are, 
Miss,"  she  asked  after  a  silence,  with  her  eyes 
upon  the  ground. 

"  It's  not  an  easy  thing  to  tell  a  daughter,  but 
it  must  be  told.  It  is  thought  by  some,  then, 
that  your  father  helps  to  their  death  a  few  of 
those  that  he  finds  dead." 

The  relief  of  hearing  what  she  felt  sure  was 

a  false  suspicion,  in  place  of  the  expected  real 

and  true  one,  so  lightened  Lizzie's  breast  for 

j  the  moment,  that  Miss  Abbey  was  amazed  at 

her  demeanor.      She  raised  her  eyes  quickly, 


44 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


shook  her  head,  and,  in  a  kind  of  triumph,  al- 
most laughed. 

"  They  little  know  father  who  talk  like  that !" 

("She  takes  it,"  thought  Miss  Abbey,  "very 
quietly.  She  takes  it  with  extraordinary  quiet- 
ness!") 

"And  perhaps,"  said  Lizzie,  as  a  recollection 
flashed  upon  her,  "it  is  some  one  who  has  a 
grudge  against  father ;  some  one  who  has  threat- 
ened father!     Is  it  Riderhood,  Miss?" 

"Well;  yes  it  is." 

"Yes!  He  was  father's  partner,  and  father 
broke  with  him,  and  now  he  revenges  himself. 
Father  broke  with  him  when  I  was  by,  and  he 
was  very  angry  at  it.  And  besides,  Miss  Ab- 
bey ! — Will  you  never,  without  strong  reason, 
let  pass  your  lips  what  I  am  going  to  say  ?" 

She  bent  forward  to  say  it  in  a  whisper. 

"I  promise,"  said  Miss  Abbey. 

"It  was  on  the  night  when  the  Harmon  mur- 
der was  found  out,  through  father,  just  above 
bridge.  And  just  below  bridge,  as  we  were 
sculling  home,  Riderhood  crept  out  of  the  dark 
in  his  boat.  And  many  and  many  times  after- 
ward, when  such  great  pains  were  taken  to  come 
to  the  bottom  of  the  crime,  and  it  never  could 
be  come  near,  I  thought  in  my  own  thoughts, 
could  Riderhood  himself  have  done  the  murder, 
and  did  he  purposely  let  father  find  the  body  ? 
It  seemed  a'most  wicked  and  cruel  to  so  much 
as  think  such  a  thing ;  but  now  that  he  tries  to 
throw  it  upon  father,  I  go  back  to  it  as  if  it  was 
a  truth.  Can  it  be  a  truth  ?  That  was  put  into 
my  mind  by  the  dead  ?" 

She  asked  this  question  rather  of  the  fire  than 
of  the  hostess  of  the  Fellowship-Porters,  and 
looked  round  the  little  bar  with  troubled  eyes. 

But,  Miss  Potterson,  as  a  ready  schoolmis- 
tress accustomed  to  bring  her  pupils  to  book,  set 
the  matter  in  a  light  that  was  essentially  of  this 
world . 

"You  poor  deluded  girl,"  she  said,  "don't 
you  see  that  you  can't  open  your  mind  to  par- 
ticular suspicions  of  one  of  the  two,  without 
opening  your  mind  to  general  suspicions  of  the 
other  ?  They  had  worked  together.  Their  go- 
ings-on had  been  going  on  for  some  time.  Even 
granting  that  it  was  as  you  have  had  in  your 
thoughts,  what  the  two  had  done  together  would 
come  familiar  to  the  mind  of  one." 

"You  don't  know  father,  Miss,  when  you 
talk  like  that.  Indeed,  indeed,  you  don't  know 
father." 

"Lizzie,  Lizzie,"  said  Miss  Potterson.  "Leave 
him.  You  needn't  break  with  him  altogether, 
but  leave  him.  Do  well  away  from  him ;  not 
because  of  what  I  have  told  you  to-night — we'll 
pass  no  judgment  upon  that,  and  we'll  hope  it 
may  not  be — but  because  of  what  I  have  urged 
on  you  before.  No  matter  whether  it's  owing  to 
your  good  looks  or  not,  I  like  you  and  I  want 
to  serve  you.  Lizzie,  come  under  my  direction. 
Don't  fling  yourself  away,  my  girl,  but  be  per- 
suaded into  being  respectable  and  happy." 

In  the  sound  good  feeling  and  good  sense  of 
her  entreaty,  Miss  Abbey  had  softened  into  a 
soothing  tone,  and  had  even  drawn  her  arm 
round  the  girl's  waist.  But  she  only  replied, 
"Thank  you,  thank  you!  I  can't.  I  won't.  I 
must  not  think  of  it.  The  harder  father  is  borne 
upon,  the  more  he  needs  me  to  lean  on." 

And  then  Miss  Abbey,  who,  like  all  hard  peo- 


ple when  they  do  soften,  felt  that  there  was  con- 
siderable compensation  owing  to  her,  underwent 
reaction  and  became  frigid. 

"I  have  done  what  I  can,"  she  said,  "and 
you  must  go  your  way.  You  make  your  bed, 
and  you  must  lie  on  it.  But  tell  your  father  one 
thing :  he  must  not  come  here  any  more." 

"Oh,  Miss,  will  you  forbid  him  the  house 
where  I  know  he's  safe?" 

"The  Fellowships,"  returned  Miss  Abbey, 
"has  itself  to  look  to,  as  well  as  others.  It 
has  been  hard  work  to  establish  order  here,  and 
make  the  Fellowships  what  it  is,  and  it  is  daily 
and  nightly  hard  work  to  keep  it  so.  The  Fel- 
lowships must  not  have  a  taint  upon  it  that  may 
give  it  a  bad  name.  I  forbid  the  house  to  Rider- 
hood, and  I  forbid  the  house  to  Gaffer.  I  for- 
bid both,  equally.  I  find  from  Riderhood  and 
you  together,  that  there  are  suspicions  against 
both  men,  and  I'm  not  going  to  take  upon  my- 
self to  decide  betwixt  them.  They  are  both 
tarred  with  a  dirty  brush,  and  I  can't  have  the 
Fellowships  tarred  with  the  same  brush.  That's 
all  /know." 

"Good-night,  Miss!"  said  Lizzie  Hexam,  sor- 
rowfully. 

"Hah! — Good-night!"  returned  Miss  Abbey 
with  a  shake  of  her  head. 

"Believe  me,  Miss  Abbey,  I  am  truly  grate- 
ful all  the  same." 

"I  can  believe  a  good  deal,"  returned  the 
stately  Abbey,  "so  I'll  try  to  believe  that  too, 
Lizzie." 

No  supper  did  Miss  Potterson  take  that  night, 
and  only  half  her  usual  tumbler  of  hot  Port  Ne- 
gus. And  the  female  domestics — two  robust 
sisters,  with  staring  black  eyes,  shining  flat  red 
faces,  blunt  noses,  and  strong  black  curls,  like 
dolls  —  interchanged  the  sentiment  that  Missis 
had  had  her  hair  combed  the  wrong  way  by 
somebody.  And  the  pot-boy  afterward  remark- 
ed,.that  he  hadn't  been  "so  rattled  to  bed" since 
his  late  mother  had  systematically  accelerated 
his  retirement  to  rest  with  a  poker. 

The  chaining  of  the  door  behind  her,  as  she 
went  forth,  disenchanted  Lizzie  Hexam  of  that 
first  relief  she  had  felt.  The  night  was  black 
and  shrill,  the  river-side  wilderness  was  melan- 
choly, and  there  was  a  sound  of  casting-out,  in 
the  rattling  of  the  iron-links,  and  the  grating  of 
the  bolts  and  staples  under  Miss  Abbey's  hand. 
As  she  came  beneath  the  lowering  sky,  a  sense 
of  being  involved  in  a  murky  shade  of  Murder 
dropped  upon  her ;  and,  as  the  tidal  swell  of  the 
river  broke  at  her  feet  without  her  seeing  how 
it  gathered,  so,  her  thoughts  startled  her  by 
rushing  out  of  an  unseen  void  and  striking  at 
her  heart. 

Of  her  father's  being  groundlessly  suspected, 
she  felt  sure.  Sure.  Sure.  And  yet,  repeat 
the  word  inwardly  as  often  as  she  would,  the 
attempt  to  reason  out  and  prove  that  she  was 
sure,  always  came  after  it  and  failed.  Rider- 
hood had  done  the  deed,  and  entrapped  her  fa- 
ther. Riderhood  had  not  done  the  deed,  but 
had  resolved  in  his  malice  to  turn  against  her 
father  the  appearances  that  were  ready  to  his 
hand  to  distort.  Equally  and  swiftly  upon  either 
putting  of  the  case,  followed  the  frightful  possi- 
bility that  her  father,  being  innocent,  yet  might 
come  to  be  believed  guilty.  She  had  heard  of 
people,  suffering  Death  for  bloodshed  of  which 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


45 


they  were  afterward  proved  pure,  and  those  ill- 
fated  persons  were  not,  first,  in  that  dangerous 
wrong  in  which  her  father  stood.  Then  at  the 
best,  the  beginning  of  his  being  set  apart,  whis- 
pered against,  and  avoided,  was  a  certain  fact. 
It  dated  from  that  very  night.  And  as  the  great 
black  river  with  its  dreary  shores  was  soon  lost 
to  her  view  in  the  gloom,  so,  she  stood  on  the 
river's  brink  unable  to  see  into  the  vast  blank 
misery  of  a  life  suspected,  and  fallen  away  from 
by  good  and  bad,  but  knowing  that  it  lay  there 
dim  before  her,  stretching  away  to  the  great 
ocean,  Death. 

One  thing  only  was  clear  to  the  girl's  mind. 
Accustomed  from  her  very  babyhood  promptly 
to  do  the  thing  that  conld  be  done — whether  to 
keep  out  weather,  to  ward  off  cold,  to  postpone 
hunger,  or  what  not — she  started  out  of  her 
meditation,  and  ran  home. 

The  room  was  quiet,  and  the  lamp  burnt  on 
the  table.  In  the  bunk  in  the  corner  her  broth- 
er lay  asleep.  She  bent  over  him  softly,  kissed 
him,  and  came  to  the  table. 

"By  the  time  of  Miss  Abbey's  closing,  and 
by  the  run  of  the  tide,  it  must  be  one.  Tide's 
running  up.  Father  at  Chiswick,  wouldn't  think 
of  coming  down  till  after  the  turn,  and  that's  at 
half  after  four.  I'll  call  Charley  at  six.  I  shall 
hear  the  church-clocks  strike  as  I  sit  here." 

Very  quietly  she  placed  a  chair  before  the 
scanty  fire,  and  sat  down  in  it,  drawing  her 
shawl  about  her. 

"Charley's  hollow  down  by  the  flare  is  not 
there  now.     Poor  Charley !" 

The  clock  struck  two,  and  the  clock  struck 
three,  and  the  clock  struck  four,  and  she  remain- 
ed there,  with  a  woman's  patience  and  her  own 
purpose.  When  the  morning  was  well  on  be- 
tween four  and  five,  she  slipped  off  her  shoes 
(that  her  going  about  might  not  wake  Charley), 
trimmed  the  fire  sparingly,  put  water  on  to  boil, 
and  set  the  table  for  breakfast.  Then  she  went 
up  the  ladder,  lamp  in  hand,  and  came  down 
again,  and  glided  about  and  about,  making  a 
little  bundle.  Lastly,  from  her  pocket,  and  from 
the  chimney-piece,  and  from  an  inverted  basin 
on  the  highest  shelf,  she  brought  half-pence,  a 
few  sixpences,  fewer  shillings,  and  fell  to  labori- 
ously and  noiselessly  counting  them,  and  setting 
aside  one  little  heap.  She  was  still  so  engaged, 
when  she  was  startled  by : 

"Hal-loa!"  From  her  brother,  sitting  up  in 
bed. 

"You  made  me  jump,  Charley." 

"Jump!  Didn't  you  make  vie  jump,  when 
I  opened  my  eyes  a  moment  ago,  and  saw  you 
sitting  there,  like  the  ghost  of  a  girl-miser,  in 
the  dead  of  the  night?" 

"  It's  not  the  dead  of  the  night,  Charley.  It's 
nigh  six  in  the  morning." 

"  Is  it  though  ?    But  what  are  you  up  to,  Liz?" 

"  Still  telling  your  fortune,  Charley." 

"  It  seems  to  be  a  precious  small  one,  if  that's 
it,"  said  the  boy.  "  What  are  you  putting  that 
little  pile  of  monev  by  itself  for  ?" 

"For  you,  Charley." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Get  out  of  bed,  Charley,  and  get  washed 
and  dressed,  and  then  I'll  tell  you." 

Her  composed  manner,  and  her  low  distinct 
voice,  always  had  an  influence  over  him.  His 
head  was  soon  in  a  basin  of  water,  and  out  of  it 


again,  and  staring  at  her  through  a  storm  of 
toweling. 

"I  never,"  toweling  at  himself  as  if  he  were 
his  bitterest  enemy,  "  saw  such  a  girl  as  you  are. 
What  is  the  move,  Liz?" 

"Are  you  almost  ready  for  breakfast,  Char- 
ley?" 

"  You  can  pour  it  out.  Hal-loa !  I  say  ?  And 
a  bundle  ?" 

"And  a  bundle,  Charley." 

"You  don't  mean  it's  for  me,  too?" 

"Yes,  Charley;  I  do,  indeed." 

More  serious  of  face,  and  more  slow  of  action, 
than  he  had  been,  the  boy  completed  his  dress- 
ing, and  came  and  sat  down  at  the  little  break- 
fast-table, with  his  eyes  amazedly  directed  to 
her  face. 

"You  see,  Charley  dear,  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  that  this  is  the  right  time  for  your  going 
away  from  us.  Over  and  above  all  the  blessed 
change  of  by-and-by,  you'll  be  much  happier, 
and  do  much  better,  even  so  soon  as  next  month. 
Even  so  soon  as  next  week." 

"How  do  you  know  I  shall?" 

"I  don't  quite  know  how,  Charley,  but  I  do." 
In  spite  of  her  unchanged  manner  of  speaking, 
and  her  unchanged  appearance  of  composure, 
she  scarcely  trusted  herself  to  look  at  him,  but 
kept  her  eyes  employed  on  the  cutting  and  but- 
tering of  his  bread,  and  on  the  mixing  of  his 
tea,  and  other  such  little  preparations.  "You 
must  leave  father  to  me,  Charley — I  will  do 
what  I  can  with  him — but  you  must  go." 

"You  don't  stand  upon  ceremony,  I  think," 
grumbled  the  boy,  throwing  his  bread  and  but- 
ter about,  in  an  ill  humor. 

She  made  him  no  answer. 

"I  tell  you  what,"  said  the  boy,  then,  burst- 
ing out  into  an  angry  whimpering,  "you're  a 
selfish  jade,  and  you  think  there's  not  enough 
for  three  of  us,  and  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me." 

"If  you  believe  so,  Charley, — yes,  then  I  be- 
lieve too,  that  I  am  a  selfish  jade,  and  that  I 
think  there's  not  enough  for  three  of  us,  and  that 
I  want  to  get  rid  of  you." 

It  was  only  when  the  boy  rushed  at  her,  and 
threw  his  arms  round  her  neck,  that  she  lost  her 
self-restraint.  But  she  lost  it  then,  and  wept 
over  him. 

"Don't  cry,  don't  cry !  I  am  satisfied  to  go, 
Liz  ;  I  am  satisfied  to  go.  I  know  you  send  me 
away  for  my  good." 

"O,  Charley,  Charley,  Heaven  above  us 
knows  I  do !" 

"Yes,  yes.  Don't  mind  what  I  said.  Don't 
remember  it.     Kiss  me." 

After  a  silence,  she  loosed  him,  to  dry  her 
eyes  and  regain  her  strong  quiet  influence. 

"Now  listen,  Charley  dear.  We  both  know 
it  must  be  done,  and  I  alone  know  there  is  good 
reason  for  its  being  done  at  once.  Go  straight 
to  the  school,  and  say  that  you  and  I  agreed 
upon  it — that  we  can't  overcome  father's  oppo- 
sition— that  father  will  never  trouble  them,  but 
will  never  take  you  back.  You  are  a  credit  to 
the  school,  and  you  will  be  a  greater  credit  to  it 
yet,  and  they  will  help  you  to  get  a  living.  Show 
what  clothes  you  have  brought,  and  what  money, 
and  say  that  I  will  send  some  more  money.  If 
I  can  get  some  in  no  other  way,  I  will  ask  a 
little  help  of  those  two  gentlemen  who  came 
here  that  night." 


4G 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  I  say !"  cried  her  brother,  quickly.  "  Don't 
you  have  it  of  that  chap  that  took  hold  of  me  by 
the  chin !  Don't  you  have  it  of  that  Wrayburn 
one!" 

Perhaps  a  slight  additional  tinge  of  red  flashed 
up  into  her  face  and  brow,  as  with  a  nod  she 
laid  a  hand  upon  his  lips  to  keep  him  silently 
attentive. 

"And  above  all  things  mind  this,  Charley! 
Be  sure  you  always  speak  well  of  father.  Be 
sure  you  always  give  father  his  full  due.  You 
can't  deny  that  because  father  has  no  learning 
himself  he  is  set  against  it  in  you ;  but  favor  no- 
thing else  against  him,  and  be  sure  you  say — as 
you  know — that  your  sister  is  devoted  to  him. 
And  if  you  should  ever  happen  to  hear  any  thing 
said  against  father  that  is  new  to  you,  it  will 
not  be  true.  Remember,  Charley !  It  will  not 
be  true." 

The  boy  looked  at  her  with  some  doubt  and 
surprise,  but  she  went  on  again  without  heed- 
ing it. 

"Above  all  things,  remember !  It  will  not  be 
true.  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,  Charley  dear, 
except,  be  good,  and  get  learning,  and  only  think 
of  some  things  in  the  old  life  here,  as  if  you  had 
dreamed  them  in  a  dream  last  night.  Good-by, 
my  Darling!" 

Though  so  young,  she  infused  into  these  part- 
ing words  a  love  that  was  far  more  like  a  mo- 
ther's than  a  sister's,  and  before  which  the  boy 
was  quite  bowed  down.  After  holding  her  to 
his  breast  with  a  passionate  cry,  he  took  up  his 
bundle  and  darted  out  at  the  door,  with  an  arm 
across  his  eyes. 

The  white  face  of  the  winter  day  came  slug- 
gishly on,  veiled  in  a  frosty  mist ;  and  the  shad- 
owy ships  in  the  river  slowly  changed  to  black 
substances ;  and  the  sun,  blood-red  on  the  east- 
ern marshes  behind  dark  masts  andyards,  seemed 
filled  with  the  ruins  of  a  forest  it  had  set  on  fire. 
Lizzie,  looking  for  her  father,  saw  him  coming, 
and  stood  upon  the  causeway  that  he  might  see 
her. 

He  had  nothing  with  him  but  his  boat,  and 
came  on  apace.  A  knot  of  those  amphibious 
human  creatures  who  appear  to  have  some  mys- 
terious power  of  extracting  a  subsistence  out  of 
tidal  water  by  looking  at  it,  were  gathered  to- 
gether about  the  causeway.  As  her  father's 
boat  grounded,  they  became  contemplative  of 
the  mud,  and  dispersed  themselves.  She  saw 
that  the  mute  avoidance  had  begun. 

Gaffer  saw  it,  too,  in  so  far  as  that  he  was 
moved  when  he  set  foot  on  shore,  to  stare  around 
him.  But  he  promptly  set  to  work  to  haul  up 
his  boat,  and  make  her  fast,  and  take  the  sculls 
and  rudder  and  rope  out  of  her.  Carrying  these 
with  Lizzie's  aid,  he  passed  up  to  his  dwelling. 

"  Sit  close  to  the  fire,  father,  dear,  while  I 
cook  your  breakfast.  It's  all  ready  for  cooking, 
and  only  been  waiting  for  you.  You  must  be 
frozen." 

"Well,  Lizzie,  I  ain't  of  a  glow;  that's  cer- 
tain. And  my  hands  seemed  nailed  through  to 
the  sculls.  See  how  dead  they  are!"  Some- 
thing suggestive  in  their  color,  and  perhaps  in 
her  face,  struck  him  as  he  held  them  up;  he 
turned  his  shoulder  and  held  them  down  to  the 
fire. 

"You  were  not  out  in  the  perishing  night,  I 
hope,  father?" 


"No,  my  dear.  Lay  aboard  a  barge,  by  a 
blazing  coal-fire. — Where's  that  boy?" 

"There's  a  drop  of  brandy  for  your  tea,  father, 
if  you'll  put  it  in  while  I  turn  this  bit  of  meat. 
If  the  river  was  to  get  frozen,  there  would  be  a 
deal  of  distress ;  wouldn't  there,  father?" 

"Ah!  there's  always  enough  of  that,"  said 
Gaffer,  dropping  the  liquor  into  his  cup  from  a 
squat  black  bottle,  and  dropping  it  slowly  that 
it  might  seem  more ;  "  distress  is  forever  a-going 
about,  like  sut  in  the  air — Ain't  that  boy  up 

yet?" 

' '  The  meat's  ready  now,  fath  er.  Eat  it  while 
it's  hot  and  comfortable.  After  you  have  fin- 
ished, we'll  turn  round  to  the  fire  and  talk." 

But  he  perceived  that  he  was  evaded,  and, 
having  thrown  a  hasty  angry  glance  toward  the 
bunk,  plucked  at  a  corner  of  her  apron  and 
asked : 

"  What's  gone  with  that  boy  ?" 

"  Father,  if  you'll  begin  your  breakfast,  I'll 
sit  by  and  tell  you." 

He  looked  at  her,  stirred  his  tea  and  took  two 
or  three  gulps,  then  cut  at  his  piece  of  hot  steak 
with  his  case-knife,  and  said,  eating : 

"Now  then.     What's  gone  with  that  boy  ?" 

"  Don't  be  angry,  dear.  It  seems,  father,  that 
he  has  quite  a  gift  of  learning. " 

."Unnat'ral  young  beggar!"  said  the  parent, 
shaking  his  knife  in  the  air. 

" — And  that  having  this  gift,  and  not  being 
equally  good  at  other  things,  he  has  made  shift 
to  get  some  schooling." 

"Unnat'ral  young  beggar!"  said  the  parent 
again,  with  his  former  action. 

" — And  that  knowing  you  have  nothing  to 
spare,  father,  and  not  wishing  to  be  a  burden  on 
you,  he  gradually  made  up  his  mind  to  go  seek 
his  fortune  out  of  learning.  He  went  away  this 
morning,  father,  and  lie  cried  very  much  at  go- 
ing, and  he  hoped  you  would  forgive  him." 

"Let  him  never  come  a  nigh  me  to  ask  me 
my  forgiveness,"  said  the  father,  again  empha- 
sizing his  words  with  the  knife.  * '  Let  him  never 
come  within  sight  of  my  eyes,  nor  yet  within 
reach  of  my  arm.  His  own  father  ain't  good 
enough  for  him.  He's  disowned  his  own  father. 
His  own  father  therefore  disowns  him  for  ever 
and  ever,  as  a  unnat'ral  young  beggar." 

He  had  pushed  away  his  plate.  With  the  nat- 
ural need  of  a  strong  rough  man  in  anger,  to  do 
something  forcible,  he  now  clutched  his  knife 
overhand,  and  struck  downward  with  it  at  the 
end  of  every  succeeding  sentence.  As  he  would 
have  struck  with  his  own  clenched  fist  if  there 
had  chanced  to  be  nothing  in  it. 

"  He's  welcome  to  go.  He's  more  welcome  to 
go  than  to  stay.  But  let  him  never  come  back. 
Let  him  never  put  his  head  inside  that  door. 
And  let  you  never  speak  a  word  more  in  his  fa- 
vor, or  you'll  disown  your  own  father,  likewise, 
and  what  your  father  says  of  him  he'll  have  to 
come  to  say  of  you.  Now  I  see  why  them  men 
yonder  held  aloof  from  me.  They  says  to  one 
another,  'Here  comes  the  man  as  ain't  good 
enough  for  his  own  son  !'     Lizzie — !" 

But  she  stopped  him  with  a  cry.  Looking  at 
her  he  saw  her,  with  a  face  quite  strange  to  him, 
shrinking  back  against  the  wall,  with  her  hands 
before  her  eyes. 

' '  Father,  don't !  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  strik- 
ing with  it.     Put  it  down  !" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


47 


He  looked  at  the  knife ;  but  in  his  astonish- 
ment still  held  it. 

"Father,  it's  too  horrible.  O  put  it  down, 
put  it  down!" 

Confounded  by  her  appearance  and  exclama- 
tion, he  tossed  it  away,  and  stood  up  with  his 
open  hands  held  out  before  him. 

"What's  come  to  you,  Liz?  Can  you  think 
I  would  strike  at  you  with  a  knife?" 

"No,  father,  no;  you  would  never  hurt  me." 

"  What  should  I  hurt  ?" 

"  Nothing,  dear  father.  On  my  knees,  I  am 
certain,  in  my  heart  and  soul  I  am  certain,  no- 
thing !  But  it  was  too  dreadful  to  bear ;  for  it 
looked — "  her  hands  covering  her  face  again, 
"  O  it  looked— " 

"What  did  it  look  like?" 

The  recollection  of  his  murderous  figure,  com- 
bining with  her  trial  of  last  night,  and  her  trial 
of  the  morning,  caused  her  to  drop  at  his  feet, 
without  having  answered. 

He  had  never  seen  her  so  before.  He  raised 
her  with  the  utmost  tenderness,  calling  her  the 
best  of  daughters,  and  ' '  my  poor  pretty  creetur," 
and  laid  her  head  upon  his  knee,  and  tried  to 
restore  her.  But  failing,  he  laid  her  head  gen- 
tly down  again,  got  a  pillow  and  placed  it  un- 
der her  dark  hair,  and  sought  on  the  table  for  a 
spoonful  of  brandy.  There  being  none  left,  he 
hurriedly  caught  up  the  empty  bottle,  and  ran 
out  at  the  door. 

He  returned  as  hurriedly  as  he  had  gone,  with 
the  bottle  still  empty.  He  kneeled  down  by  her, 
took  her  head  on  his  arm,  and  moistened  her 
lips  with  a  little  water  into  which  he  dipped  his 
fingers:  saying,  fiercely,  as  he  looked  around, 
now  over  this  shoulder,  now  over  that : 

" Have  we  got  a  pest  in  the  house?  Is  there 
sum m' at  deadly  sticking  to  my  clothes  ?  What's 
let  loose  upon  us  ?    Who  loosed  it  ?" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ME.  WEGG   LOOKS   AFTER   HIMSELF. 

Silas  Wegg,  being  on  his  road  to  the  Roman 
Empire,  approaches  it  by  way  of  Clerkenwell. 
The  time  is  early  in  the  evening ;  the  weather 
moist  and  raw.  Mr.  Wegg  finds  leisure  to  make 
a  little  circuit,  by  reason  that  he  folds  his  screen 
early,  now  that  he  combines  another  source  of 
income  with  it,  and  also  that  he  feels  it  due  to 
himself  to  be  anxiously  expected  at  the  Bower. 
"Boffin  will  get  all  the  eagerer  for  waiting  a 
bit,"  says  Silas,  screwing  up,  as  he  stumps  along, 
first  his  right  eye,  and  then  his  left.  Which  is 
something  superfluous  in  him,  for  Nature  has  al- 
ready screwed  both  pretty  tight. 

"  If  I  get  on  with  him  as  I  expect  to  get  on," 
Silas  pursues,  stumping  and  meditating,  "it 
wouldn't  become  me  to  leave  it  here.  It 
wouldn't  be  respectable."  Animated  by  this  re- 
flection, he  stumps  faster,  and  looks  a  long  way 
before  him,  as  a  man  with  an  ambitious  project 
in  abeyance  often  will  do. 

Aware  of  a  working-jeweler  population  taking 
sanctuary  about  the  church  in  Clerkenwell,  Mr. 
Wegg  is  conscious  of  an  interest  in,  and  a  re- 
spect for,  the  neighborhood.  But  his  sensations 
in  this  regard  halt  as  to  their  strict  morality,  as 
he  halts  in  his  gait ;  for,  they  suggest  the  de- 


lights of  a  coat  of  invisibility  in  which  to  walk 
off  safely  with  the  precious  stones  and  watch- 
cases,  but  stop  short  of  any  compunction  for  the 
people  who  would  lose  the  same. 

Not,  however,  toward  the  "  shops"  where  cun- 
ning artificers  work  in  pearls  and  diamonds  and 
gold  and  silver,  making  their  hands  so  rich,  that 
the  enriched  water  in  which  they  wash  them  is 
bought  for  the  refiners ; — not  toward  these  does 
Mr.  Wegg  stump,  but  toward  the  poorer  shops 
of  small  retail  traders  in  commodities  to  eat  and 
drink  and  keep  folks  warm,  and  of  Italian  frame- 
makers,  and  of  barbers,  and  of  brokers,  and  of 
dealers  in  dogs  and  singing-birds.  From  these, 
in  a  narrow  and  a  dirty  street  devoted  to  such 
callings,  Mr.  Wegg  selects  one  dark  shop-win- 
dow with  a  tallow-candle  dimly  burning  in  it, 
surrounded  by  a  muddle  of  objects  vaguely  re- 
sembling pieces  of  leather  and  dry  stick,  but 
among  which  nothing  is  resolvable  into  any  thing 
distinct,  save  the  candle  itself  in  its  old  tin  can- 
dlestick, and  two  preserved  frogs  fighting  a  small- 
sword duel.  Stumping  with  fresh  vigor,  he  goes 
in  at  the  dark  greasy  entry,  pushes  a  little  greasy 
dark  reluctant  side-door,  and  follows  the  door 
into  the  little  dark  greasy  shop.  It  is  so  dark 
that  nothing  can  be  made  out  in  it,  over  a  little 
counter,  but  another  tallow-candle  in  another 
old  tin  candlestick,  close  to  the  face  of  a  man 
stooping  low  in  a  chair. 

Mr.  Wegg  nods  to  the  face,  "Good-evening." 

The  face  looking  up  is  a  sallow  face  with  weak 
eyes,  surmounted  by  a  tangle  of  reddish-dusty 
hair.  The  owner  of  the  face  has  no  cravat  on, 
and  has  opened  his  tumbled  shirt-collar  to  work 
with  the  more  ease.  For  the  same  reason  he 
has  no  coat  on :  only  a  loose  waistcoat  over  his 
yellow  linen.  His  eyes  are  like  the  over-tried 
eyes  of  an  engraver,  but  he  is  not  that ;  his  ex- 
pression and  stoop  are  like  those  of  a  shoemaker, 
but  he  is  not  that. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Venus.  Don't  you  re- 
member?" 

With  slowly  dawning  remembrance  Mr.  Ve- 
nus rises,  and  holds  his  candle  over  the  little 
counter,  and  holds  it  down  toward  the  legs,  nat- 
ural and  artificial,  of  Mr.  Wegg. 

"  To  be  sure  /"  he  says,  then.  "  How  do  you 
do?" 

"Wegg,  you  know,  "that  gentleman  explains. 

"Yes,  yes,"  says  the  other.  "Hospital  am- 
putation ?" 

"Just  so,"  says  Mr.  Wegg. 

"Yes,  yes,"  quoth  Venus.  "How  do  you 
do?  Sit  down  by  the  fire,  and  warm  your — 
your  other  one." 

The  little  counter  being  so  short  a  counter 
that  it  leaves  the  fire-place,  which  would  have 
been  behind  it  if  it  had  been  longer,  accessible, 
Mr.  Wegg  sits  down  on  a  box  in  front  of  the 
fire,  and  inhales  a  warm  and  comfortable  smell 
which  is  not  the  smell  of  the  shop.  "  For  that, " 
Mr.  Wegg  inwardly  decides,  as  he  takes  a  cor- 
rective sniff  or  two,  "is  musty,  leathery,  feath- 
ery, cellary,  gluey,  gummy,  and,"  with  another 
sniff,  "as  it  might  be,  strong  of  old  pairs  of 
bellows." 

"  My  tea  is  drawing,  and  my  muffin  is  on  the 
hob,  Mr.  Wegg ;  will  you  partake?" 

It  being  one  of  Mr.  Wegg's  guiding  rules  in 
life  always  to  partake,  he  says  he  will.  But,  the 
little  shop  is  so  excessively  dark,  is  stuck  so  full 


48 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


of  black  shelves  and  brackets  and  nooks  and 
corners,  that  he  sees  Mr.  Venus's  cup  and  sau- 
cer only  because  it  is  close  under  the  candle, 
and  does  not  see  from  what  mysterious  recess 
Mr.  Venus  produces  another  for  himself,  until 
it  is  under  his  nose.  Concurrently,  Wegg  per- 
ceives a  pretty  little  dead  bird  lying  on  the  count- 
er, with  its  head  drooping  on  one  side  against 
the  rim  of  Mr.  Venus's  saucer,  and  a  long  stiff 
wire  piercing  its  breast.  As  if  it  were  Cock 
Robin,  the  hero  of  the  ballad,  and  Mr.  Venus 
were  the  sparrow  with  his  bow  and  arrow,  and 
Mr.  Wegg  were  the  fly  with  his  little  eye. 

Mr.  Venus  dives,  and  produces  another  muf- 
fin, yet  untoasted ;  taking  the  arrow  out  of  the 
breast  of  Cock  Robin,  he  proceeds  to  toast  it  on 
the  end  of  that  cruel  instrument.  When  it  is 
brown,  he  dives  again  and  produces  butter,  with 
which  he  completes  his  work. 

Mr.  Wegg,  as  an  artful  man  who  is  sure  of 
his  supper  by-and-by,  presses  muffin  on  his  host 
to  soothe  him  into  a  compliant  state  of  mind, 
or,  as  one  might  say,  to  grease  his  works.  As 
the  muffins  disappear,  little  by  little,  the  black 
shelves  and  nooks  and  corners  begin  to  appear, 
and  Mr.  Wegg  gradually  acquires  an  imperfect 
notion  that  over  against  him  on  the  chimney- 
piece  is  a  Hindoo  baby  in  a  bottle,  curved  up 
with  his  big  head  tucked  under  him,  as  though 
he  would  instantly  throw  a  somersault  if  the 
bottle  were  large  enough. 

When  he  deems  Mr.  Venus's  wheels  sufficient- 
ly lubricated,  Mr.  Wegg  approaches  his  object 
by  asking,  as  he  lightly  taps  his  hands  together, 
to  express  an  undesigning  frame  of  mind : 

"And  how  have  I  been  going  on,  this  long 
time,  Mr.  Venus?" 

"Very  bad,"  says  Mr.  Venus,  uncompromis- 
ingly. 

"What ?  Am  I  still  at  home ?"  asks  Wegg, 
with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"Always  at  home." 

This  would  seem  to  be  secretly  agreeable  to 
Wegg,  but  he  veils  his  feelings,  and  observes, 
"  Strange.    To  what  do  you  attribute  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  replies  Venus,  who  is  a  hag- 
gard melancholy  man,  speaking  in  a  weak  voice 
of  querulous  complaint,  "to  what  to  attribute 
it,  Mr.  Wegg.  I  can't  work  you  into  a  miscel- 
laneous one,  nohow.  Do  what  I  will,  you  can't 
be  got  to  fit.  Any  body  with  a  passable  knowl- 
edge would  pick  you  out  at  a  look,  and  say, — 
'  No  go  !     Don't  match !' " 

"Well,  but  hang  it,  Mr.  Venus,"  Wegg  ex- 
postulates with  some  little  irritation,  "  that  can't 
be  personal  and  peculiar  in  me.  It  must  often 
happen  with  miscellaneous  ones." 

"With  ribs  (I  grant  you)  always.  But  not 
else.  When  I  prepare  a  miscellaneous  one,  I 
know  beforehand  that  I  can't  keep  to  nature, 
and  be  miscellaneous  with  ribs,  because  every 
man  has  his  own  ribs,  and  no  other  man's  will 
go  with  them ;  but  elseways  I  can  be  miscella- 
neous. I  have  just  sent  home  a  Beauty — a  per- 
fect Beauty — to  a  school  of  art.  One  leg  Bel- 
gian, one  leg  English,  and  the  pickings  of  eight 
other  people  in  it.  Talk  of  not  being  qualified 
to  be  miscellaneous !  By  rights  you  ought  to  be, 
Mr.  Wegg." 

Silas  looks  as  hard  at  his  one  leg  as  he  can  in 
the  dim  light,  and  after  a  pause  sulkily  opines 
"  that  it  must  be  the  fault  of  the  other  people. 


Or  how  do  you  mean  to  say  it  comes  about  V 
he  demands,  impatiently. 

"I  don't  know  how  it  comes  about.  Stand 
up  a  minute.  Hold  the  light."  Mr.  Venus 
takes  from  a  corner  by  his  chair  the  bones  of  a 
leg  and  foot,  beautifully  pure,  and  put  together 
with  exquisite  neatness.  These  he  compares 
with  Mr.  Wegg's  leg ;  that  gentleman  looking 
on,  as  if  he  were  being  measured  for  a  riding- 
boot.  "  No,  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  so  it  is. 
You  have  got  a  twist  in  that  bone,  to  the  best  of 
my  belief,     /never  saw  the  likes  of  you." 

Mr.  Wegg  having  looked  distrustfully  at  his 
own  limb,  and  suspiciously  at  the  pattern  with 
which  it  has  been  compared,  makes  the  point : 

"I'll  bet  a  pound  that  ain't  an  English  one !" 

"An  easy  wager,  when  we  run  so  much  into 
foreign !  No,  it  belongs  to  that  French  gentle- 
man." 

As  he  nods  toward  a  point  of  darkness  be- 
hind Mr.  Wegg,  the  latter,  with  a  slight  start, 
looks  round  for  "that French  gentleman,"  whom 
he  at  length  descries  to  be  represented  (in  a  very 
workman-like  manner)  by  his  ribs  only,  stand- 
ing on  a  shelf  in  another  corner,  like  a  piece  of 
armor  or  a  pair  of  stays. 

"Oh!"  says  Mr.  Wegg,  with  a  sort  of  sense 
of  being  introduced;  "I  dare  say  you  were  all 
right  enough  in  your  own  country,  but  I  hope 
no  objections  will  be  taken  to  my  saying  that 
the  Frenchman  was  never  yet  born  as*  I  should 
wish  to  match." 

At  this  moment  the  greasy  door  is  violently 
pushed  inward,  and  a  boy  follows  it,  who  says, 
after  having  let  it  slam : 

"Come  for  the  stuffed  canary." 

"It's  three-and-ninepence,"  returns  Venus; 
"have  you  got  the  money?" 

The  boy  produces  four  shillings.  Mr.  Venus, 
always  in  exceedingly  low  spirits  and  making 
whimpering  sounds,  peers  about  for  the  stuffed 
canary.  On  his  taking  the  candle  to  assist  his 
search,  Mr.  Wegg  observes  that  he  has  a  con- 
venient little  shelf  near  his  knees,  exclusively 
appropriated  to  skeleton  hands,  which  have  very 
much  the  appearance  of  wanting  to  lay  hold  of 
him.  From  these  Mr.  Venus  rescues  the  canary 
in  a  glass  case,  and  shows  it  to  the  boy. 

"There!"  he  whimpers.  "There's  anima- 
tion T  On  a  twig,  making  up  his  mind  to  hop! 
Take  care  of  him ;  he's  a  lovely  specimen. — 
And  three  is  four." 

The  boy  gathers  up  his  change,  and  has  pulled 
the  door  open  by  a  leather  strap  nailed  to  it  for 
the  purpose,  when  Venus  cries  out : 

"  Stop  him  !  Come  back,  you  young  villain  ! 
You've  got  a  tooth  among  them  half-pence." 

"  How  was  I  to  know  I'd  got  it  ?  You  giv  it 
me.  I  don't  want  none  of  your  teeth  ;  I've  got 
enough  of  my  own."  So  the  boy  pipes,  as  he 
selects  it  from  his  change,  and  throws  it  on  the 
counter. 

"Don't  sauce  me,  in  the  wicious  pride  of  your 
youth,''  Mr.  Venus  retorts,pathetically.  "  Don't 
hit  me  because  you  see  I'm  down.  I'm  low  enough 
without  that.  It  dropped  into  the  till,  I  suppose. 
They  drop  into  every  thing.  There  was  two  in 
the  coffee-pot  at  breakfast-time.     Molars." 

"Very  well,  then,"  argues  the  boy,  "what 
do  you  call  names  for?" 

To  which  Mr.  Venus  only  replies,  shaking  his 
shock  of  dusty  hair,  and  winking  his  weak  eyes, 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


49 


"Don't  sauce  me,  in  the  wicious  pride  of  your 
youth;  don't  hit  me,  because  you  see  I'm  down. 
You've  no  idea  how  small  you'd  come  out,  if  I 
had  the  articulating  of  you." 

This  consideration  seems  to  have  its  effect  on 
the  boy,  for  he  goes  out  grumbling. 

"Oh  dear  me,  dear  me!"  sighs  Mr.  Venus, 
heavily,  snuffing  the  candle,  "the  world  that 
appeared  so  flowery  has  ceased  to  blow !  You're 
casting  your  eye  round  the  shop,  Mr.  Wegg.  Let 
me  show  you  a  light.  My  working-bench.  My 
young  man's  bench.  A  Wice.  Tools.  Bones, 
warious.  Skulls,  warious.  Preserved  Indian 
baby.  African  ditto.  Bottled  preparations, 
warious.  Every  thing  within  reach  of  your 
hand,  in  good  preservation.  The  mouldy  ones 
D 


atop.  What's  in  those  hampers  over  them  again, 
I  don't  quite  remember.  Say,  human  warious. 
Cats.  Articulated  English  baby.  Dogs.  Ducks. 
Glass  eyes,  warious.  Mummied  bird.  Dried  cu- 
tiele>  warious.  Oh,  dear  me !  That's  the  gen- 
eral panoramic  view." 

Having  so  held  and  waved  the  candle  as  that 
all  these  heterogeneous  objects  seemed  to  come 
forward  obediently  when  they  were  named,  and 
then  retire  again,  Mr.  Venus  despondently  re- 
peats, "  Oh  dear  me,  dear  me!"  resumes  his  seat, 
and  with  drooping  despondency  upon  him,  falls 
to  pouring  himself  out  more  tea. 

"Where  am  I?"  asks  Mr. Wegg. 

"You're  somewhere  in  the  back  shop  across 
the  yard,  Sir;  and  speaking  quite  candidly,  I 


50 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


wish  I'd  never  bought  you  of  the  Hospital  Por- 
ter." 

"Now,  look  here,  what  did  you  give  for  me?" 

"Well,"  replies  Venus,  blowing  his  tea:  his 
head  and  face  peering  out  of  the  darkness,  over 
the  smoke  of  it,  as  if  he  were  modernizing  the 
old  original  rise  in  his  family:  "you  were  one 
of  a  warious  lot,  and  I  don't  know." 

Silas  puts  his  point  in  the  improved  form  of 
"What  will  you  take  for  me?" 

"Well,"  replies  Venus,  still  blowing  his  tea, 
"  I'm  not  prepared,  at  a  moment's  notice,  to  tell 
you,  Mr.  Wegg." 

"Come!  According  to  your  own  account 
I'm  not  worth  much,"  Wegg  reasons  persua- 
sively. 

"Not  for  miscellaneous  working  in,  I  grant 
you,  Mr.  Wegg ;  but  you  might  turn  out  valua- 
ble yet,  as  a — "  here  Mr.  Venus  takes  a  gulp  of 
tea,  so  hot  that  it  makes  him  choke,  and  sets 
his  weak  eyes  watering;  "as  a  Monstrosity,  if 
you'll  excuse  me." 

Repressing  an  indignant  look,  indicative  of 
any  thing  but  a  disposition  to  excuse  him,  Silas 
pursues  his  point. 

"I  think  you  know  me,  Mr.  Venus,  and  I 
think  you  know  I  never  bargain." 

Mr.Venus  takes  gulps  of  hot  tea,  shutting  his 
eyes  at  every  gulp,  and  opening  them  again  in 
a  spasmodic  manner ;  but  does  not  commit  him- 
self to  assent. 

"  I  have  a  prospect  of  getting  on  in  life  and 
elevating  myself  by  my  own  independent  exer- 
tions," says  Wegg,  feelingly,  "and  I  shouldn't 
like — I  tell  you  openly  I  should  not  like — under 
such  circumstances,  to  be  what  I  may  call  dis- 
persed, a  part  of  me  here,  and  a  part  of  me  there, 
but  should  wish  to  collect  myself  like  a  gentle 
person.  " 

"It's  a  prospect  at  present,  is  it,  Mr.  Wegg? 
Then  you  haven't  got  the  money  for  a  deal  about 
you  ?  Then  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  with  you  ; 
I'll  hold  you  over.  I  am  a  man  of  my  word, 
and  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  my  disposing  of 
you.  I'll  hold  you  over.  .  That's  a  promise.  Oh 
dear  me,  dear  me !" 

Fain  to  accept  his  promise,  and  wishing  to 
propitiate  him,  Mr.  Wegg  looks  on  as  he  sighs 
and  pours  himself  out  more  tea,  and  then  says, 
trying  to  get  a  sympathetic  tone  into  his  voice : 

"You  seem  very  low,  Mr.  Venus.  Is  busi- 
ness bad  ?" 

"  Never  was  so  good." 

"Is  your  hand  out  at  all?" 

"Never  was  so  well  in.  Mr. Wegg,  I'm  not 
only  first  in  the  trade,  but  I'm  the  trade.  You 
may  go  and  buy  a  skeleton  at  the  West  End  if 
you  like,  and  pay  the  West  End  price,  but  it'll 
be  my  putting  together.  I've  as  much  to  do  as 
I  can  possibly  do,  with  the  assistance  of  my 
young  man,  and  I  take  a  pride  and  a  pleasure 
in  it." 

Mr.  Venus  thus  delivers  himself,  his  right 
hand  extended,  his  smoking  saucer  in  his  left 
hand,  protesting  as  though  he  were  going  to 
burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"That  ain't  a  state  of  things  to  make  you 
low,  Mr.  Venus." 

"Mr.  Wegg,  I  know  it  ain't.  Mr.  Wegg,  not 
to  name  myself  as  a  workman  without  an  equal, 
I've  gone  on  improving  myself  in  my  knowledge 
of  Anatomy,  till  both  by  sight  and  by  name  I'm 


perfect.  Mr.  Wegg,  if  you  was  brought  here 
loose  in  a  bag  to  be  articulated,  I'd  name  your 
smallest  bones  blindfold  equally  with  your  larg- 
est, as  fast  as  I  could  pick  'em  out,  and  I'd  sort 
'em  all,  and  sort  your  wertebras,  in  a  manner 
that  would  equally  surprise  and  charm  you." 

"Well,"  remarks  Silas  (though  not  quite  so 
readily  as  last  time),  "  that  ain't  a  state  of  things 
to  be  low  about. — Not  for  you  to  be  low  about, 
leastways." 

"Mr.  Wegg,  I  know  it  ain't;  Mr.  Wegg,  I 
know  it  ain't.  But  it's  the  heart  that  lowers 
me,  it  is  the  heart !  Be  so  good  as  take  and 
read  that  card  out  loud." 

Silas  receives  one  from  his  hand,  which  Venus 
takes  from  a  wonderful  litter  in  a  drawer,  and, 
putting  on  his  spectacles,  reads : 

"  'Mr.  Venus,'" 

"Yes.     Goon." 

"  'Preserver  of  Animals  and  Birds,'" 

"Yes.     Goon." 

"  '  Articulator  of  human  bones.'  " 

"  That's  it,"  with  a  groan.  "  That's  it !  Mr. 
Wegg,  I'm  thirty-two,  and  a  bachelor.  Mr. 
Wegg,  I  love  her.  Mr.  Wegg,  she  is  worthy 
of  being  loved  by  a  Potentate !"  Here  Silas  is 
rather  alarmed  by  Mr.  Venus's  springing  to  his 
feet  in  the  hurry  of  his  spirits,  and  haggardly 
confronting  him  with  his  hand  on  his  coat  col- 
lar; but  Mr.  Venus,  begging  pardon,  sits  down 
again,  saying,  with  the  calmness  of  despair, 
"  She  objects  to  the  business." 

"  Does  she  know  the  profits  of  it?" 

"She  knows  the  profits  of  it,  but  she  don't 
appreciate  the  art  of  it,  and  she  objects  to  it. 
'I  do  not  wish,'  she  writes  in  her  own  hand- 
writing, '  to  regard  myself,  nor  yet  to  be  regard- 
ed, in  that  boney  light.'" 

Mr.  Venus  pours  himself  out  more  tea,  with  a 
look  and  in  an  attitude  of  the  deepest  desola- 
tion. 

"And  so  a  man  climbs  to  the  top  of  the  tree, 
Mr.  Wegg,  only  to  see  that  there's  no  look-out 
when  he's  up  there !  I  sit  here  of  a  night  sur- 
rounded by  the  lovely  trophies  of  my  art,  and 
what  have  they  done  for  me?  Ruined  me. 
Brought  me  to  the  pass  of  being  informed  that 
'  she  does  not  wish  to  regard  herself,  nor  yet  to 
be  regarded,  in  that  boney  light !'  "  Having 
repeated  the  fatal  expressions,  Mr.  Venus  drinks 
more  tea  by  gulps,  and  offers  an  explanation  of 
his  doing  so. 

"It  lowers  me.  When  I'm  equally  lowered 
all  over,  lethargy  sets  in.  By  sticking  to  it  till 
one  or  two  in  the  morning,  I  get  oblivion.  Don't 
let  me  detain  you,  Mr.  Wegg.  I'm  not  com- 
pany for  any  one." 

"  It  is  not  on  that  account,"  says  Silas,  rising, 
"but  because  I've  got  an  appointment.  It's 
time  I  was  at  Harmon's." 

"Eh?"  said  Mr.  Venus.  "Harmon's,  up 
Battle  Bridge  way  ?" 

Mr.  Wegg  admits  that  he  is  bound  for  that 
port. 

"You  ought  to  be  in  a  good  thing,  if  you've 
worked  yourself  in  there.  There's  lots  of  money 
going,  there." 

"To  think,"  says  Silas,  "that  you  should 
catch  it  up  so  quick,  and  know  about  it.  Won- 
derful !" 

"Not  at  all,  Mr.  Wegg.  The  old  gentleman 
wanted  to  know  tlxe  nature  and  worth  of  every 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


51 


thing  that  was  found  in  the  dust ;  and  many's 
the  bone,  and  feather,  and  what  not,  that  he's 
brought  to  me." 

"Really,  now!" 

"Yes.  (Oh  dear  me,  dear  me!)  And  he's 
buried  quite  in  this  neighborhood,  you  know. 
Over  yonder." 

Mr.  Wegg  does  not  know,  but  he  makes  as  if 
he  did.  by  responsively  nodding  his  head.  He 
also  follows  with  his  eyes  the  toss  of  Venus's 
head :  as  if  to  seek  a  direction  to  over  yonder. 

"I  took  an  interest  in  that  discovery  in  the 
river,"  says  Venus.  "(She  hadn't  written  her 
cutting  refusal  at  that  time.)  I've  got  up  there 
never  mind,  though." 

He  had  raised  the  candle  at  arm's-length  to- 
ward one  of  the  dark  shelves,  and  Mr.  Wegg 
had  turned  to  look,  when  he  broke  off. 

"  The  old  gentleman  was  well  known  all  round 
here.  There  used  to  be  stories  about  his  hav- 
ing hidden  all  kinds  of  property  in  those  dust 
mounds.  I  suppose  there  was  nothing  in  'em. 
Probably  you  know,  Mr.  Wegg?" 

"Nothing  in  'em,"  says  Wegg,  who  has  never 
heard  a  word  of  this  before. 

"  Don't  let  me  detain  you.     Good-night !" 

The  unfortunate  Mr.  Venus  gives  him  a  shake 
of  the  hand  with  a  shake  of  his  own  head,  and 
drooping  down  in  his  chair,  proceeds  to  pour 
himself  out  more  tea.  Mr.  Wegg,  looking  back 
over  his  shoulder  as  he  pulls  the  door  open  by 
the  strap,  notices  that  the  movement  so  shakes 
the  crazy  shop,  and  so  shakes  a  momentary  flare 
out  of  the  candle,  as  that  the  babies — Hindoo, 
African,  and  British — the  "human  warious," 
the  French  gentleman,  the  green  glass-eyed  cats, 
the  dogs,  the  ducks,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  col- 
lection, show  for  an  instant  as  if  paralytically 
animated ;  while  even  poor  little  Cock  Robin  at 
Mr.  Venus's  elbow  turns  over  on  his  innocent 
side.  Next  moment  Mr.  Wegg  is  stumping  un- 
der the  gaslights  and  through  the  mud. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MB.  BOFFIN   IN   CONSULTATION. 

Whosoever  had  gone  out  of  Fleet  Street  Into 
:,he  Temple  at  the  date  of  this  history,  and  had 
wandered  disconsolate  about  the  Temple  until 
he  stumbled  on  a  dismal  church-yard,  and  had 
looked  up  at  the  dismal  windows  commanding 
:;hat  church-yard  until  at  the  most  dismal  win- 
dow of  them  all  he  saw  a  dismal  boy,  would  in 
him  have  beheld,  at  one  grand  comprehensive 
swoop  of  the  eye,  the  managing  clerk,  junior 
clerk,  common-law  clerk,  conveyancing  clerk, 
chancery  clerk,  every  refinement  and  depart- 
ment of  clerk,  of  Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood,  ere- 
while  called  in  the  newspapers  eminent  solic- 
itor. 

Mr  Boffin  having  been  several  times  in  com- 
munication with  this  clerkly  essence,  both  on 
its  own'ground  and  at  the  Bower,  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  identifying  it  when  he  saw  it  up  in  its 
dusty  eyrie.  To  the  second  floor  on  which  the 
window  was  situated,  he  ascended,  much  pre- 
occupied in  mind  by  the  uncertainties  besetting 
the  Roman  Empire,  and  much  regretting  the 
death  of  the  amiable  Pertinax :  who  only  last 
night  had  left  the  imperial  affairs  in  a  state  of 


great  confusion,  by  falling  a  victim  to  the  fury 
of  the  pretorian  guards. 

"  Morning,  morning,  morning!"  said  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  as  the  office-door 
was  opened  by  the  dismal  boy,  whose  appropri- 
ate name  was  Blight.     " Governor  in?" 

"Mr.  Lightwood  gave  you  an  appointment, 
Sir,  I  think  ?" 

"I  don't  want  him  to  give  it,  you  know,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Boffin ;  "  I'll  pay  my  way,  my  boy." 

"No  doubt,  Sir.  Would  you  walk  in?  Mr. 
Lightwood  ain't  in  at  the  present  moment,  but 
I  expect  him  back  very  shortly.  Would  you 
take  a  seat  in  Mr.  Lightwood's  room,  Sir,  while 
I  look  over  our  Appointment  Book?"  Young 
Blight  made  a  great  show  of  fetching  from  his 
desk  a  long  thin  manuscript  volume  with  a  brown 
paper  cover,  and  running  his  finger  down  the 
day's  appointments,  murmuring,  "Mr.  Aggs, 
Mr.  Baggs,  Mr.  Caggs,  Mr.  Daggs,  Mr.  Faggs, 
Mr.  Gaggs,  Mr.  Boffin.  Yes,  Sir ;  quite  right 
You  are  a  little  before  your  time,  Sir.  Mr.  Light- 
wood  will  be  in  directly." 

"I'm  not  in  a  hurry,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"Thank  you,  Sir.  I'll  take  the  opportunity, 
if  you  please,  of  entering  your  name  in  our  Call- 
ers' Book  for  the  day."  Young  Blight  made  an- 
other great  show  of  changing  the  volume,  taking 
up  a  pen,  sucking  it,  dipping  it,  and  running  over 
previous  entries  before  he  wrote.  As,  "  Mr.  Al- 
ley, Mr.  Bailey,  Mr.  Calley,  Mr.  Dalley,Mr.  Fai- 
ley,  Mr.  Galley,  Mr.  Halley,  Mr.  Lalley,  Mr. 
Malley.     And  Mr.  Boffin. " 

"Strict  system  here;  eh,  my  lad?"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  as  he  was  booked. 

"Yes,  Sir, "  returned  the  boy.  "I  couldn't  get, 
on  without  it." 

By  which  he  probably  meant  that  his  mind 
would  have  been  shattered  to  pieces  without 
this  fiction  of  an  occupation.  Wearing  in  his 
solitary  confinement  no  fetters  that  he  could 
polish,  and  being  provided  with  no  drinking- 
cup  that  he  could  carve,  he  had  fallen  on  the 
device  of  ringing  alphabetical  changes  into  the 
two  volumes  in  question,  or  of  entering  vast 
numbers  of  persons  out  of  the  Directory  as  trans- 
acting business  with  Mr.  Lightwood.  It  Avas  the 
more  necessary  for  his  spirits,  because,  being  of 
a  sensitive  temperament,  he  was  apt  to  consider 
it  personally  disgraceful  to  himself  that  his  mas- 
ter had  no  clients. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  the  law,  now  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Boffin,  with  a  pounce,  in  his  usual 
inquisitive  way. 

"I've  been  in  the  law,  now,  Sir,  about  three 
years." 

"  Must  have  been  as  good  as  born  in  it !"  said 
Mr.  Boffin,  with  admiration.     "  Do  you  like  it  ?" 

"I  don't  mind  it  much,"  returned  Young 
Blight,  heaving  a  sigh,  as  if  its  bitterness  were 
past. 

"What  wages  do  you  get  ?" 

"Half  what  I  could  wish,"  replied  young 
Blight. 

"  What's  the  whole  that  you  could  wish?'1 

"  Fifteen  shillings  a  week,"  said  the  boy. 

"About  how  long  might  it  take  you  now,  at 
a  average  rate  of  going,  to  be  a  Judge  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Boffin,  after  surveying  his  small  stature  in 
silence 

The  boy  answered  that  he  had  not  yet  quite 
worked  out  that  little  calculation. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"I  suppose  there's  nothing  to  prevent  your  I 
going  in  for  it?"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

The  boy  virtually  replied  that  as  he  had  the 
honor  to  be  a  Briton  who  never  never  never, 
there  was  nothing  to  prevent  his  going  in  for  it. 
Yet  he  seemed  inclined  to  suspect  that  there 
might  be  something  to  prevent  his  coming  out 
with  it. 

"Would  a  couple  of  pound  help  vou  up  at 
all?"  asked  Mr.  Boffin. 

On  this  head  young  Blight  had  no  doubt 
whatever,  so  Mr.  Boffin  made  him  a  present  of 
that  sum  of  money,  and  thanked  him  for  his  at- 
tention to  his  (Mr.  Boffin's)  affairs;  which,  he 
added,  were  now,  he  believed,  as  good  as  settled. 

Then  Mr.  Boffin,  with  his  stick  at  his  ear^ 
like  a  Familiar  Spirit  explaining  the  office  to 
him,  sat  staring  at  a  little  book-case  of  Law 
Practice  and  Law  Reports,  and  at  a  window, 
and  at  an  empty  blue  bag,  and  at  a  stick  of  seal- 
ing-wax, and  a  pen,  and  a  box  of  wafers,  and  an 
apple,  and  a  writing-pad — all  very  dusty — and 
at  a  number  of  inky  smears  and  blots,  and  at 
an  imperfectly  -  disguised  gun  -  case  pretending 
to  be  something  legal,  and  at  an  iron  box  la- 
beled Harmon  Estate,  until  Mr.  Lightwood  ap- 
peared. 

Mr.  Lightwood  explained  that  he  came  from 
the  proctor's,  with  whom  he  had  been  engaged 
in  transacting  Mr.  Boffin's  affairs. 

"And  they  seem  to  have  taken  a  deal  out  of 
you!"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  with  commiseration. 

Mr.  Lightwood,  without  explaining  that  his 
weariness  was  chronic,  proceeded  with  his  expo- 
sition that,  all  forms  of  law  having  been  at  length 
complied  with,  will  of  Harmon  deceased  having 
been  proved,  death  of  Harmon  next  inheriting 
having  been  proved,  etc.  and  so  forth,  Court  of 
Chancery  having  been  moved,  etc.  and  so  forth, he, 
Mr.  Lightwood,  had  now  the  great  gratification, 
honor,  and  happiness,  again  etc.  and  so  forth, 
of  congratulating  Mr.  Boffin  on  coming  into 
possession,  as  residuary  legatee,  of  upward  of 
one  hundred  thousand  pounds,  standing  in  the 
books  of  the  Governor  and  Company  of  the  Bank 
of  England,  again  etc.  and  so  forth. 

"  And  what  is  particularly  eligible  in  the  prop- 
erty, Mr.  Boffin,  is,  that  it  involves  no  trouble. 
There  are  no  estates  to  manage,  no  rents  to  re- 
turn so  much  per  cent,  upon  in  bad  times  (which 
is  an  extremely  dear  way  of  getting  your  name 
into  the  newspapers),  no  voters  to  become  par- 
boiled in  hot  water  with,  no  agents  to  take  the 
cream  off  the  milk  before  it  comes  to  table.  You 
could  put  the  whole  in  a  cash-box  to-morrow 
morning,  and  take  it  with  you  to — say,  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  Inasmuch  as  every  man," 
concluded  Mr.  Lightwood,  with  an  indolent 
smile,  "appears  to  be  under  a  fatal  spell  which 
obliges  him,  sooner  or  later,  to  mention  the 
Rocky  Mountains  in  a  tone  of  extreme  famil- 
iarity to  some  other  man,  I  hope  you'll  excuse 
my  pressing  you  into  the  service  of  that  gigantic 
range  of  geographical  bores." 

Without  following  this  last  remark  very  close- 
ly, Mr.  Boffin  cast  his  perplexed  gaze  first  at 
the  ceiling,  and  then  at  the  carpet. 

"Well,"  he  remarked,  "I  don't  know  what 
to  say  about  it,  I  am  sure.  I  was  a'most  as  well 
as  I  was.     It's  a  great  lot  to  take  care  of." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Boffin,  then  don't  take  care  of 
it!" 


"Eh?"  said  that  gentleman. 

"Speaking  now,"  returned  Mortimer,  "with 
the  irresponsible  imbecility  of  a  private  indi- 
vidual, and  not  with  the  profundity  of  a  profes- 
sional adviser,  I  should  say  that  if  the  circum- 
stance of  its  being  too  much  weighs  upon  your 
mind,  you  have  the  haven  of  consolation  open 
to  you  that  you  can  easily  make  it  less.  And  if 
you  should  be  apprehensive  of  the  trouble  of  do- 
ing so,  there  is  the  further  haven  of  consolation 
that  any  number  of  people  will  take  the  trouble 
off  your  hands." 

"Well!  I  don't  quite  see  it,"  retorted  Mr. 
Boffin,  still  perplexed.  "That's  not  satisfac- 
tory, you  know,  what  you're  a-saying." 

"  Is  Anything  satisfactory,  Mr.  Boffin  ?"  asked 
Mortimer,  raising  his  eyebrows. 

"I  used  to  find  it  so,"  answered  Mr.  Boffin, 
with  a  wistful  look.  "While  I  was  foreman  at 
the  Bower — afore  it  was  the  Bower — I  consid- 
ered the  business  very  satisfactory.  The  old 
man  was  a  awful  Tartar  (saying  it,  I'm  sure, 
without  disrespect  to  his  memory)  but  the  busi- 
ness was  a  pleasant  one  to  look  after,  from  be- 
fore daylight  to  past  dark.  It's  a'most  a  pity," 
said  Mr.  Boffin,  rubbing  his  ear,  "  that  he  ever 
went  and  made  so  much  money.  It  would  have 
been  better  for  him  if  he  hadn't  so  given  him- 
self up  to  it.  You  may  depend  upon  it,"  making 
the  discovery  all  of  a  sudden,  "that  he  found 
it  a  great  lot  to  take  care  of!" 

Mr.  Lightwood  coughed,  not  convinced. 

"And  speaking  of  satisfactory,"  pursued  Mr. 
Boffin,  "why,  Lord  save  us!  when  we  come  to 
take  it  to  pieces,  bit  by  bit,  where's  the  satis- 
factoriness  of  the  money  as  yet?  When  the  old 
man  does  right  the  poor  boy  after  all,  the  poor 
boy  gets  no  good  of  it.  He  gets  made  away  with, 
at  the  moment  when  he's  lifting  (as  one  may  say) 
the  cup  and  sarser  to  his  lips.  Mr.  Lightwood, 
I  will  now  name  to  you,  that  on  behalf  of  the 
poor  dear  boy,  me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  have  stood 
out  against  the  old  man  times  out  of  number, 
till  he  has  called  us  every  name  he  could  lay  his 
tongue  to.  I  have  seen  him,  after  Mrs.  Boffin 
has  given  him  her  mind  respecting  the  claims 
of  the  nat'ral  affections,  catch  off  Mrs.  Boffin's 
bonnet  (she  wore,  in  general,  a  black  straw, 
perched  as  a  matter  of  convenience  on  the  top 
of  her  head),  and  send  it  spinning  across  the 
yard.  I  have  indeed.  And  once,  when  he  did 
this  in  a  manner  that  amounted  to  personal,  I 
should  have  given  him  a  rattler  for  himself,  if 
Mrs.  Boffin  hadn't  thrown  herself  betwixt  us, 
and  received  flush  on  the  temple.  Which  dropped 
her,  Mr.  Lightwood.     Dropped  her." 

Mr.  Lightwood  murmured  "Equal  honor — 
Mrs.  Boffin's  head  and  heart." 

"  You  understand  ;  I  name  this,"  pursued  Mr. 
Boffin,  "to  show  you,  now  the  affairs  are  wound 
up,  that  me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  have  ever  stood,  as 
we  were  in  Christian  honor  bound,  the  chil- 
dren's friend.  Me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  stood  the  poor 
girl's  friend  ;  me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  stood  the  poor 
boy's  friend  ;  me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  up  and  faced 
the  old  man  when  we  momently  expected  to  be 
turned  out  for  our  pains.  As  to  Mrs.  Boffin," 
said  Mr.  Boffin,  lowering  his  voice,  "she 
mightn't  wish  it  mentioned  now  she's  Fashion- 
able, but  she  went  so  far  as  to  tell  him,  in  my 
presence,  he  was  a  flinty-hearted  rascal." 

Mr.  Lightwood  murmured  "Vigorous  Saxon 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


53 


ppirit — Mrs.  Boffin's  ancestors — bowmen — Agin- 
court  and  Cressy." 

"The  last  time  me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  saw  the 
poor  boy,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  warming  (as  fat 
usually  does)  with  a  tendency  to  melt,  "he  was 
a  child  of  seven  year  old.  For  when  he  come 
back  to  make  intercession  for  his  sister,  me  and 
Mrs.  Boffin  were  away  overlooking  a  country 
contract  which  was  to  be  sifted  before  carted, 
and  he  was  come  and  gone  in  a  single  hour.  I 
say  he  was  a  child  of  seven  year  old.  He  was 
going  away,  all  alone  and  forlorn,  to  that  for- 
eign school,  and  he  come  into  our  place,  situate 
up  the  yard  of  the  present  Bower,  to  have  a  warm 
at  our  fire.  There  was  his  little  scanty  travel- 
ing clothes  upon  him.  There  was  his  little  scanty 
box  outside  in  the  shivering  wind,  which  I  was 
going  to  carry  for  him  down  to  the  steamboat, 
as  the  old  man  wouldn't  hear  of  allowing  a  six- 
pence coach-money.  Mrs.  Boffin,  then  quite  a 
young  woman  and  a  pictur  of  a  full-blown  rose, 
stands  him  by  her,  kneels  down  at  the  fire,  warms 
her  two  open  hands,  and  falls  to  rubbing  his 
cheeks;  but  seeing  the  tears  come  into  the 
child's  eyes,  the  tears  come  fast  into  her  own, 
and  she  holds  him  round  the  neck,  like  as  if  she 
was  protecting  him,  and  cries  to  me,  'I'd  give 
the  wide  wide  world,  I  would,  to  run  away  with 
him !'  I  don't  say  but  what  it  cut  me,  and  but 
what  it  at  the  same  time  heightened  my  feel- 
ings of  admiration  for  Mrs.  Boffin.  The  poor 
child  clings  to  her  for  a  while,  as  she  clings  to 
him,  and  then,  when  the  old  man  calls,  he  says 
'I  must  go!  God  bless  you!'  and  for  a  mo- 
ment rests  his  heart  against  her  bosom,  and 
looks  up  at  both  of  us,  as  if  it  was  in  pain — in 
agony.  Such  a  look !  I  went  aboard  with  him 
(I  gave  him  first  what  little  treat  I  thought  he'd 
like),  and  I  left  him  when  he  had  fallen  asleep 
in  his  berth,  and  I  came  back  to  Mrs.  Boffin. 
But  tell  her  what  I  would  of  how  I  had  left  him, 
it  all  went  for  nothing,  for,  according  to  her 
thoughts,  he  never  changed  that  look  that  he 
had  looked  up  at  us  two.  But  it  did  one  piece 
of  good.  Mrs.  Boffin  and  me  had  no  child  of 
our  own,  and  had  sometimes  wished  that  how  we 
had  one.  But  not  now.  '  We  might  both  of  us 
die,'  says  Mrs.  Boffin,  '  and  other  eyes  might  see 
that  lonely  look  in  our  child.'  So  of  a  night, 
when  it  was  very  cold,  or  when  the  Avind  roared, 
or  the  rain  dripped  heavy,  she  would  wake  sob- 
bing, and  call  out  in  a  fluster,  'Don't  you  see 
the  poor  child's  face  ?  O  shelter  the  poor  child !' 
— till  in  course  of  years  it  gently  wore  out,  as 
many  things  do." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Boffin,  every  thing  wears  to 
rags,"  said  Mortimer,  with  a  light  laugh. 

"  I  won't  go  so  far  as  to  say  every  thing,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Boffin,  on  whom  his  manner  seemed 
to  grate,  "because  there's  some  things  that  I 
never  found  among  the  dust.  Well,  Sir.  So 
Mrs.  Boffin  and  me  grow  older  and  older  in  the 
old  man's  service,  living  and  working  pretty 
hard  in  it,  till  the  old  man  is  discovered  dead  in 
his  bed.  Then  Mrs.  Boffin  and  me  seal  up  his 
box,  always  standing  on  the  table  at  the  side  of 
his  bed,  and  having  frequently  heerd  tell  of  the 
Temple  as  a  spot  where  lawyers'  dust  is  contract- 
ed for,  I  come  down  here  in  search  of  a  lawyer 
to  advise,  and  I  see  your  young  man  up  at  this 
present  elevation,  chopping  at  the  flies  on  the 
window-sill  with  his  penknife,  and  I  give  him  a 


Hoy !  not  then  having  the  pleasure  of  your  ac- 
quaintance, and  by  that  means  come  to  gain  the 
honor.  Then  you,  and  the  gentleman  in  the  un- 
comfortable neckcloth  tinder  the  little  archway 
in  Saint  Paul's  Church-yard — " 

"Doctors'  Commons,"  observed  Lightwood. 

"I  understood  it  was  another  name,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin,  pausing,  "  but  you  know  best.  Then 
you  and  Doctor  Scommons,  you  go  to  work,  and 
you  do  the  thing  that's  proper,  and  you  and  Doc- 
tor S.  take  steps  for  finding  out  the  poor  boy, 
and  at  last  you  do  find  out  the  poor  boy,  and  me 
and  Mrs.  Boffin  often  exchange  the  observation, 
'We  shall  see  him  again,  under  happy  circum- 
stances.' But  it  was  never  to  be ;  and  the  want 
of  satis factoriness  is,  that  after  all  the  money 
never  gets  to  him." 

"But  it  gets,"  remarked  Lightwood,  with  a 
languid  inclination  of  the  head,  "into  excellent 
hands." 

"It  gets  into  the  hands  of  me  and  Mrs.  Boffin 
only  this  very  day  and  hour,  and  that's  what  I 
am  working  round  to,  having  waited  for  this 
day  and  hour  a'  pm-pose.  Mr.  Lightwood,  here 
has  been  a  wicked  cruel  murder.  By  that  mur- 
der me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  mysteriously  profit.  For 
the  apprehension  and  conviction  of  the  murder- 
er, we  offer  a  reward  of  one  tithe  of  the  property 
— a  reward  of  Ten  Thousand  Found." 

"Mr.  Boffin,  it's  too  much." 

"Mr.  Lightwood,  me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  have 
fixed  the  sum  together,  and  we  stand  to  it." 

"But  let  me  represent  to  you,"  returned 
Lightwood,  "speaking  now  with  professional 
profundity,  and  not  with  individual  imbecility, 
that  the  offer  of  such  an  immense  reward  is  a 
temptation  to  forced  suspicion,  forced  construc- 
tion of  circumstances,  strained  accusation,  a 
whole  tool-box  of  edged  tools." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  a  little  staggered, 
"that's  the  sum  we  put  o'  one  side  for  the  pur- 
pose. Whether  it  shall  be  openly  declared  in 
the  new  notices  that  must  now  be  put  about  in 
our  names — " 

"  In  your  name,  Mr.  Boffin ;  in  your  name." 

"Very  well;  in  my  name,  which  is  the  same 
as  Mrs.  Boffin's,  and  means  both  of  us,  is  to  be 
considered  in  drawing  'em  up.  But  this  is 'the 
first  instruction  that  I,  as  the  owner  of  the  prop- 
erty, give  to  my  lawyer  on  coming  into  it." 

"Your  lawyer,  Mr.  Boffin,"  returned  Light- 
wood,  making  a  very  short  note  of  it  with  a  very 
rusty  pen,  "has  the  gratification  of  taking  the 
instruction.     There  is  another?" 

"  Thei-e  is  just  one  other,  and  no  more.  Make 
me  as  compact  a  little  will  as  can  be  reconciled 
with  tightness,  leaving  the  whole  of  the  property 
to  '  my  beloved  wife,  Henerietty  Boffin,  sole  ex- 
ecutrix.' Make  it  as  short  as  you  can,  using 
those  words  ;  but  make  it  tight." 

At  some  loss  to  fathom  Mr.  Boffin's  notions 
of  a  tight  will,  Lightwood  felt  his  way. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  professional  profun- 
dity must  be  exact.     When  you  say  tight — " 

"I  mean  tight,"  Mr.  Boffin  explained. 

"Exactly  so.  And  nothing  can  be  more 
laudable.  But  is  the  tightness  to  bind  Mrs. 
Boffin  to  any  and  what  conditions?" 

"  Bind  Mrs.  Boffin  ?"  interposed  her  husband. 
"No!  What  are  you  thinking  of!  What  I 
want  is,  to  make  it  all  hers  so  tight  as  that  her 
hold  of  it  can't  be  loosed." 


54 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Hers  freely,  to  do  what  she  likes  with? 
Hers  absolutely?" 

"  Absolutely  ?"  repeated  Mr.  Boffin,  with  a 
short  sturdy  laugh.  "Hah!  I  should  think 
so !  It  would  be  handsome  in  me  to  begin  to 
bind  Mrs.  Boffin  at  this  time  of  day!" 

So  that  instruction,  too,  was  taken  by  Mr. 
Lightwood ;  and  Mr.  Lightwood,  having  taken 
it,  was  in  the  act  of  showing  Mr.  Boffin  out, 
when  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn  almost  jostled  him 
in  the  doorway.  Consequently  Mr.  Lightwood 
said,  in  his  cool  manner,  "Let  me  make  you 
two  known  to  one  another,"  and  further  signi- 
fied that  Mr.  Wrayburn  was  counsel  learned  in 
the  law,  and  that,  partly  in  the  way  of  business 
and  partly  in  the  way  of  pleasure,  he  had  im- 
parted to  Mr.  Wrayburn  some  of  the  interesting 
facts  of  Mr.  Boffin's  biography. 

"  Delighted,"  said  Eugene — though  he  didn't 
look  so — "  to  know  Mr.  Boffin." 

"Thankee,  Sir,  thankee,"  returned  that  gen- 
tleman.    "  And  how  do  you  like  the  law  ?" 

"A — not  particularly,"  returned  Eugene. 

"  Too  dry  for  you,  eh  ?  Well,  I  suppose  it 
wants  some  years  of  sticking  to,  before  you  mas- 
ter it.  But  there's  nothing  like  work.  Look  at 
the  bees." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  returned  Eugene,  with 
a  reluctant  smile,  "  but  will  you  excuse  my  men- 
tioning that  I  always  protest  against  being  re- 
ferred to  the  bees  ?" 

"Do  you!"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"I  object  on  principle,"  said  Eugene,  "as  a 
biped—" 

"As  a  what?"  asked  Mr.  Boffin. 

"As  a  two-footed  creature  ; — I  object  on  prin- 
ciple, as  a  two-footed  creature,  to  being  con- 
stantly referred  to  insects  and  four-footed  creat- 
ures. I  object  to  being  required  to  model  my 
proceedings  according  to  the  proceedings  of  the 
bee,  or  the  dog,  or  the  spider,  or  the  camel.  I 
fully  admit  that  the  camel,  for  instance,  is  an 
excessively  temperate  person ;  but  he  has  several 
stomachs  to  entertain  himself  with,  and  I  have 
only  one.  Besides,  I  am  not  fitted  up  with  a 
convenient  cool  cellar  to  keep  my  drink  in." 

'*But  I  said,  you  know,"  urged  Mr.  Boffin, 
rather  at  a  loss  for  an  answer,  "the  bee." 

"  Exactly.  And  may  I  represent  to  you  that 
it's  injudicious  to  say  the  bee  ?  Eor  the  whole 
case  is  assumed.  Conceding  for  a  moment  that 
there  is  any  analogy  between  a  bee  and  a  man 
in  a  shirt  and  pantaloons  (which  I  deny),  and 
that  it  is  settled  that  the  man  is  to  learn  from 
the  bee  (which  I  also  deny),  the  question  still  re- 
mains, What  is  he  to  learn  ?  To  imitate  ?  Or 
to  avoid?  When  your  friends  the  bees  worry 
themselves  to  that  highly  fluttered  extent  about 
their  sovereign,  and  become  perfectly  distracted 
touching  the  slightest  monarchical  movement, 
are  we  men  to  learn  the  greatness  of  Tuft-hunt- 
ing, or  the  littleness  of  the  Court  Circular  ?  I 
am  not  clear,  Mr.  Boffin,  but  that  the  hive  may 
be  satirical." 

"At  all  events,  they  work,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"Ye-es,"  returned  Eugene,  disparagingly, 
"  they  work ;  but  don't  you  think  they  overdo 
it  ?  They  work  so  much  more  than  they  need — 
they  make  so  much  more  than  they  can  eat — 
they  are  so  incessantly  boring  and  buzzing  at 
their  one  idea  till  Death  comes  upon  them — that 
don't  you  think  they  overdo  it?     And  are  hu- 


man laborers  to  have  no  holidays  because  of 
the  bees  ?  And  am  I  never  to  have  change  of 
air  because  the  bees  don't  ?  Mr.  Boffin,  I  think 
honey  excellent  at  breakfast ;  but,  regarded  in 
the  light  of  my  conventional  schoolmaster  and 
moralist,  I  protest  against  the  tyrannical  hum- 
bug of  your  friend  the  bee.  With  the  highest 
respect  for  you." 

"Thankee,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "Morning, 
morning !" 

But  the  worthy  Mr.  Boffin  jogged  away  with 
a  comfortless  impression  he  could  have  dispensed 
with,  that  there  was  a  deal  of  unsatisfactoriness 
in  the  world,  besides  what  he  had  recalled  as 
appertaining  to  the  Harmon  property.  And  he 
was  still  jogging  along  Fleet  Street  in  this  con- 
dition of  mind,  when  he  became  aware  that  he 
was  closely  tracked  and  observed  by  a  man  of 
genteel  appearance. 

"Now  then,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  stopping  short, 
with  his  meditations  brought  to  an  abrupt  check, 
"what's  the  next  article?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Boffin." 

"My  name  too,  eh?  How  did  you  come  by 
it?     I  don't  know  you." 

"  No,  Sir,  you  don't  know  me." 

Mr.  Boffin  looked  full  at  the  man,  and  the 
man  looked  full  at  him.  "No,"  said  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, after  a  glance  at  the  pavement,  as  if  it  were 
made  of  faces  and  he  were  trying  to  match  the 
man's,  "I  don't  know  you." 

"I  am  nobody,"  said  the  stranger,  "and  not 
likely  to  be  known  ;  but  Mr.  Boffin's  wealth — " 

"  Oh !  that's  got  about  already,  has  it  ?"  mut- 
tered Mr.  Boffin. 

" — And  his  romantic  manner  of  acquiring  it 
make  him  conspicuous.  You  were  pointed  out 
to  me  the  other  day." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "  I  should  say  I  was 
a  disappintment  to  you  when  I  was  pinted  out, 
if  your  politeness  would  allow  you  to  confess  it, 
for  I  am  well  aware  I  am  not  much  to  look  at. 
What  might  you  want  with  me?  Not  in  the 
law,  are  you?" 

"No,  Sir." 

"No  information  to  give,  for  a  reward?" 

"No,  Sir." 

There  may  have  been  a  momentary  mantling 
in  the  face  of  the  man  as  he  made  the  last  an- 
swer, but  it  passed  directly. 

"If  I  don't  mistake,  you  have  followed  me 
from  my  lawyer's  and  tried  to  fix  my  attention. 
Say  out!  Have  you?  Or  haven't  you?"  de- 
manded Mr.  Boffin,  rather  angry. 

"Yes." 

"Why  have  you?" 

If  you  will  allow  me  to  walk  beside  you,  Mr. 
Boffin,  I  will  tell  you.  Would  you  object  to  turn 
aside  into  this  place — I  think  it  is  called  Clif- 
ford's Inn — where  we  can  hear  one  another  bet- 
ter than  in  the  roaring  street?" 

("Now,"  thought  Mr.  Boffin,  "if  he  proposes 
a  game  at  skittles,  or  meets  a  country  gentle- 
man just  come  into  property,  or  produces  any 
article  of  jewelry  he  has  found,  I'll  knock  him 
down  !"•  With  this  discreet  reflection,  and  car- 
rying his  stick  in  his  arms  much  as  Punch  car- 
ries his,  Mr.  Boffin  turned  into  Clifford's  Inn 
aforesaid.) 

"Mr.  Boffin,  I  happened  to  be  in  Chancery 
Lane  this  morning,  when  I  saw  you  going  along 
before  me.     I  took  the  liberty  of  following  you, 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


55 


trying  to  make  up  my  mind  to  speak  to  you,  till 
you  went  into  your  lawyer's.  Then  I  waited 
outside  till  you  came  out." 

("Don't  quite  sound  like  skittles,  nor  yet 
country  gentleman,  nor  yet  jewelry,"  thought 
•       Mr.  Boffin,  "but  there's  no  knowing.") 

"I  am  afraid  my  object  is  a  bold  one,  I  am 
afraid  it  has  little  of  the  usual  practical  world 
about  it,  but  I  venture  it.  If  you  ask  me,  or  if 
you  ask  yourself — which  is  more  likely — what 
emboldens  me,  I  answer,  I  have  been  strongly 
assured  that  you  are  a  man  of  rectitude  and  plain 
dealing,  with  the  soundest  of  sound  hearts,  and 
that  you  are  blessed  in  a  wife  distinguished  by 
the  same  qualities." 

"  Your  information  is  true  of  Mrs.  Boffin,  any- 
how," was  Mr.  Boffin's  answer,  as  he  surveyed 
his  new  friend  again.  There  was  something  re- 
pressed in  the  strange  man's  manner,  and  he 
walked  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground — though 
conscious,  for  all  that,  of  Mr.  Boffin's  observa- 
tion— and  he  spoke  in  a  subdued  voice.  But  his 
words  came  easily,  and  his  voice  was  agreeable 
in  tone,  albeit  constrained. 

"When  I  add,  I  can  discern  for  myself  what 
the  general  tongue  says  of  you — that  you  are 
quite  unspoiled  by  Fortune,  and  not  uplifted — I 
trust  you  will  not,  as  a  man  of  an  open  nature, 
suspect  that  I  mean  to  flatter  you,  but  will  be- 
lieve that  all  I  mean  is  to  excuse  myself,  these 
being  my  only  excuses -for  my  present  intru- 
sion." 

("How  much?"  thought  Mr.  Boffin.  "It 
must  be  coming  to  money.     How  much  ?") 

"You  will  probably  change  your  manner  of 
living,  Mr.  Boffin,  in  your  changed  circum- 
stances. You  will  probably  keep  a  larger 
house,  have  many  matters  to  arrange,  and  be 
beset  by  numbers  of  correspondents.  If  you 
would  try  me  as  your  Secretary — " 

"As  whatf  cried  Mr.  Boffin,  with  his  eyes 
wide  open.  t 

"Your  Secretary." 

"  Well, "  said  Mr.  Boffin,  under  his  breath, 
"  that's  a  queer  thing !" 

"  Or,"  pursued  the  stranger,  wondering  at  Mr. 
Boffin's  wonder,  "if  you  would  try  me  as  your 
man  of  business  under  any  name,  I  know  you 
would  find  me  faithful  and  grateful,  and  I  hope 
you  would  find  me  useful.  You  may  naturally 
think  that  my  immediate  object  is  money.  Not 
so,  for  I  would  willingly  serve  you  a  year — two 
years — any  term  you  might  appoint — before  that 
should  begin  to  be  a  consideration  between  us." 

"Where  do  you  come  from  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bof- 
fin. 

"I  come,"  returned  the  other,  meeting  his 
eye,  "from  many  countries." 

Mr.  Boffin's  acquaintance  with  the  names  and 
situations  of  foreign  lands  being  limited  in  ex- 
tent and  somewhat  confused  in  quality,  he  shaped 
his  next  question  on  an  elastic  model. 

"From — any  particular  place?" 

"I  have  been  in  many  places." 

"What  have  you  been?"  asked  Mr.  Boffin. 

Here  again  he  made  no  great  advance,  for 
the  reply  was,  "I  have  been  a  student  and  a 
traveler." 

"  But  if  it  ain't  a  liberty  to  plump  it  out,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin,  "what  do  you  do  for  your  living?" 

"I  have  mentioned,"  returned  the  other, with 
another  look  at  him,  and  a  smile,  "what  I  as- 


pire to  do.  I  have  been  superseded  as  to  somQ 
slight  intentions  I  had,  and  I  may  say  that  I 
have  now  to  begin  life." 

Not  very  well  knowing  how  to  get  rid  of  this 
applicant,  and  feeling  the  more  embarrassed  be- 
cause his  manner  and  appearance  claimed  a  del- 
icacy in  which  the  worthy  Mr.  Boffin  feared 
he  himself  might  be  deficient,  that  gentleman 
glanced  into  the  mouldy  little  plantation  or  cat- 
preserve,  of  Clifford's  Inn,  as  it  was  that  day, 
in  search  of  a  suggestion.  Sparrows  were  there, 
cats  were  there,  dry-rot  and  wet-rot  were  there, 
but  it  was  not  otherwise  a  suggestive  spot. 

"All  this  time,"  said  the  stranger,  producing 
a  little  pocket-book  and  taking  out  a  card,  "I 
have  not  mentioned  my  name.  My  name  is 
Rokesmith.  I  lodge  at  one  Mr.  Wilfer's,  at  Hol- 
loway.'' 

Mr.  Boffin  stared  again. 

"Father  of  Miss  Bella  Wilfer?"  said  he. 

"My  landlord  has  a  daughter  named  Bella. 
Yes ;  no  doubt." 

Now  this  name  had  been  more  or  less  in  Mr. 
Boffin's  thoughts  all  the  morning,  and  for  days 
before ;  therefore  he  said : 

"  That's  singular,  too !"  unconsciously  staring 
again,  past  all  bounds  of  good  manners,  with 
the  card  in  his  hand.  "Though,  by-the-by,  I 
suppose  it  was  one  of  that  family  that  pinted  me 
out?" 

"No.  I  have  never  been  in  the  streets  with 
one  of  them." 

"Heard  me  talked  of  among  'em,  though  ?" 

"No.  I  occupy  my  own  rooms,  and  have 
held  scarcely  any  communication  with  them." 

"  Odder  and  odder!"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "  Well, 
Sir,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  know  what  to 
say  to  you." 

"Say  nothing,"  returned  Mr.  Rokesmith; 
"allow  me  to  call  on  you  in  a  few  days.  I 
am  not  so  unconscionable  as  to  think  it  likely 
that  you  would  accept  me  on  trust  at  first  sight, 
and  take  me  out  of  the  very  street.  Let  me 
come  to  you  for  your  further  opinion,  at  your 
leisure." 

"That's  fair,  and  I  don't  object,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin;  "but  it  must  be  on  condition  that  it's 
fully  understood  that  I  no  more  know  that  I 
shall  ever  be  in  want  of  any  gentleman  as  Secre- 
tary— it  was  Secretary  you  said ;   wasn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

Again  Mr.  Boffin's  eyes  opened  wide,  and  he 
stared  at  the  applicant  from  head  to  foot,  re- 
peating "  Queer! — You're  sure  it  was  Secretary  ? 
Are  you?" 

"I  am  sure  I  said  so." 

— "As  Secretary,"  repeated  Mr.  Boffin,  med- 
itating upon  the  word;  "I  no  more  know  that 
I  may  ever  want  a  Secretary,  or  what  not,  than 
I  do  that  I  shall  ever  be  in  want  of  the  man  in 
the  nioon.  Me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  have  not  even 
settled  that  we  shall  make  any  change  in  our 
way  of  life.  Mrs.  Boffin's  inclinations  certain- 
ly do  tend  toward  Fashion ;  but,  being  already 
set  up  in  a  fashionable  way  at  the  Bower,  she 
may  not  make  further  alterations.  However, 
Sir,  as  you  don't  press  yourself,  I  wish  to  meet 
you  so  far  as  saying,  by  all  means  call  at  the 
Bower  if  you  like.  Call  in  the  course  of  a  week 
or  two.  At  the  same  time,  I  consider  that  I 
ought  to  name,  in  addition  to  what  I  have  al- 
ready named,  that  I  have  in  my  employment  a 


r>(\ 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


literary  man — with  a  wooden  leg — as  I  have  no 
thoughts  of  parting  from." 

"I  regret  to  hear  I  am  in  some  sort  antici- 
pated," Mr.  Rokesmith  answered,  evidently  hav- 
ing heard  it  with  surprise;  "but  perhaps  other 
duties  might  arise  ?" 

"You  see,"  returned  Mr.  Boffin,  with  a  con- 
fidential sense  of  dignity,  "as  to  my  literary 
man's  duties,  they're  clear.  Professionally  he 
declines  and  he  falls,  and  as  a  friend  he  drops 
into  poetry." 

Without  observing  that  these  duties  seemed  by 
no  means  clear  to  Mr.  Rokesmith's  astonished 
comprehension,  Mr.  Boffin  went  on  : 

"And  now,  Sir,  I'll  wish  you  good-day.  You 
can  call  at  the  Bower  any  time  in  a  week  or  two. 
It's  not  above  a  mile  or  so  from  you,  and  your 
landlord  can  direct  you  to  it.  But  as  he  may 
not  know  it  by  its  new  name  of  Boffin's  Bower, 
sav,  when  you  inquire  of  him,  it's  Harmon's ; 
will  you  ?" 

"Harmoon's,"  repeated  Mr.  Rokesmith,  seem- 
ing to  have  caught  the  sound  imperfectly,  "Har- 
marn's.     How  do  you  spell  it  ?" 

"Why,  as  to  the  spelling  of  it,"  returned  Mr. 
Boffin,  with  great  presence  of  mind,  "that's 
yon?-  look-out.  Harmon's  is  all  you've  got  to 
say  to  him.  Morning,  morning,  morning ! "  And 
so  departed,  without  looking  back. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  BOFFIN  IN  CONSULTATION. 

Betaking  himself  straight  homeward,  Mr. 
Boffin,  without  further  let  or  hindrance,  arrived 
at  the  Bower,  and  gave  Mrs.  Boffin  (in  a  walk- 
ing-dress of  black  velvet  and  feathers,  like  a 
mourning  coach-horse)  an  account  of  all  he  had 
said  and  done  since  breakfast: 

"This  brings  us  round,  my  dear,"  he  then 
pursued,  "to  the  question  we  left  unfinished: 
namely,  whether  there's  to  be  any  new  go-in 
for  Fashion." 

"Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want,  Noddy," 
said  Mrs.  Boffin,  smoothing  her  dress  with  an 
air  of  immense  enjoyment,  "I  want  Society." 

"Fashionable  Society,  my  dear?" 

"Yes!"  cried  Mrs.  Boffin,  laughing  with  the 
glee  of  a  child.  "  Yes !  It's  no  good  my  being 
kept  here  like  Wax- Work ;  is  it  now  ?" 

"People  have  to  pay  to  see  Wax- Work,  my 
dear,"  returned  her  husband,  "whereas  (though 
you'd  be  cheap  at  the  same  money)  the  neigh- 
bors is  welcome  to  see  you  for  nothing." 

"  But  it  don't  answer,"  said  the  cheerful  Mrs. 
Boffin.  "When  we  worked  like  the  neighbors, 
we  suited  one  another.  Now  we  have  left  work 
off,  we  have  left  off  suiting  one  another." 

"What,  do  you  think  of  beginning  work 
again  ?"  Mr.  Boffin  hinted. 

"Out  of  the  question!  We  have  come  into 
a  great  fortune,  and  we  must  do  what's  right  by 
our  fortune ;  we  must  act  up  to  it." 

Mr.  Boffin,  who  had  a  deep  respect  for  his 
wife's  intuitive  wisdom,  replied,  though  rather 
pensively:  "I  suppose  we  must." 

"  It's  never  been  acted  up  to  yet,  and,  conse- 
quent v,  no  good  has  come  of  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Boffin. 

"True,  to  the  present  time,"  Mr.  Boffin  as- 


sented, with  his  former  pensiveness,  as  he  took 
his  seat  upon  his  settle.  "I  hope  good  may  be 
coming  of  it  in  the  future  time.  Toward  which, 
what's  your  views,  old  lady?" 

Mrs.  Boffin,  a  smiling  creature,  broad  of  figure 
and  simple  of  nature,  with  her  hands  folded  in         • 
her  lap,  and  with  buxom  creases  in  her  throat, 
proceeded  to  expound  her  views. 

"/say,  a  good  house  in  a  good  neighborhood, 
good  things  about  us,  good  living,  and  good  so- 
ciety. I  say,  live  like  our  means,  without  ex- 
travagance, and  be  happy." 

"Yes.  I  say  be  happy,  too,"  assented  the 
still  pensive  Mr.  Boffin. 

"  Lor-a-mussy !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Boffin,  laugh- 
ing and  clapping  her  hands,  and  gayly  rocking 
herself  to  and  fro,  "when  I  think  of  me  in  a 
light  yellow  chariot  and  pair,  with  silver  boxes 
to  the  wheels — " 

"  Oh !  you  was  thinking  of  that,  was  you,  my 
dear?" 

"Yes!"  cried  the  delighted  creature.  "And 
with  a  footman  up  behind,  with  a  bar  across,  to 
keep  his  legs  from  being  poled!  And  with  a 
coachman  up  in  front,  sinking  down  into  a  seat 
big  enough  for  three  of  him,  all  covered  with 
upholstery  in  green  and  white !  And  with  two 
bay  horses  tossing  their  heads  and  stepping  high- 
er than  they  trot  long-ways!  And  with  you 
and  me  leaning  back  inside,  as  grand  as  nine- 
pence  !     Oh-h-h-h  My  L    Ha  ha  ha  ha  ha !" 

Mrs.  Boffin  clapped  her  hands  again,  rocked 
herself  again,  beat  her  feet  upon  the  floor,  and 
wiped  the  tears  of  laughter  from  her  eyes. 

"And  what,  my  old  lady,"  inquired  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, when  he  also  had  sympathetically  laughed : 
"  what's  your  views  on  the  subject  of  the  Bower  ?" 

"  Shut  it  up.  Don't  par.t  with  it,  but  put  some- 
body in  it,  to  keep  it." 

"Any  other  views?" 

"Noddy,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  coming  from  her 
fashionable  sofa  to  his  side  on  the  plain  settle, 
and  hooking  her  comfortable  arm  through  his, 
"Next  I  think — and  I  really  have  been  think- 
ing early  and  late — of  the  disappointed  girl ; 
her  that  was  so  cruelly  disappointed,  you  know, 
both  of  her  husband  and  his  riches.  Don't  you 
think  we  might  do  something  for  her?  Have 
her  to  live  with  us  ?    Or  something  of  that  sort  ?" 

"  Ne-ver  once  thought  of  the  way  of  doing  it !" 
cried  Mr.  Boffin,  smiting  the  table  in  his  admi- 
ration. "What  a  thinking  steam-ingein  this 
old  lady  is.  And  she  don't  know  how  she  does 
it.     Neither  does  the  ingein  !" 

Mrs.  Boffin  pulled  his  nearest  ear,  in  acknowl- 
edgment of  this  piece  of  philosophy,  and  then 
said,  gradually  toning  down  to  a  motherly  strain : 
"Last,  and  not  least,  I  have  taken  a  fancy.  You 
remember  dear  little  John  Harmon,  before  he 
went  to  school  ?  Over  yonder  across  the  yard, 
at  our  fire  ?  Now  that  he  is  past  all  benefit  of 
the  money,  and  it's  come  to  us,  I  should  like  to 
find  some  orphan  child,  and  take  the  boy  and 
adopt  him  and  give  him  John's  name,  and  pro- 
vide for  him.  Somehow,  it  would  make  mc 
easier,  I  fancy.     Say  it's  only  a  whim — " 

"But  I  don't  say  so,"  interposed  her  husband. 

"No,  but  deary,  if  you  did — " 

"I  should  be  a  Beast  if  I  did,"  her  husband 
interposed  again. 

" That's  as  much  as  to  say  you  agree?  Good 
and  kind  of  you,  and  like  you,  deary!      And 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


don't  you  begin  to  find  it  pleasant  now,"  said 
Mrs.  Boffin,  once  move  radiant  in  her  comely 
way  from  head  to  foot,  and  once  more  smooth- 
ing her  dress  with  immense  enjoyment,  "don't 
you  begin  to  find  it  pleasant  already,  to  think 
that  a  child  will  be  made  brighter,  and  better, 
and  happier,  because  of  that  poor  sad  child  that 
day?  And  isn't  it  pleasant  to  know  that  the 
good  will  be  done  with  the  poor  sad  child's  own 
money?" 

"  Yes ;  and  it's  pleasant  to  know  that  you  are 
Mrs.  Boffin,"  said  her  husband,  "and  it's  been 
a  pleasant  thing  to  know  this  many  and  many  a 
year !"  It  was  ruin  to  Mrs.  Boffin's  aspirations, 
but,  having  so  spoken,  they  sat  side  by  side,  a 
hopelessly  Unfashionable  pair. 

These  two  ignorant  and  unpolished  people  had 
guided  themselves  so  far  on  in  their  journey  of 
life  by  a  religious  sense  of  duty  and  desire  to 
do  right.  Ten  thousand  weaknesses  and  ab- 
surdities might  have  been  detected  in  the  breasts 
of  both ;  ten  thousand  vanities  additional,  possi- 
bly, in  the  breast  of  the  woman.  But  the  hard 
wrathful  and  sordid  nature  that  had  wrung  as 
much  work  out  of  them  as  could  be  got  in  their 
best  days,  for  as  little  money  as  could  be  paid 
to  hurry  on  their  worst,  had  never  been  so  warp- 
ed but  that  it  knew  their  moral  straightness  and 
respected  it.  In  its  own  despite,  in  a  constant 
conflict  with  itself  and  them,  it  had  done  so. 
And  this  is  the  eternal  law.  For,  Evil  often 
stops  short  at  itself  and  dies  with  the  doer  of  it ; 
but  Good,  never. 

Through  his  most  inveterate  purposes,  the 
dead  Jailer  of  Harmony  Jail  had  known  these 
two  faithful  servants  to  be  honest  and  true. 
While  he  raged  at  them  and  reviled  them  for 
opposing  him  with  the  speech  of  the  honest  and 
true,  it  had  scratched  his  stony  heart,  and  he 
had  perceived  the  powerlessness  of  all  his  wealth 
to  buy  them  if  he  had  addressed  himself  to  the 
attempt.  So,  even  while  he  was  their  griping 
taskmaster  and  never  gave  them  a  good  word, 
he  had  written  their  names  down  in  his  will. 
So,  even  while  it  was  his  daily  declaration  that 
he  mistrusted  all  mankind — and  sorely  indeed  he 
did  mistrust  all  who  bore  any  resemblance  to 
himself — he  was  as  certain  that  these  two  people, 
surviving  him,  would  be  trust- worthy  in  all  things 
from  the  greatest  to  the  least,  as  he  was  that  he 
must  surely  die. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  sitting  side  by  side,  with 
Fashion  withdrawn  to  an  immeasurable  distance, 
fell  to  discussing  how  they  could  best  find  their 
orphan.  Mrs.  Boffin  suggested  advertisement  in 
the  newspapers,  requesting  orphans  answering 
annexed  description  to  apply  at  the  Bower  on  a 
certain  day ;  but  Mr.  Boffin  wisely  apprehending 
obstruction  of  the  neighboring  thoroughfares  by 
orphan  swarms,  this  course  was  negatived.  Mrs. 
Boffin  next  suggested  application  to  their  clergy- 
man for  a  likely  orphan.  Mr.  Boffin  thinking 
better  of  this  scheme,  they  resolved  to  call  upon 
the  reverend  gentleman  at  once,  and  to  take  the 
same  opportunity  of  making  acquaintance  with 
Miss  Bella  Wilfer.  In  order  that  these  visits 
might  be  visits  of  state,  Mrs.  Boffin's  equipage 
was  ordered  out. 

This  consisted  of  a  long  hammer-headed  old 
horse,  formerly  used  in  the  business,  attached  to 
a  four-wheeled  chaise  of  the  same  period,  which 
had  long  been  exclusively  used  by  the  Harmony 


Jail  poultry  as  the  favorite  laying-place  of  sev- 
eral discreet  hens.  An  unwonted  application  of 
corn  to  the  horse,  and  of  paint  and  varnish  to 
the  carriage,  when  both  fell  in  as  a  part  of  the 
Boffin  legacy,  had  made  what  Mr.  Boffin  con- 
sidered a  neat  turn-out  of  the  whole ;  and  a 
driver  being  added,  in  the  person  of  a  long  ham- 
mer-headed young  man  who  was  a  very  good 
match  for  the  horse,  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 
He,  too,  had  been  formerly  used  in  the  business, 
but  was  now  entombed  by  an  honest  jobbing 
tailor  of  the  district  in  a  perfect  Sepulchre  of 
coat  and  gaiters,  sealed  with  ponderous  buttons. 

Behind  this  domestic  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin 
took  their  seats  in  the  back  compartment  of  the 
vehicle  :  which  was  sufficiently  commodious,  but 
had  an  undignified  and  alarming  tendency,  in 
getting  over  a  rough  crossing,  to  hiccup  itself 
away  from  the  front  compartment.  On  their 
being  descried  emerging  from  the  gates  of  the 
Bower,  the  neighborhood  turned  out  at  door  and 
window  to  salute  the  Boffins.  Among  those  who 
were  ever  and  again  left  behind,  staring  after 
the  equipage,  were  many  youthful  spirits,  who 
hailed  it  in  stentorian  tones  with  such  congratu- 
lations as  "Nod-dy  Bof-fin!"  "  Bof-fin's  mon- 
ey !"  "Down  with  the  dust,  Bof-fin  !"  and  oth- 
er similar  compliments.  These,  the  hammer- 
headed  young  man  took  in  such  ill  part  that  he 
often  impaired  the  majesty  of  the  progress  by 
pulling  up  short,  and  making  as  though  he  would 
alight  to  exterminate  the  offenders ;  a  purpose 
from  which  he  only  allowed  himself  to  be  dis- 
suaded after  long  and  lively  arguments  with  his 
employers. 

At  length  the  Bower  district  was  left  behind, 
and  the  peaceful  dwelling -of  the  Reverend  Frank 
Milvey  was  gained.  The  Reverend  Frank  Mil- 
vey's  abode  was  a  very  modest  abode,  because 
his  income  was  a  very  modest  income.  He  was 
officially  accessible  to  every  blundering  old  wo- 
man who  had  incoherence  to  bestow  upon  him, 
and  readily  received  the  Boffins.  He  was  quite 
a  young  man,  expensively  educated  and  wretch- 
edly paid,  with  quite  a  young  wife  and  half  a 
dozen  quite  young  children.  He  was  under  the 
necessity  of  teaching  and  translating  from  the 
classics  to  eke  out  his  scanty  means,  yet  was 
generally  expected  to  have  more  time  to  spare 
than  the  idlest  person  in  the  parish,  and  more 
money  than  the  richest.  He  accepted  the  need- 
less inequalities  and  inconsistencies  of  his  life, 
with  a  kind  of  conventional  submission  that  was 
almost  slavish  ;  and  any  daring  layman  who 
would  have  adjusted  such  burdens  as  his,  more 
decently  and  graciously,  would  have  had  small 
help  from  him. 

With  a  ready  patient  face  and  manner,  and 
yet  with  a  latent  smile  that  showred  a  quick 
enough  observation  of  Mrs.  Boffin's  dress,  Mr. 
Milvey,  in  his  little  back  room — charged  with 
sounds  and  cries  as  though  the  six  children  above 
were  coming  down  through  the  ceiling,  and  the 
roasting  leg  of  mutton  below  were  coming  up 
through  the  floor — listened  to  Mrs.  Boffin's  state- 
ment of  her  want  of  an  orphan. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Milvey,  "that  you  have 
never  had  a  child  of  your  own,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Boffin?" 

Never. 

"  But,  like  the  Kings  and  Queens  in  the  Fairy 
Talcs,  I  suppose  you  have  wished  for  one?': 


58 


OUE  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


c      / 

THE   BOFFIN   PROGRESS. 


In  a  general  way,  yes. 

Mr.  Milvey  smiled  again,  as  he  remarked  to 
himself,  "Those  kings  and  queens  were  always 
wishing  for  children."  It  occurring  to  him,  per- 
haps, that  if  they  had  been  Curates,  their  wishes 
might  have  tended  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"I  think," he  pursued,  "we  had  better  take 
Mrs.  Milvey  into  our  Council.  She  is  indispens- 
able to  me.     If  you  please,  I'll  call  her." 

So  Mr.  Milvey  called,  "Margaretta,  my  dear!" 
and  Mrs.  Milvey  came  down.  A  pretty,  bright 
little  woman,  something  worn  by  anxiety,  who 
had  repressed  many  pretty  tastes  and  bright  fan- 
cies, and  substituted  in  their  stead  schools,  soup, 
flannel,  coals,  and  all  the  week-day  cares  and 
Sunday  coughs  of  a  large  population,  young  and 
old.  As  gallantly  had  Mr.  Milvey  repressed 
much  in  himself  that  naturally  belonged  to  his 


old  studies  and  old  fellow-students,  and  taken 
up  among  the  poor  and  their  children  with  the 
hard  crumbs  of  life. 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  my  dear,  whose  good 
fortune  you  have  heard  of." 

Mrs.  Milvey,  with  the  most  unaffected  grace 
in  the  world,  congratulated  them,  and  was  glad 
to  see  them.  Yet  her  engaging  face,  being  an 
open  as  well  as  a  perceptive  one,  was  not  with- 
out her  husband's  latent  smile. 

"  Mrs.  Boffin  wishes  to  adopt  a  little  boy,  my 
dear." 

Mrs.  Milvey,  looking  rather  alarmed,  her  hus- 
band added : 

"An  orphan,  my  dear." 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Milvey,  reassured  for  her 
own  little  boys. 

"And  I  was  thinking,  Margaretta,  that  per- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


50 


haps  old  Mrs.  Goody's  grandchild  might  answer 
the  purpose." 

"Oh  my  dear  Frank!  I  don't  think  that 
would  do !" 

"No?" 

"Oh  no!" 

The  smiling  Mrs.  Boffin,  feeling  it  incumbent 
on  her  to  take  part  in  the  conversation,  and 
being  charmed  with  the  emphatic  little  wife  and 
her  ready  interest,  here  offered  her  acknowledg- 
ments, and  inquired  what  there  was  against 
him? 

"I  don't  think,"  said  Mrs.  Milvey,  glancing 
at  the  Reverend  Frank — "and  I  believe  my 
husband  will  agree  with  me  when  he  considers  it 
again — that  you  could  possibly  keep  that  orphan 
clean  from  snuff.  Because  his  grandmother  takes 
so  many  ounces,  and  drops  it  over  him." 

"But  he  would  not  be  living  with  his  grand- 
mother then,  Margaretta,"  said  Mr.  Milvey. 

"No,  Frank,  but  it  would  be  impossible  to 
keep  her  from  Mrs.  Boffin's  house;  and  the 
more  there  was  to  eat  and  drink  there,  the  oftener 
she  would  go.  And  she  is  an  inconvenient  wo- 
man. I  hope  it's  not  uncharitable  to  remember 
that  last  Christmas  Eve  she  drank  eleven  cups 
of  tea,  and  grumbled  all  the  time.  And  she  is 
not  a  grateful  woman,  Frank.  You  recollect  her 
addressing  a  crowd  outside  this  house  about  her 
wrongs,  when,  one  night  after  we  had  gone  to 
bed,  she  brought  back  the  petticoat  of  new  flan- 
nel that  had  been  given  her,  because  it  was  too 
short." 

"That's  true,"  said  Mr.  Milvey.  "I  don't 
think  that  would  do.     Would  little  Harrison — " 

"Oh,  Frank!"  remonstrated  his  emphatic 
wife. 

"He  has  no  grandmother,  my  dear." 

"No,  but  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Boffin  would  like 
an  orphan  who  squints  so  much.'" 

"That's  true  again,"  said  Mr.  Milvey,  becom- 
ing haggard  with  perplexity.  "If  a  little  girl 
would  do — " 

"But,  my  dear  Frank,  Mrs.  Boffin  wants  a 
boy." 

"That's  true  again,"  said  Mr.  Milvey.  "Tom 
Bocker  is  a  nice  boy"  (thoughtfully). 

"But  I  doubt,  Frank,"  Mrs.  Milvey  hinted, 
after  a  little  hesitation,  "if  Mrs.  Boffin  wants 
an  orphan  quite  nineteen,  who  drives  a  cart  and 
waters  the  roads." 

Mr.  Milvey  referred  the  point  to  Mrs.  Boffin  in 
a  look ;  on  that  smiling  lady's  shaking  her  black 
velvet  bonnet  and  bows,  he  remarked,  in  lower 
spirits,  "That's  true  again." 

"I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  concerned  at 
giving  so  much  trouble,  "that  if  I  had  known 
you  would  have  taken  so  much  pains,  Sir — and 
you  too,  ma'am — I  don't  think  I  would  have 
come." 

"Pray  don't  say  that !"  urged  Mrs.  Milvey. 

"No,  don't  say  that,"  assented  Mr.  Milvey, 
"  because  we  are  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  giv- 
ing us  the  preference."  Which  Mrs.  Milvey  con- 
firmed ;  and  really  the  kind,  conscientious  couple 
spoke  as  if  they  kept  some  profitable  orphan  ware- 
house and  were  personally  patronized.  "But  it 
is  a  responsible  trust,"  added  Mr. Milvey,  "and 
difficult  to  discharge.  At  the  same  time,,  we  are 
naturally  very  unwilling  to  lose  the  chance  you 
so  kindly  give  us,  and  if  you  could  afford  us  a 
day  or  two  to  look  about  us — you  know,  Marga- 


retta, we  might  carefully  examine  the  work-house, 
and  the  Infant  School,  and  your  District." 

"To  be  sureT  said  the  emphatic  little  wife. 

"We  have  orphans,  I  know,"  pursued  Mr. 
Milvey,  quite  with  the  air  as  if  he  might  have 
added,  "in  stock,"  and  quite  as  anxiously  as  if 
there  were  great  competition  in  the  business  and 
he  were  afraid  of  losing  an  order,  "over  at  the 
clay-pits ;  but  they  are  employed  by  relations  or 
friends,  and  I  am  afraid  it  would  come  at  last  to 
a  transaction  in  the  way  of  barter.  And  even 
if  you  exchanged  blankets  for  the  child — or 
books  and  firing — it  would  be  impossible  to  pre- 
vent their  being  turned  into  liquor." 

Accordingly,  it  was  resolved  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Milvey  should  search  for  an  orphan  likely 
to  suit,  and  as  free  as  possible  from  the  foregoing 
objections,  and  should  communicate  again  with 
Mrs.  Boffin.  Then  Mr.  Boffin  took  the  liberty 
of  mentioning  to  Mr.  Milvey  that  if  Mr.  Milvey 
would  do  him  the  kindness  to  be  perpetually  his 
banker  to  the  extent  of  "a  twenty-pound  note 
or  so,"  to  be  expended  without  any  reference  to 
him,  he  would  be  heartily  obliged.  At  this  both 
Mr.  Milvey  and  Mrs.  Milvey  were  quite  as  much 
pleased  as  if  they  had  no  wants  of  their  own,  but 
only  knew  what  poverty  was  in  the  persons  of 
other  people ;  and  so  the  interview  terminated 
with  satisfaction  and  good  opinion  on  all  sides. 

"Now,  old  lady,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  as  they  re- 
sumed their  seats  behind  the  hammer-headed 
horse  and  man .  "  having  made  a  very  agreeable 
visit  there,  we'll  try  Wilfer's." 

It  appeared,  on  their  drawing  up  at  the  fami- 
ly gate,  that  to  try  Wilfer's  was  a  thing  more 
easily  projected  than  done,  on  account  of  the  ex- 
treme difficulty  of  getting  into  that  establishment ; 
three  pulls  at  the  bell  producing  no  external  re- 
sult, though  each  was  attended  by  audible  sounds 
of  scampering  and  rushing  within.  At  the  fourth 
tug — vindictively  administered  by  the  hammer- 
headed  young  man — Miss  Lavinia  appeared, 
emerging  from  the  house  in  an  accidental  man- 
ner, with  a  bonnet  and  parasol,  as  designing  to 
take  a  contemplative  walk.  The  young  lady 
was  astonished  to  find  visitors  at  the  gate,  and 
expressed  her  feelings  in  appropriate  action. 

"Here's  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin!"  growled  the 
hammer-headed  young  man  through  the  bars  of 
the  gate,  and  at  the  same  time  shaking  it,  as  if 
he  were  on  view  in  a  Menagerie ,  "they've  been 
here  half  an  hour." 

"Who  did  you  say?"  asked  Miss  Lavinia, 

1 '  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  !"  returned  the  young 
man,  rising  into  a  roar. 

Miss  Lavinia  tripped  up  the  steps  to  the  house- 
door,  tripped  down  the  steps  with  the  key,  tripped 
across  the  little  garden,  and  opened  the  gate. 
"Please  to  walk  in,"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  haughti- 
ly.    "  Our  servant  is  out." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  complying,  and  pausing 
in  the  little  hall  until  Miss  Lavinia  came  up  to 
show  them  where  to  go  next,  perceived  three 
pairs  of  listening  legs  upon  the  stairs  above. 
Mrs.  Wilfer's  legs,  Miss  Bella's  legs,  Mr.  George 
Sampson's  legs. 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  I  think?"  said  Lavinia, 
in  a  warning  voice. 

Strained  attention  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Wilfer's 
legs,  of  Miss  Bella's  legs,  of  Mr.  George  Samp- 
son's legs, 

"Yes,  Miss." 


GO 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  If  you'll  step  this  way— down  these  stairs— 
I'll  let  Ma  know." 

Excited  flight  of  Mrs.  Wilfer's  legs,  of  Miss 
Bella's  legs,  of  Mr.  George  Sampson's  legs. 

After  waiting  some  quarter  of  an  hour  alone 
in  the  family  sitting-room,  which  presented  traces 
of  having  been  so  hastily  arranged  after  a  meal 
that  one  might  have  doubted  whether  it  was 
made  tidy  for  visitors,  or  cleared  for  blindman's- 
buff,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  became  aware  of  the 
entrance  of  Mrs.  Wilfer,  majestically  faint,  and 
with  a  condescending  stitch  in  her  side :  which 
was  her  company  manner. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  after  the  first 
salutations,  and  as  soon  as  she  had  adjusted  the 
handkerchief  under  her  chin,  and  waved  her 
gloved  hands,  ' '  to  what  am  I  indebted  for  this 
honor  ?" 

"To  make  short  of  it,  ma'am,"  returned  Mr. 
Boffin,  "perhaps  you  may  be  acquainted  with 
the  names  of  me  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  as  having  come 
into  a  certain  property." 

"I  have  heard,  Sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
with  a  dignified  bend  of  her  head,  "of  such 
being  the  case." 

"And  I  dare  say,  ma'am,"  pursued  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, while  Mrs.  Boffin  added  confirmatory  nods 
and  smiles,  "  you  are  not  very  much  inclined  to 
take  kindly  to  us?" 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer.  "'Twere. 
unjust  to  visit  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  a  ca- 
lamity which  was  doubtless  a  dispensation." 
These  words  were  rendered  the  more  effective 
by  a  serenely  heroic  expression  of  suffering. 

"That's  fairly  meant,  I  am  sure,"  remarked 
the  honest  Mr.  Boffin;  "Mrs.  Boffin  and  me, 
ma'am,  are  plain  people,  and  we  don't  want  to 
pretend  to  any  thing,  nor  yet  to  go  round  and 
round  at  any  thing:  because  there's  always  a 
straight  way  to  every  thing.  Consequently,  we 
make  this  call  to  say,  that  we  shall  be  glad  to 
have  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  your  daughter's 
acquaintance,  and  that  we  shall  be  rejiced  if 
your  daughter  will  come  to  consider  our  house 
in  the  light  of  her  home  equally  with  this.  In 
short,  we  want  to  cheer  your  daughter,  and  to 
give  her  the  opportunity  of  sharing  such  pleas- 
ures as  we  are  a  going  to  take  ourselves.  We 
want  to  brisk  her  up,  and  brisk  her  about,  and 
give  her  a  change." 

"  That's  it!"  said  the  open-hearted  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin.    "Lor!     Let's  be  comfortable." 

Mrs.  Wilfer  bent  her  head  in  a  distant  man- 
ner to  her  lady  visitor,  and  with  majestic  mo- 
notony replied  to  the  gentleman  : 

"  Pardon  me.  I  have  several  daughters. 
Which  of  my  daughters  am  I  to  understand  is 
thus  favored  by  the  kind  intentions  of  Mr.  Bof- 
fin and  his  lady  ?" 

"Don't  you  see?"  the  ever-smiling  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin put  in.    "Naturally,  Miss  Bella,  you  know." 

"  Oh-h !"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  with  a  severely  un- 
convinced look.  "  My  daughter  Bella  is  access- 
ible, and  shall  speak  for  herself."  Then  open- 
ing the  door  a  little  way,  simultaneously  with 
a  sound  of  scuttling  outside  it,  the  good  lady 
made  the  proclamation,  "Send  Miss  Bella  to 
me!"  Which  proclamation,  though  grandly 
formal,  and  one  might  almost  say  heraldic,  to 
hear,  was  in  fact  enunciated  with  her  maternal 
eyes  reproachfully  glaring  on  that  young  lady 
in  the  flesh — and  in  so  much  of  it  that  she  was 


retiring  with  difficulty  into  the  small  closet  un- 
der the  stairs,  apprehensive  of  the  emergence  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin. 

"The  avocations  of  R.  W.,  my  husband," 
Mrs.  Wilfer  explained,  on  resuming  her  seat, 
"keep  him  fully  engaged  in  the  City  at  this 
time  of  the  day,  or  he  would  have  had  the  hon- 
or of  participating  in  your  reception  beneath  our 
humble  roof." 

"Very  pleasant  premises!"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
cheerfully. 

"Pardon  me,  Sir," returned  Mrs. Wilfer,  cor- 
recting him,  "  it  is  the  abode  of  conscious  though 
independent  Poverty." 

Finding  it  rather  difficult  to  pursue  the  con- 
versation down  this  road,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin 
sat  staring  at  mid-air,  and  Mrs.  Wilfer  sat  si- 
lently, giving  them  to  understand  that  every 
breath  she  drew  required  to  be  drawn  with  a 
self-denial  rarely  paralleled  in  history,  until  Miss 
Bella  appeared:  whom  Mrs.  Wilfer  presented, 
and  to  whom  she  explained  the  purpose  of  the 
visitors. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Miss  Bella,  coldly  shaking  her  curls,  "but  I 
doubt  if  I  have  the  inclination  to  go  out  at  all." 

"Bella!"  Mrs.  Wilfer  admonished  her ;  "Bel- 
la, you  must  conquer  this." 

"Yes,  do  what  your  Ma  says,  and  conquer  it, 
my  dear,"  urged  Mrs.  Boffin,  "  because  we  shall 
be  so  glad  to  have  you,  and  because  you  are 
much  too  pretty  to  keep  yourself  shut  up." 
With  that  the  pleasant  creature  gave  her  a  kiss, 
and  patted  her  on  her  dimpled  shoulders ;  Mrs. 
Wilfer  sitting  stiffly  by,  like  a  functionary  pre- 
siding over  an  interview  previous  to  an  execu- 
tion. 

1 '  We  are  going  to  move  into  a  nice  house, " 
said  Mrs.  Boffin,  who  was  woman  enough  to 
compromise  Mr.  Boffin  on  that  point,  when  he 
couldn't  very  well  contest  it ;  "  and  we  are  go- 
ing to  set  up  a  nice  carriage,  and  we'll  go  ev- 
ery where  and  see  every  thing.  And  you 
mustn't,"  seating  Bella  beside  her,  and  patting 
her  hand,  "you  mustn't  feel  a  dislike  to  us  to 
begin  with,  because  we  couldn't  help  it,  you 
know,  my  dear." 

With  the  natural  tendency  of  youth  to  yield 
to  candor  and  sweet  temper,  Miss  Bella  was  so 
touched  by  the  simplicity  of  this  address  that  she 
frankly  returned  Mrs.  Boffin's  kiss.  Not  at  all 
to  the  satisfaction  of  that  good  woman  of  the 
world,  her  mother,  who  sought  to  hold  the  ad- 
vantageous ground  of  obliging  the  Boffins  in- 
stead of.being  obliged. 

"My  youngest  daughter,  Lavinia,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilfer,  glad  to  make  a  diversion,  as  that  young 
lady  reappeared.  "Mr.  George  Sampson,  a 
friend  of  the  family." 

The  friend  of  the  family  was  in  that  stage  of 
the  tender  passion  which  bound  him  to  regard 
every  body  else  as  the  foe  of  the  family.  He 
put  the  round  head  of  his  cane  in  his  mouth, 
J  like  a  stopper,  when  he  sat  down.  As  if  he  felt 
himself  full  to  the  throat  with  affronting  senti- 
ments. And  he  eyed  the  Boffins  with  implaca- 
ble eyes. 

"If  you  like  to  bring  your  sister  with  you 
when  you  come  to  stay  with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin, "of  course  we  shall  be  glad.  The  better 
you  please  yourself,  Miss  Bella,  the  better  you'll 
please  us." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Gl 


"  Oh,  my  consent  is  of  no  consequence  at  all, 
I  suppose?"  cried  Miss  Lavinia. 

"Lavvy,"  said  her  sister,  in  a  low  voice, 
"have  the  goodness  to  be  seen,  and  not  heard." 

"No,  I  won't,"  replied  the  sharp  Lavinia. 
"I'm  not  a  child,  to  be  taken  notice  of  by 
strangers." 

"You  are  a  child." 

"I'm  not  a  child,  and  I  won't  be  taken  notice 
of.     '  Bring  your  sister,'  indeed !" 

"Lavinia!"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer.  "Hold!  I 
will  not  allow  you  to  utter  in  my  presence  the 
absurd  suspicion  that  any  strangers — 1  care  not 
what  their  names — can  patronize  my  child.  Do 
you  dare  to  suppose,  you  ridiculous  girl,  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  would  enter  these  doors 
upon  a  patronizing  errand;  or,  if  they  did, 
would  remain  within  them,  only  for  one  single 
instant,  while  your  mother  had  the  strength  yet 
remaining  in  her  vital  frame  to  request  them  to 
depart?.  You  little  know  your  mother  if  you 
presume  to  think  so." 

"It's  all  very  fine,"  Lavinia  began  to  grum- 
ble, when  Mrs.  Wilfer  repeated  : 

"Hold!  I  will  not  allow  this.  Do  you  not 
know  what  is  due  to  guests?  Do  you  not  com- 
prehend that  in  presuming  to  hint  that  this  lady 
and  gentleman  could  have  any  idea  of  patroniz- 
ing any  member  of  your  family — I  care  not 
which — you  accuse  them  of  an  impertinence 
little  less  than  insane  ?" 

"Never  mind  me  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  ma'am," 
said  Mr.  Boffin,  smilingly  :   "we  don't  care." 

"  Pardon  me,  but /do,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilfer. 

Miss  Lavinia  laughed  a^hort  laugh  as  she 
muttered,  "Yes,  to  be  sun^' 

"  And  I  require  my  adpcious  child,"  proceed- 
ed Mrs.  Wilfer,  with  a  withering  look  at  her 
youngest,  on  whom  it  had  not  the  slightest  ef- 
fect, "to  please  to  be  just  to  her  sister  Bella ;  to 
remember  that  her  sister  Bella  is  much  sought 
after ;  and  that  when  her  sister  Bella  accepts  an 
attention,  she  considers  herself  to  be  conferring 
qui-i-ite  as  much  honor" — this  with  an  indig- 
nant shiver — "  as  she  receives." 

But  here  Miss  Bella  repudiated,  and  said  qui- 
etly, "I  can  speak  for  myself,  you  know,  ma. 
You  needn't  bring  me  in,  please." 

"And  it's  all  very  well  aiming  at  others 
through  convenient  me,"  said  the  irrepressible 
Lavinia,  spitefully;  "but  I  should  like  to  ask 
George  Sampson  what  he  says  to  it." 

"Mr.  Sampson,"  proclaimed  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
.  seeing  that  young  gentleman  take  his  stopper 
out,  and  so  darkly  fixing  him  with  her  eyes  as 
that  he  put  it  in  again:  "Mr.  Sampson,  as  a 
friend  of  this  family  and  a  frequenter  of  this 
house,  is,  I  am  persuaded,  far  too  well-bred  to 
interpose  on  such  an  invitation." 

This  exaltation  of  the  young  gentleman  moved 
the  conscientious  Mrs.  Boffin  to  repentance  for 
having  done  him  an  injustice  in  her  mind,  and 
consequently  to  saying  that  she  and  Mr.  Boffin 
would  at  any  time  be  glad  to  see  him ;  an  at- 
tention which  he  handsomely  acknowledged  by 
replying,  with  his  stopper  unremoved,  "  Much 
obliged  to  you,  but  I'm  always  engaged,  day  and 
night." 

However,  Bella  compensating  for  all  draw- 
backs by  responding  to  the  advances  of  the  Bof- 
fins in  an  engaging  way,  that  easy  pair  were 
on  the  whole  well  satisfied,  and  proposed  to  the 


said  Bella  that  as  soon  as  they  should  be  in  a 
condition  to  receive  her  in  a  manner  suitable  to 
their  desires,  Mrs.  Boffin  should  return  with  no- 
tice of  the  fact.  This  arrangement  Mrs.  Wilfer 
sanctioned  with  a  stately  inclination  of  her  head 
and  wave  of  her  gloves,  as  who  should  say, 
"Your  demerits  shall  be  overlooked,  and  you 
shall  be  mercifully  gratified,  poor  people." 

"By-the-by,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  turn- 
ing back  as  he  was  going,  "you  have  a  lodger  ?" 

"A  gentleman,"  Mrs.  Wilfer  answered,  quali- 
fying the  low  expression,  "  undoubtedly  occupies 
our  first  floor." 

"I  may  call  him  Our  Mutual  Friend,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin.  "What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  Our 
Mutual  Friend,  now  ?     Do  you  like  him  ?" 

"Mr.  Rokesmith  is  very  punctual,  very  quiet, 
a  very  eligible  inmate." 

"Because,"  Mr.  Boffin  explained,  "you  must 
know  that  I'm  not  particularly  well  acquainted 
with  Our  Mutual  Friend,  for  I  have  only  seen 
him  once.  You  give  a  good  account  of  him. 
Is  he  at  home?" 

"Mr.  Rokesmith  is  at  home,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
fer; "indeed,"  pointing  through  the  window, 
"  there  he  stands  at  the  garden  gate.  Waiting 
for  you,  perhaps?" 

"Perhaps  so,"  replied  Mr.  Boffin.  "  Saw  me 
come  in,  maybe." 

Bella  had  closely  attended  to  this  short  dia- 
logue. Accompanying  Mrs.  Boffin  to  the  gate, 
she  as  closely  watched  what  followed. 

"How  are  you,  Sir,  how  are  you?"  said  Mr. 
Boffin.  "  This  is  Mrs.  Boffin.  Mr.  Rokesmith, 
that  I  told  you  of,  my  dear." 

She  gave  him  good-day,  and  he  bestirred  him- 
self and  helped  her  to  her  seat,  and  the  like,  with 
a  ready  hand. 

"Good-byfor  the  present,  Miss  Bella,"  said 
Mrs. Boffin,  calling  out  a  hearty  parting.  "We 
shall  meet  again  soon!  And  then  I  hope  I 
shall  have  my  little  John  Harmon  to  show  you." 

Mr.  Rokesmith,  who  was  at  the  wheel  adjust- 
ing the  skirts  of  her  dress,  suddenly  looked  be- 
hind him  and  around  him,  and- then  looked  up 
at  her,  with  a  face  so  pale  that  Mrs.  Boffin 
cried : 

"Gracious!"  And  after  a  moment,  "  What's 
the  matter,  Sir?" 

"How  can  you  show  her  the  Dead?"  re- 
turned Mr.  Rokesmith. 

"It's  only  an  adopted  child.  One  I  have  told 
her  of.     One  I'm  going  to  give  the  name  to  !" 

"You  took  me  by  surprise,"  said  Mr.  Roke- 
smith, "and  it  sounded  like  an  omen,  that  you 
should  speak  of  showing  the  Dead  to  one  so 
young  and  blooming." 

Now  Bella  suspected  by  this  time  that  Mr. 
Rokesmith  admired  her.  Whether  the  knowl- 
edge (for  it  was  rather  that  than  suspicion) 
caused  her  to  incline  to  him  a  little  more,  or  a 
little  less,  than  she  had  done  at  first ;  whether  it 
rendered  her  eager  to  find  out  more  about  him, 
because  she  sought  to  establish  reason  for  her 
distrust,  or  because  she  sought  to  free  him  from 
it ;  was  as  yet  dark  to  her  own  heart.  But  at  most 
times  he  occupied  a  great  amount  of  her  atten- 
tion, and  she  had  set  her  attention  closely  on 
this  incident. 

That  he  knew  it  as  well  as  she,  she  knew  as 
well  as  he,  when  they  were  left  together  stand- 
ing on  the  path  by  the  garden  gate. 


G2 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  Those  are  worthy  people,  Miss  Wilfer." 

"  Do  you  know  them  well  ?"  asked  Bella. 

He  smiled,  reproaching  her,  and  she  colored, 
reproaching  herself— both,  with  the  knowledge 
that  she  had  meant  to  entrap  him  into  an  an- 
swer not  true — when  he  said  "I  know  o/them." 

"Truly,  he  told  us  he  had  seen  you  but 
once." 

"Truly,  I  supposed  he  did." 

Bella  was  nervous  now,  and  would  have  been 
glad  to  recall  her  question. 

"You  thought  it  strange  that,  feeling  much 
interested  in  you,  I  should  start  at  what  sound- 
ed like  a  proposal  to  bring  you  into  contact  with 
the  murdered  man  who  lies  in  his  grave.  I 
might  have  known — of  course  in  a  moment 
should  have  known — that  it  could  not  have  that 
meaning.     But  my  interest  remains." 

Re-entering  the  family-room  in  a  meditative 
state,  Miss  Bella  was  received  by  the  irrepressi- 
ble Lavinia  with : 

"There,  Bella !  At  last  I  hope  you  have  got 
your  wishes  realized — by  your  Boffins.  You'll 
be  rich  enough  now — with  your  Boffins.  You 
can  have  as  much  flirting  as  you  like — at  your 
Boffins.  But  you  won't  take  me  to  your  Boffins, 
I  can  tell  you — you  and  your  Boffins  too !" 

"If,"  quoth  Mr.  George  Sampson,  moodily 
pulling  his  stopper  out,  "Miss  Bella's  Mr.  Boffin 
comes  any  more  of  hisk  nonsense  to  me,  I  only 
wish  him  to  understand,  as  betwixt  man  and 
man,  that  he  does  it  at  his  per — "  and  was  go- 
ing to  say  peril ;  but  Miss  Lavinia,  having  no 
confidence  in  his  mental  powers,  and  feeling  his 
oration  to  have  no  definite  application  to  any 
circumstances,  jerked  his  stopper  in  again,  with 
a  sharpness  that  made  his  eyes  water. 

And  now  the  worthy  Mrs.  Wilfer,  having  used 
her  youngest  daughter  as  a  lay-figure  for  the 
edification  of  these  Boffins,  became  bland  to  her, 
and  proceeded  to  develop  her  last  instance  of 
force  of  character,  which  was  still  in  reserve. 
This  was,  to  illuminate  the  family  with  her  re- 
markable powers  as  a  physiognomist;  powers 
that  terrified  R.  W.  whenever  let  loose,  as  being 
always  fraught  with  gloom  and  evil  which  no 
inferior  prescience  was  aware  of.  And  this  Mrs. 
Wilfer  now  did,  be  it  observed,  in  jealousy  of 
these  Boffins,  in  the  very  same  moments  Avhen 
she  was  already  reflecting  how  she  would  flour- 
ish these  very  same  Boffins  and  the  state  they 
kept,  over  the  heads  of  her  Boffinless  friends. 

"  Of  their  manners,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  "  I 
say  nothing.  Of  their  appearance,  I  say  nothing. 
Of  the  disinterestedness  of  their  intentions  to- 
ward Bella,  I  say  nothing.  But  the  craft,  the 
secrecy,  the  dark,  deep  underhanded  plotting, 
written  in  Mrs.  Boffin's  countenance,  make  me 
shudder." 

As  an  incontrovertible  proof  that  those  bale- 
ful attributes  were  all  there,  Mrs.  Wilfer  shud- 
dered on  the  spot. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  MARRIAGE   CONTRACT. 


There  is  excitement  in  the  Veneering  man- 
sion. The  mature  young  lady  is  going  to  be 
married  (powder  and  all)  to  the  mature  young 
gentleman,  and  she  is  to  be  married  from  the 


Veneering  house,  and  the  Veneerings  are  to 
give  the  breakfast.  The  Analytical,  who  ob- 
jects as  a  matter  of  principle  to  every  thing  that 
occurs  on  the  premises,  necessarily  objects  to  the 
match ;  but  his  consent  has  been  dispensed  with, 
and  a  spring-van  is  delivering  its  load  of  green- 
house plants  at  the  door,  in  order  that  to-mor- 
row's feast  may  be  crowned  with  flowers. 

The  mature  young  lady  is  a  lady  of  property. 
The  mature  young  gentleman  is  a  gentleman  of 
property.  He  invests  his  property.  He  goes, 
in  a  condescending  amateurish  way,  into  the 
City,  attends  meetings  of  Directors,  and  has  to 
do  with  traffic  in  Shares.  As  is  well  known  to 
the  wise  in  their  generation,  traffic  in  Shares  is 
the  one  thing  to  have  to  do  with  in  this  world. 
Have  no  antecedents,  no  established  character, 
no  cultivation,  no  ideas,  no  manners;  have 
Shares.  Have  Shares  enough  to  be  on  Boards 
of  Direction  in  capital  letters,  oscillate  on  mys- 
terious business  between  London  and  Paris,  and 
be  great.  Where  does  he  come  from  ?  Shares. 
Where  is  he  going  to  ?  Shares.  What  are  his 
tastes?  Shares.  Has  he  any  principles  ?  Shares. 
What  squeezes  him  into  Parliament  ?  Shares. 
Perhaps  he  never  of  himself  achieved  success  in 
any  thing,  never  originated  any  thing,  never 
produced  any  thing  ?  Sufficient  answer  to  all ; 
Shares.  O  mighty  Shares !  To  set  those  blar- 
ing images  so  high,  and  to  cause  us  smaller  ver- 
min, as  under  the  influence  of  henbane  or  opi- 
um, to  cry  out,  night  and  day,  "Relieve  us  of 
our  money,  scatter  it  for  us,  buy  us  and  sell  us, 
ruin  us,  only  we  beseech  ye  take  rank  among 
the  powers  of  the  earth,  and  fatten  on  us  !" 

While  the  Loves  and  Graces  have  been  pre- 
paring this  torch  for  Wpmen,  which  is  to  be  kin- 
dled to-morrow,  Mr.  Twemlow  has  suffered  much 
in  his  mind.  It  would  seem  that  both  the  ma- 
ture young  lady  and  the  mature  young  gentle- 
man must  indubitably  be  Veneering's  oldest 
friends.  Wards  of  his,  perhaps  ?  Yet  that  can 
scarcely  be,  for  they  are  older  than  himself. 
Veneering  has  been  in  their  confidence  through- 
out, and  has  done  much  to  lure  them  to  the  al- 
tar. He  has  mentioned  to  Twemlow  how  he 
said  to  Mrs.  Veneering,  "Anastatia,  this  must 
be  a  match."  He  has  mentioned  to  Twemlow 
how  he  regards  Sophronia  Akershem  (the  ma- 
ture young  lady)  in  the  light  of  a  sister,  and 
Alfred  Lammle  (the  mature  young  gentleman) 
in  the  light  of  a  brother.  Twemlow  has  asked 
him  whether  he  went  to  school  as  a  junior  with 
Alfred?  He  has  answered,  "Not  exactly." 
Whether  Sophronia  was  adopted  by  his  mo- 
ther? He  has  answered,  "Not  precisely  so." 
Twemlow's  hand  has  gone  to  his  forehead  with 
a  lost  air. 

But,  two  or  three  weeks  ago,  Twemlow,  sit- 
ting over  his  newspaper,  and  over  his  dry  toast 
and  weak  tea,  and  over  the  stable-yard  in  Duke 
Street,  St.  James's,  received  a  highly-perfumed 
cocked-hat  and  monogram  from  Mrs.  Veneer- 
ing, entreating  her  dearest  Mr.  T.,  if  not  partic- 
ularly engaged  that  day,  to  come  like  a  charm- 
ing soul  and  make  a  fourth  at  dinner  with  dear 
Mr.  Podsnap,  for  the  discussion  of  an  interest- 
ing family  topic;  the  last  three  words  doubly 
underlined  and  pointed  with  a  note  of  admira- 
tion. And  Twemlow,  replying,  "Not  engaged, 
and  more  than  delighted,"  goes,  and  this  takes 
place  : 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


68 


"My  dear  Tvvemlow,"  says  Veneering,  "  your 
ready  response  to  Anastatia's  unceremonious  in- 
vitation is  truly  kind,  and  like  an  old,  old  friend. 
You  know  our  dear  friend  Podsnap  ?" 

Twemlow  ought  to  know  the  dear  friend  Pod- 
snap  who  covered  him  with  so  much  confusion, 
and  he  says  he  does  know  him,  and  Podsnap  re- 
ciprocates. Apparently,  Podsnap  has  been  so 
wrought  upon  in  a  short  time,  as  to  believe  that 
he  has  been  intimate  in  the  house  many,  many, 
many  years.  In  the  friendliest  manner  he  is 
making  himself  quite  at  home  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  executing  a  statuette  of  the  Colossus 
at  Rhodes.  Twemlow  has  before  noticed  in  his 
feeble  way  how  soon  the  Veneering  guests  be- 
come infected  with  the  Veneering  fiction.  Not, 
however,  that  he  has  the  least  notion  of  its  be- 
ing his  own  case. 

"Our  friends,  Alfred  and  Sophronia,"  pur- 
sues Veneering  the  veiled  prophet:  "our friends 
Alfred  and  Sophronia,  you  will  be  glad  to  hear, 
my  dear  fellows,  are  going  to  be  married.  As 
my  wife  and  I  make  it  a  family  affair,  the  en- 
tire direction  of  which  we  take  upon  ourselves,  of 
course  our  first  step  is  to  communicate  the  fact 
to  our  family  friends. 

("Oh!"  thinks  Tvvemlow,  with  his  eyes  on 
Podsnap,  "then  there  are  only  two  of  us,  and 
he's  the  other.") 

"I  did  hope,"  Veneering  goes  on,  "to  have 
had  Lady  Tippins  to  meet  you ;  but  she  is  al- 
ways in  request,  and  is  unfortunately  engaged." 

("  Oh !"  thinks  Twemlow,  with  his  eyes  wan- 
dering, "then  there  are  three  of  us,  and  she's 
the  other.") 

"Mortimer  Lightwood,"  resumes  Veneering, 
"  whom  you  both  know,  is  out  of  town  ;  but  he 
writes,  in  his  whimsical  manner,  that  as  we  ask 
him  to  be  bridegroom's  best  man. when  the  cere- 
mony takes  place,  he  will  not  refuse,  though  he 
doesn't  see  what  he  has  to  do  with  it." 

("Oh!"  thinks  Twemlow,  with  his  eyes  roll- 
ing, "then  there  are  four  of  us,  and  he's  the 
other.") 

"Boots  and  Brewer,"  observes  Veneering, 
"whom  you  also  know,  I  have  not  asked  to- 
day ;  but  I  reserve  them  for  the  occasion." 

("  Then,"  thinks  Twemlow,  with  his  eyes  shut, 
"there  are  si — "  But  here  collapses  and  does 
not  completely  recover  until  dinner  is  over  and 
the  Analytical  has  been  requested  to  withdraw.) 

"We  now  come,"  says  Veneering,  "to  the 
point,  the  real  point,  of  our  little  family  consult- 
ation. Sophronia,  having  lost  both  father  and 
mother,  has  no  one  to  give  her  away." 

"Give  her  away  yourself,"  says  Podsnap. 

"My  dear  Podsnap,  no.  For  three  reasons. 
Firstly,  because  I  couldn't  take  so  much  upon 
myself  when  I  have  respected  family  friends  to 
remember.  Secondly,  because  I  am  not  so  vain 
as  to  think  that  I  look  the  part.  Thirdly,  be- 
cause Anastatia  is  a  little  superstitious  on  the 
subject,  and  feels  averse  to  my  giving  away  any 
body  until  baby  is  old  enough  to  be  married." 

"What  would  happen  if  he  did?"  Podsnap 
inquires  of  Mrs.  Veneering. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Podsnap,  it's  very  foolish  I 
know,  but  I  have  an  instinctive  presentiment 
that  if  Hamilton  gave  away  any  body  else  first, 
he  would  never  give  away  baby."  Thus  Mrs. 
Veneering;  with  her  open  hands  pressed  to- 
gether, and  each  of  her  eight  aquiline  fingers 


looking  so  very  like  her  one  aquiline  nose  that 
the  bran-new  jewels  on  them  seem  necessary  for 
distinction's  sake. 

"But,  my  dear  Podsnap,"  quoth  Veneering, 
"there  is  a  tried  friend  of  our  family  who,  I 
think  and  hope  you  will  agree  with  me,  Podsnap, 
is  the  friend  on  whom  this  agreeable  duty  almost 
naturally  devolves.  That  friend,"  saying  the 
words  as  if  the  company  were  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  in  number,  "is  now  among  us.  That 
friend  is  Twemlow." 

"  Certainly !"    From  Podsnap. 

"That  friend,"  Veneering  repeats  with  great- 
er firmness,  "is  our  dear  good  Twemlow.  And 
I  can  not  sufficiently  express  to  you,  my  dear 
Podsnap,  the  pleasure  I  feel  in  having  this  opin- 
ion of  mine  and  Anastatia's  so  readily  confirmed 
by  you,  that  other  equally  familiar  and  tried 
friend  who  stands  in  the  proud  position — I  mean 
who  proudly  stands  in  the  position — or  I  ought 
rather  to  say,  who  places  Anastatia  and  myself 
in  the  proud  position  of  himself  standing  in  the 
simple  position — of  baby's  godfather. "  And,  in- 
deed, Veneering  is  much  relieved  in  mind  to  find 
that  Podsnap  betrays  no  jealousy  of  Twemlow's 
elevation. 

So  it  has  come  to  pass  that  the  spring-van  is 
strewing  flowers  on  the  rosy  hours  and  on  the 
staircase,  and  that  Twemlow  is  surveying  the 
ground  on  which  he  is  to  play  his  distinguished 
part  to-morrow.  He  has  already  been  to  the 
church,  and  taken  note  of  the  various  impedi- 
ments in  the  aisle,  under  the  auspices  of  an  ex- 
tremely dreary  widow  who  opens  the  pews,  and 
whose  left  hand  appears  to  be  in  a  state  of  acute 
rheumatism,  but  is  in  fact  voluntarily  doubled 
up  to  act  as  a  money-box. 

And  now  Veneering  shoots  out  of  the  Study 
wherein  he  is  accustomed,  when  contemplative, 
to  give  his  mind  to  the  carving  and  gilding  of  the 
Pilgrims  going  to  Canterbury,  in  order  to  show 
Twemlow  the  little  flourish  he  has  prepared  for 
the  trumpets  of  fashion,  describing  how  that  on 
the  seventeenth  instant,  at  St.  James's  Church, 
the  Reverend  Blank  Blank,  assisted  by  the  Rev- 
erend Dash  Dash,  united  in  the  bonds  of  mat- 
rimony Alfred  Lammle,  Esquire,  of  Sackville 
Street,  Piccadilly,  to  Sophronia,  only  daughter 
of  the  late  Horatio  Akershem,  Esquire,  of  York- 
shire. Also  how  the  fair  bride  was  married  from 
the  house  of  Hamilton  Veneering,  Esquire,  of 
Stucconia,  and  was  given  away  by  Melvin  Twem- 
low, Esquire,  of  Duke  Street,  St.  James's,  second 
cousin  to  Lord  Snigsworth,  of  Snigsworthy  Park. 
While  perusing  which  composition,  Twemlow 
makes  some  opaque  approach  to  perceiving  that 
if  the  Reverend  Blank  Blank  and  the  Reverend 
Dash  Dash  fail,  after  this  introduction,  to  be- 
come enrolled  in  the  list  of  Veneering's  dearest 
and  oldest  friends,  they  will  have  none  but  them- 
selves to  thank  for  it. 

After  which  appears  Sophronia  (whom  Twem- 
low has  seen  twice  in  his  lifetime),  to  thank 
Tvvemlow  for  counterfeiting  the  late  Horatio 
Akershem  Esquire,  broadly  of  Yorkshire.  And 
after  her  appears  Alfred  (whom  Twemlow  has 
seen  once  in  his  lifetime),  to  do  the  same  and  to 
make  a  pasty  sort  of  glitter,  as  if  he  were  con- 
structed for  candle-light  only,  and  had  been  let 
out  into  daylight  by  some  grand  mistake.  And 
after  that  comes  Mrs.  Veneering,  in  a  pervad- 
ingly  aquiline  state  of  figure,  and  with  transpar- 


64 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


ent  little  knobs  on  her  temper,  like  the  little 
transparent  knob  on  the  bridge  of  her  nose, 
"Worn  out  by  worry  and  excitement,"  as  she 
tails  her  dear  Mr.  Twemlow,  and  reluctantly  re- 
vived with  curacoa  by  the  Analytical.  And  after 
that,  the  bridemaids  begin  to  "come  by  railroad 
from  various  parts  of  the  country,  and  to  come 
like  adorable  recruits  enlisted  by  a  sergeant  not 
present ;  for,  on  arriving  at  the  Veneering  dep6t, 
they  are  in  a  barrack  of  strangers. 

So  Twemlow  goes  home  to.  Duke  Street,  St. 
James's,  to  take  a  plate  of  mutton  broth  with  a 
chop  in  it,  and  a  look  at  the  marriage-service,  in 
order  that  he  may  cut  in  at  the  right  place  to- 
morrow; and  he  is  low,  and  feels  it  dull  over 
the  livery-stable  yard,  and  is  distinctly  aware  of 
a  dint  in  his  heart,  made  by  the  most  adorable 
of  the  adorable  bridemaids.  For,  the  poor  little 
harmless  gentleman  once  had  his  fancy,  like  the 
rest  of  us,  and  she  didn't  answer  (as  she  often 
does  not),  and  he  thinks  the  adorable  bridemaid 
is  like  the  fancy  as  she  was  then  (which  she  is 
•not  at  all),  and  that  if  the  fancy  had  not  mar- 
ried some  one  else  for  money,  but  had  married 
him  for  love,  he  and  she  would  have  been  happy 
(which  they  wouldn't  have  been),  and  that  she 
has  a  tenderness  for  him  still  (whereas  her  tough- 
ness is  a  proverb).  Brooding  over  the  fire,  with 
his  dried  little  head  in  his  dried  little  hands, 
and  his  dried  little  elbows  on  his  dried  little 
knees,  Twemlow  is  melancholy.  ' '  No  Adorable 
to  bear  me  company  here!"  thinks  he.  "No 
Adorable  at  the  club!  A  waste,  a  waste,  a 
waste,  my  Twemlow !"  And  so  drops  asleep, 
and  has  galvanic  starts  all  over  him. 

Betimes  next  morning,  that  horrible  old  Lady 
Tippins  (relict  of  the  late  Sir  Thomas  Tippins, 
knighted  in  mistake  for  somebody  else  by  His 
Majesty  King  George  the  Third,  who,  while  per- 
forming the  ceremony,  was  graciously  pleased 
to  observe,  "What,  what,  what?  Who,  who, 
who?  Why,  why,  why?")  begins  to  be  dyed 
and  varnished  for  the  interesting  occasion.  She 
has  a  reputation  for  giving  smart  accounts  of 
things,  and  she  must  be  at  these  people's  early, 
my  dear,  to  lose  nothing  of  the  fun.  Wliere- 
about  in  the  bonnet  and  drapery  announced  by 
her  name,  any  fragment  of  the  real  woman  may 
be  concealed,  is  perhaps  known  to  her  maid ; 
but  you  could  easily  buy  all  you  see  of  her,  in 
Bond  Street ;  or  you  might  scalp  her,  and  peel 
her,  and  scrape  her,  and  make  two  Lady  Tip- 
pinses  out  of  her,  and  yet  not  penetrate  to  the 
genuine  article.  She  has  a  large  gold  eye- 
glass, has  Lady  Tippins,  to  survey  the  proceed- 
ings with.  If  she  had  one  in  each  eye,  it  might 
keep  that  other  drooping  lid  up,  and  look  more 
uniform.  But  perennial  youth  is  in  her  arti- 
ficial flowers,  and  her  list  of  lovers  is  full. 

"Mortimer,  you  wretch,"  says  Lady  Tippins, 
turning  the  eye-glass  about  and  about,  "where 
is  your  charge,  the  bridegroom  ?" 

"Give you  my  honor,"  returns  Mortimer,  "I 
don't  know,  and  I  don't  care." 

"Miserable!  Is  that  the  way  you  do  your 
duty?" 

"Beyond  an  impression  that  he  is  to  sit  upon 
my  knee  and  be  seconded  at  some  point  of  the 
solemnities,  like  a  principal  at  a  prize-fight,  I 
assure  you  I  have  no  notion  what  my  duty  is," 
returns  Mortimer. 

Eugene  is  also  in  attendance,  with  a  pervad- 


ing air  upon  him  of  having  presupposed  the 
ceremony  to  be  a  funeral,  and  of  being  disap- 
pointed. The  scene  is  the  Vestry-room  of  St. 
James's  Church,  with  a  number  of  leathery  old 
registers  on  shelves,  that  might  be  bound  in 
Lady  Tippinses. 

But,  hark !  A  carriage  at  the  gate,  and  Mor- 
timer's man  arrives,  looking  rather  like  a  spu- 
rious Mephistopheles  and  an  unacknowledged 
member  of  that  gentleman's  family.  Whom 
Lady  Tippins,  surveying  through  her  eye-glass, 
considers  a  fine  man,  and  quite  a  catch ;  and  of 
whom  Mortimer  remarks,  in  the  lowest  spirits, 
as  he  approaches,  "I  believe  this  is  my  fellow, 
confound  him!"  More  carriages  at  the  gate, 
and  lo  the  rest  of  the  characters.  Whom 
Lady  Tippins,  standing  on  a  cushion,  surveying 
through  the  eye-glass,  thus  checks  off:  "Bride ; 
five-and-forty  if  a  day,  thirty  shillings  a  yard, 
veil  fifteen  pound,  pocket-handkerchief  a  present. 
Bridemaids ;  kept  down  for  fear  of  outshining 
bride,  consequently  not  girls,  twelve  and  six- 
pence a  yard,  Veneering's  flowers,  snub-nosed 
one  rather  pretty  but  too  conscious  of  her  stock- 
ings, bonnets  three  pound  ten.  Twemlow; 
blessed  release  for  the  dear  man  if  she  really  was 
his  daughter,  nervous  even  under  the  pretense 
that  she  is,  well  he  may  be.  Mrs.  Veneering ; 
never  saw  such  velvet,  say  two  thousand  pounds 
as  she  stands,  absolute  jeweler's  window,  father 
must  have  been  a  pawnbroker,  or  how  could  these 
people  do  it?     Attendant  unknowns ;  pokey." 

Ceremony  performed,  register  signed,  Lady 
Tippins  escorted  out  of  sacred  edifice  by  Ve- 
neering, carriages  rolling  back  to  Stucconia, 
servants  with  favors  and  flowers,  Veneering's 
house  reached,  drawing-rooms  most  magnifi- 
cent. Here,  the  Fodsnaps  await  the  happy 
party ;  Mr.  Fodsnap,  with  his  hair-brushes  made 
the  most  of;  that  imperial  rocking-horse,  Mrs. 
Fodsnap,  majestically  skittish.  Here,  too,  are 
Boots  and  Brewer,  and  the  two  other  Buffers ; 
each  Buffer  with  a  flower  in  his  button-hole, 
his  hair  curled,  and  his  gloves  buttoned  on  tight, 
apparently  come  prepared,  if  any  thing  had  hap- 
pened to  the  bridegroom,  to  be  married  instant- 
ly. Here,  too,  the  bride's  aunt  and  next  rela- 
tion ;  a  widowed  female  of  a  Medusa  sort,  in  a 
stony  cap,  glaring  petrifaction  at  her  fellow- 
creatures.  Here,  too,  the  bride's  trustee ;  an 
oilcake -fed  style  of  business  -  gentleman  with 
moony  spectacles,  and  an  object  of  much  in- 
terest. Veneering  launching  himself  upon  this 
trustee  as  his  oldest  friend  (which  makes  seven, 
Twemlow  thought),  and  confidentially  retiring 
with  him  into  the  conservatory,  it  is  understood 
that  Veneering  is  his  co-trustee,  and  that  they 
are  arranging  about  the  fortune.  Buffers  are 
even  overheard  to  whisper  Thir-ty  Thou-sand 
Fou-nds!  with  a  smack  and  a  relish  suggestive 
of  the  very  finest  oysters.  Fokey  unknowns, 
amazed  to  find  how  intimately  they  know  Ve- 
neering, pluck  up  spirit,  fold  their  arms,  and 
begin  to  contradict  him  before  breakfast.  What 
time  Mrs.  Veneering,  carrying  baby  dressed  as 
a  bridemaid,  flits  about  among  the  company, 
emitting  flashes  of  many-colored  lightning  from 
diamonds,  emeralds,  and  rubies. 

The  Analytical,  in  course  of  time  achieving 
what  he  feels  to  be  due  to  himself  in  bringing 
to  a  dignified  conclusion  several  quarrels  he 
has  on  hand  with  the  pastry-cook's  men,  an- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


G5 


nounces  breakfast.  Dining-room  no  less  mag- 
nificent than  drawing-room  ;  tables  superb ;  all 
the  camels  out,  and  all  laden.  Splendid  cake, 
covered  with  Cupids,  silver,  and  true -lovers' 
knots.  Splendid  bracelet,  produced  by  Veneer- 
ing before  going  down,  and  clasped  upon  the 
arm  of  bride.  Yet  nobody  seems  to  think  much 
more  of  the  Veneerings  than  if  they  were  a  tol- 
erable landlord  and  landlady  doing  the  thing  in 
the  way  of  business  at  so  much  a  head.  The 
bride  and  bridegroom  talk  and  laugh  apart,  as 
has  always  been  their  manner;  and  the  Buffers 
work  their  way  through  the  dishes  with  system- 
atic perseverance,  as  has  always  been  their  man- 
ner; and  the  pokey  unknowns  are  exceedingly 
benevolent  to  one  another  in  invitations  to  take 
glasses  of  Champagne ;  but  Mrs.  Podsnap,  arch- 
ing her  mane  and  rocking  her  grandest,  has  a 
far  more  deferential  audience  than  Mrs.  Ve- 
neering ;  and  Podsnap  all  but  does  the  honors. 

Another  dismal  circumstance  is,  that  Veneer- 
ing, having  the  captivating  Tippins  on  one  side 
of  him  and  the  bride's  aunt  on  the  other,  finds 
it  immensely  difficult  to  keep  the  peace.  For, 
Medusa,  besides  unmistakingly  glaring  petrifac- 
tion at  the  fascinating  Tippins,  follows  every 
lively  remark  made  by  that  dear  creature  with 
an  audible  snort:  which  may  be  referable  to  a 
chronic  cold  in  the  head,  but  may  also  be  refer- 
able to  indignation  and  contempt.  And  this 
snort  being  regular  in  its  reproduction,  at  length 
comes  to  be  expected  by  the  company,  who  make 
embarrassing  pauses  when  it  is  falling  due,  and 
by  waiting  for  it,  render  it  more  emphatic  when 
it  comes.  The  stony  aunt  has  likewise  an  in- 
jurious way  of  rejecting  all  dishes  whereof  Lady 
Tippins  partakes :  saying  aloud  when  they  are 
proffered  to  her,  "No,  no,  no,  not  for  me.  Take 
it  away  ! "  As  with  a  set  purpose  of  implying  a 
misgiving  that  if  nourished  upon  similar  meats 
she  might  come  to  be  like  that  charmer,  which 
would  be  a  fatal  consummation.  Aware  of  her 
enemy,  Lady  Tippins  tries  a  youthful  sally  or 
two,  and  tries  the  eye-glass;  but,  from  the  im- 
penetrable cap  and  snorting  armor  of  the  stony 
aunt  all  weapons  rebound  powerless. 

Another  objectionable  circumstance  is,  that 
the  pokey  unknowns  support  each  other  in  being 
unimpressible.  They  persist  in  not  being  fright- 
ened by  the  gold  and  silver  camels,  and  they  are 
banded  together  to  defy  the  elaborately  chased 
ice-pails.  They  even  seem  to  unite  in  some 
vague  utterance  of  the  sentiment  that  the  land- 
lord and  landlady  will  make  a  pretty  good  profit 
out  of  this,  and  they  almost  carry  themselves  like 
customers.  Nor  is  there  compensating  influence 
in  the  adorable  bridemaids;  for,  having  very 
little  interest  in  the  bride,  and  none  at  all  in 
one  another,  those  lovely  beings  become,  each' 
one  on  her  own  account,  depreciatingly  contem- 
plative of  the  millinery  present ;  while  the  bride- 
groom's man,  exhausted,  in  the  back  of  his  chair, 
appears  to  be  improving  the  occasion  by  peniten- 
tially  contemplating  all  the  wrong  he  has  ever 
done  ;  the  difference  between  him  and  his  friend 
Eugene  being,  that  the  latter,  in  the  back  of  his 
chair,  appears  to  be  contemplating  all  the  wrong 
he  would  like  to  do-— particularly  to  the  present 
company. 

In  which  state  of  affairs,  the  usual  ceremonies 
rather  droop  and  flag,  and  the  splendid  cake 
when  cut  by  the  fair  hand  of  the  bride  has  but 
E 


an  indigestible  appearance.  However,  all  the 
things  indispensable  to  be  said  are  said,  and  all 
the  things  indispensable  to  be  done  are  done  (irl- 
cluding  Lady  Tippins's  yawning,  falling  asleep, 
and  waking  insensible),  and  there  is  hurried 
preparation  for  the  nuptial  journey  to  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  and  the  outer  air  teems  with  brass  bands 
and  spectators.  In  full  sight  of  whom,  the  ma- 
lignant star  of  the  Analytical  has  pre-ordained 
that  pain  and  ridicule  shall  befall  him.  For  he, 
standing  on  the  doorsteps  to  grace  the  departure, 
is  suddenly  caught  a  most  prodigious  thump  on 
the  side  of  his  head  with  a  heavy  shoe,  which  a 
Buffer  in  the  .hall,  Champagne-flushed  and  wild 
of  aim,  has  borrowed  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
from  the  pastry-cook's  porter,  to  cast  after  the 
departing  pair  as  an  auspicious  omen. 

So  they  all  go  up  again  into  the  gorgeous 
drawing-rooms — all  of  them  flushed  with  break- 
fast, as  having  taken  scarlatina  sociably — and 
there  the  combined  unknowns  do  malignant 
things  with  their  legs  to  ottomans,  and  take  as 
much  as  possible  out  of  the  splendid  furniture. 
And  so  Lady  Tippins,  quite  undetermined 
whether  to-day  is  the  day  before  yesterday,  or 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  or  the  week  after  next, 
fades  away ;  and  Mortimer  Lightwood  and  Eu- 
gene fade  away,  and  Twemlow  fades  away,  and 
the  stony  aunt  goes  away — she  declines  to  fade, 
proving  rock  to  the  last — and  even  the  unknowns 
are  slowly  strained  off,  and  it  is  all  over. 

All  over,  that  is  to  say,  for  the  time  being. 
But  there  is  another  time  to  come,  and  it  comes 
in  about  a  fortnight,  and  it  comes  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Lammle  on  the  sands  at  Shanklin,  in  the 
Isle  of  Wight. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle  have  walked  for  some 
time  on  the  Shanklin  sands,  and  one  may  see 
by  their  footprints  that  they  have  not  walked 
arm  in  arm,  and  that  they  have  not  walked  in 
a  straight  track,  and  that  they  have  walked  in 
a  moody  humor ;  for  the  lady  has  prodded  lit- 
tle spirting  holes  in  the  damp  sand  before  her 
with  her  parasol,  and  the  gentleman  has  trailed 
his  stick  after  him.  As  if  he  were  of  the  Me- 
phistopheles  family  indeed,  and  had  walked  with 
a  drooping  tail. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  then,  Sophronia — " 

Thus  he  begins  after  a  long  silence,  when 
Sophronia  flashes  fiercely,  and  turns  upon  him. 

"Don't  put  it  upon  me,  Sir.  I  ask  you,  do 
you  mean  to  tell  me?" 

Mr.  Lammle  falls  silent  again,  and  they  walk 
as  before.  Mrs.  Lammle  opens  her  nostrils  and 
bites  her  under-lip ;  Mr.  Lammle  takes  his  gin- 
gerous  whiskers  in  his  left  hand,  and,  bringing 
them  together,  frowns  furtively  at  his  beloved, 
out  of  a  thick  gingerous  bush. 

"Do  /  mean  to  say!"  Mrs.  Lammle. after  a 
time  repeats,  with  indignation.  "Putting  it  on 
me!     The  unmanly  disingenuousness!" 

Mr.  Lammle  stops,  releases  his  whiskers,  and 
looks  at  her.     "  The  what  ?" 

Mrs.  Lammle  haughtily  replies,  without  stop- 
ping, and  without  looking  back:  "The  mean- 
ness." 

He  is  at  her  side  again  in  a  pace  or  two,  and 
he  retorts,  "That  is  not  what  you  said.  „  You 
said  disingenuousness." 

"  What  if  I  did  r 

"There  is  no  'if  in  the  case.     You  did." 

"I  did,  then.     And  what  of  it?" 


66 


OUR  MUTUAL  FKIEND. 


"What  of  it?"  says  Mr.  Lammle.  "Have 
you  the  face  to  utter  the  word  to  me  ?" 

"The  face,  too!"  replied  Mrs.  Lammle,  star- 
ing at  him  with  cold  scorn.  "Pray,  how  dare 
you,  Sir,  utter  the  word  to  me?" 

"I  never  did." 

As  this  happens  to  be  true,  Mrs.  Lammle  is 
thrown  on  the  feminine  resource  of  saying,  "I 
don't  care  what  you  uttered  or  did  not  utter." 

After  a  little  more  walking  and  a  little  more 
silence,  Mr.  Lammle  breaks  the  latter. 

"  You  shall  proceed  in  your  own  way.  You 
claim  a  right  to  ask  me  do  I  mean  to  tell  you. 
Do  I  mean  to  tell  you  what  ?" 


"That  you  are  a  man  of  property  r" 

"No." 

"Then  you  married  me  on  false  pretenses?" 

"So  be  it.  Next  comes  what  you  mean  to 
say.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  a  woman  of 
property?" 

"No." 

"Then  you  married  me  on  false  pretenses." 

"If  you  were  so  dull  a  fortune-hunter  that 
you  deceived  yourself,  ^or  if  you  were  so  greedy 
and  grasping  that  you  were  over-willing  to  be 
deceived  by  appearances,  is  it  my  fault,  you  ad- 
venturer?" the  lady  demands,  with  great  as- 
perity. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


67 


"I  asked  Veneering,  and  he  told  me  you  were 
rich." 

"Veneering!"  with  great  contempt.  "And 
what  does  Veneering  know  about  me !" 

"  Was  he  not  your  trustee  ?" 

"No.  I  have  no  trustee  but  the  one  you  saw 
on  the  day  when  you  fraudulently  married  me. 
And  his  trust  is  not  a  very  difficult  one,  for  it  is 
only  an  annuity  of  a  hundred  and  fifteen  pounds. 
I  think  there  are  some  odd  shillings  or  pence,  if 
you  are  very  particular." 

Mr.  Lammle  bestows  a  by  no  means  loving 
look  upon  the  partner  of  his  joys  and  sorrows, 
and  he  mutters  something ;  but  checks  himself. 

"  Question  for  question.  It  is  my  turn  again, 
Mrs.  Lammle.  What  made  you  suppose  me  a 
man  of  property  ?" 

"You  made  me  suppose  you  so.  Perhaps  you 
will  deny  that  you  always  presented  yourself  to 
me  in  that  character?" 

"But  you  asked  somebody,  too.  Come,  Mrs. 
Lammle,  admission  for  admission.  You  asked 
somebody?" 

"  I  asked  Veneering." 

"And  Veneering  knew  as  much  of  me  as  he 
knew  of  you,  or  as  any  body  knows  of  him." 

After  more  silent  walking,  the  bride  stops 
short,  to  say  in  a  passionate  manner: 

"  I  never  will  forgive  the  Veneerings  for  this !" 

"Neither  will  I,"  returns  the  bridegroom. 

With  that  they  walk  again;  she,  making 
those  angry  spirts  in  the  sand ;  he,  dragging  that 
dejected  tail.  The  tide  is  low,  and  seems  to 
have  thrown  them  together  high  on  the  bai*e 
shore.  A  gull  comes  sweeping  by  their  heads, 
and  flouts  them.  There  was  a  golden  surface 
on  the  brown  cliffs  but  now,  and  behold  they  are 
only  damp  earth.  A  taunting  roar  comes  from 
the  sea,  and  the  far-out  rollers  mount  upon  one 
another,  to  look  at  the  entrapped  impostors,  and 
to  join  in  impish  and  exultant  gambols. 

"Do  you  pretend  to  believe,"  Mrs.  Lammle 
resumes,  sternly,  "  when  you  talk  of  my  marry- 
ing you  for  worldly  advantages,  that  it  was  with- 
in the  bounds  of  reasonable  probability  that  I 
would  have  married  you  for  yourself?" 

"Again  there  are  two  sides  to  the  question, 
Mrs.  Lammle.   What  do  you  pretend  to  believe  ?" 

"  So  you  first  deceive  me  and  then  insult  me !" 
cries  the  lady,  with  a  heaving  bosom. 

"Not  at  all.  I  have  originated  nothing.  The 
double-edged  question  was  yours." 

"Was  mine!"  the  bride  repeats,  and  her  par- 
asol breaks  in  her  angry  hand. 

His  color  has  turned  to  a  livid  white,  and  om- 
inous marks  have  come  to  light  about  his  nose, 
as  if  the  finger  of  the  very  devil  himself  had, 
within  the  last  few  moments,  touched  it  here 
and  there.  But  he  has  repressive  power,  and 
she  has  none. 

"Throw  it  away,"  he  coolly  recommends  as 
to  the  parasol ;  "  you  have  made  it  useless ;  you 
look  ridiculous  with  it." 

Whereupon  she  calls  him,  in  her  rage,  "A  de- 
liberate villain,"  and  so  casts  the  broken  thing 
from  her  as  that  it  strikes  him  in  falling.  The 
finger-marks  are  something  whiter  for  the  in- 
stant, but  he  walks  on  at  her  side. 

She  bursts  into  tears,  declaring  herself  the 
wretchedest,  the  most  deceived,  the  worst-used, 
of  women.  Then  she  says  that  if  she  had  the 
courage  to  kill  herself  she  would  do  it.     Then 


she  calls  him  vile  impostor.  Then  she  asks  him, 
why,  in  the  disappointment  of  his  base  specula- 
tion, he  does  not  take  her  life  with  his  own  hand, 
under  the  present  favorable  circumstances.  Then 
she  cries  again.  Then  she  is  enraged  again, 
and  makes  some  mention  of  swindlers.  Finally, 
she  sits  down  crying  on  a  block  of  stone,  and  is 
in  all  the  known  and  unknown  humors  of  her 
sex  at  once.  Pending  her  changes,  those  afore- 
said marks  in  his  face  have  come  and  gone,  now 
here  now  there,  like  white  stops  of  a  pipe  on 
which  the  diabolical  performer  has  played  a 
tune.  Also  his  livid  lips  are  parted  at  last,  as 
if  he  were  breathless  with  running.  Yet  he  is 
not. 

"Now,  get  up,  Mrs.  Lammle,  and  let  us 
speak  reasonably." 

She  sits  upon  her  stone,  and  takes  no  heed  of 
him. 

"(jet  up, I  tell  you." 

Raising  her  head,  she  looks  contemptuously 
in  his  face,  and  repeats,  "You  tell  me!  Tell 
me,  forsooth!" 

She  affects  not  to  know  that  his  eyes  are  fas- 
tened on  her  as  she  droops  her  head  again  ;  but 
her  whole  figure  reveals  that  she  knows  it  un- 
easily. 

"Enough  of  this.  Come!  Do  you  hear? 
Get  up." 

Yielding  to  his  hand,  she  rises,  and  they  walk 
again ;  but  this  time  with  their  faces  turned  to- 
ward their  place  of  residence. 

"  Mrs.  Laramie,  we  have  both  been  deceiving, 
and  we  have  both  been  deceived.  We  have  both 
been  biting,  and  we  have  both  been  bitten.  In 
a  nut-shell,  there's  the  state  of  the  case." 

"You  sought  me  out — " 

"Tut!  Let  us  have  done  with  that.  We 
know  very  well  how  it  was.  Why  should  you 
and  I  talk  about  it,  when  you  and  I  can't  dis- 
guise it  ?  To  proceed.  I  am  disappointed,  and 
cut  a  poor  figure." 

"Am  I  no  one?" 

"  Some  one — and  I  was  coming  to  you,  if  you 
had  waited  a  moment.  You,  too,  are  disap- 
pointed and  cut  a  poor  figure." 

"An  injured  figure !" 

"You  are  now  cool  enough,  Sophronia,  to 
see  that  you  can't  be  injured  without  my  being 
equally  injured ;  and  that  therefore  the  mere 
word  is  not  to  the  purpose.  When  I  look  back, 
I  wonder  how  I  can  have  been  such  a  fool  as  to 
take  you  to  so  great  an  extent  upon  trust." 

"And  when  I  look  back — "  the  bride  cries, 
interrupting. 

"And  when  you  look  back,  you  wonder  how 
you  can  have  been — you'll  excuse  the  word  ?" 

"Most  certainly,  with  so  much  reason." 

" — Such  a  fool  as  to  take  me  to  so  great  an 
extent  upon  trust.  But  the  folly  is  committed 
on  both  sides.  I  can  not  get  rid  of  you ;  you 
can  not  get  rid  of  me.     What  follows  ?" 

"Shame  and  misery,"  the  bride  bitterly  re- 
plies. 

"  I  don't  know.  A  mutual  understanding  fol- 
lows, and  I  think  it  may  carry  us  through. 
Here  I  split  my  discourse  (give  me  your  arm, 
Sophronia)  into  three  heads,  to  make  it  shorter 
and.  plainer.  Firstly,  it's  enough  to  have  been 
done,  without  the  mortification  of  being  known 
to  have  been  done.  So  we  agree  to  keep  the* 
fact  to  ourselves.    You  agree  ?" 


GS 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  If  it  is  possible,  I  do."  , 

"Possible !  We  have  pretended  well  enough 
to  one  another.  Can't  we,  united,  pretend  to 
the  world?  Agreed.  Secondly,  we  owe  the 
Veneerings  a  grudge,  and  we  owe  all  other  peo- 
ple the  grudge  of  wishing  them  to  be  taken  in, 
as  we  ourselves  have  been  taken  in.     Agreed?" 

"Yes.  Agreed." 
.  "We  come  smoothly  to  thirdly.  You  have 
called  me  an  adventurer,  Sophronia.  So  I  am. 
In  plain  uncomplimentary  English,  so  I  am. 
So  are  you,  my  dear.  So  are  many  people. 
We  agree  to  keep  our  own  secret,  and  to  work 
together  in  furtherance  of  our  own  schemes." 

"What  schemes?" 

"Any  scheme  that  will  bring  us  money.  By 
our  own  schemes,  I  mean  our  joint  interest. 
Agreed  ?" 

She  answers,  after  a  little  hesitation,  "I  sup- 
pose so.     Agreed." 

"  Carried  at  once,  you  see !  Now,  Sophronia, 
only  half  a  dozen  words  more.  We  know  one 
another  perfectly.  Don't  be  tempted  into  twit- 
ting me  with  the  past  knowledge  that  you  have 
of  me,  because  it  is  identical  with  the  past  knowl- 
edge that  I  have  of  you,  and  in  twitting  jne  you 
twit  yourself,  and  I  don't  want  to  hear  you  do  it. 
With  this  good  understanding  established  be- 
tween us,  it  is  better  never  done.  To  wind  up 
all : — You  have  shown  temper  to-day,  Sophronia. 
Don't  be  betrayed  into  doing  so  again,  because 
I  have  a  Devil  of  a  temper  myself." 

So  the  happy  pair,  with  this  hopeful  marriage 
contract  thus  signed,  sealed,  and  delivered,  re- 
pair homeward.  If,  when  those  infernal  finger- 
marks were  on  the  white  and  breathless  counte- 
nance of  Alfred  Lammle,  Esquire,  they  denoted 
that  he  conceived  the  purpose  of  subduing  his 
dear  wife  Mrs.  Alfred  Lammle,  by  at  once  di- 
vesting her  of  any  lingering  reality  or  pretense 
of  self-respect,  the  purpose  would  seem  to  have 
been  presently  executed.  The  mature  young 
lady  has  mighty  little  need  of  powder  now  for 
her  downcast  face  as  he  escorts  her  in  the  light 
of  the  setting  sun  to  their  abode  of  bliss. 


CHAPTER  XL 

PODSNAPPERY. 

Mr.  Podsnap  was  well  to  do,  and  stood  very 
high  in  Mr.  Podsnap's  opinion.  Beginning  with 
a  good  inheritance,  he  had  married  a  good  in- 
heritance, and  had  thriven  exceedingly  in  the 
Marine  Insurance  way,  and  was  quite  satisfied. 
He  never  could  make  out  why  every  body  was 
not  quite  satisfied,  and  he  felt  conscious  that  he 
set  a  brilliant  social  example  in  being  particu- 
larly well  satisfied  with  most  things,  and,  above 
all  other  things,  with  himself. 

Thus  happily  acquainted  with  his  own  merit 
and  importance,  Mr.  Podsnap  settled  that  what- 
ever he  put  behind  him  he  put  out  of  existence. 
There  was  a  dignified  conclusiveness — not  to  add 
a  grand  convenience — in  this  way  of  getting  rid 
of  disagreeables  which  had  done  much  toward 
establishing  Mr.  Podsnap  in  his  lofty  place  in 
Mr.  Podsnap's  satisfaction.  "I  don't  want  to 
know  about  it ;  I  don't  choose  to  discuss  it ;  I 
don't  admit  it!"  Mr.  Podsnap  had  even  ac- 
quired a  peculiar  flourish  of  his  right  arm  in 


often  clearing  the  world  of  its  most  difficult 
problems,  by  sweeping  them  behind  him  (and 
consequently  sheer  away)  with  those  words  and 
a  flushed  face.     For  they  affronted  him. 

Mr.  Podsnap's  world  was  not  a  very  large 
world,  morally;  no,  nor  even  geographically: 
seeing  that  although  his  business  was  sustained 
upon  commerce  with  other  countries,  he  consid- 
ered other  countries,  with  that  important  reser- 
vation, a  mistake,  and  of  their  manners  and 
customs  would  conclusively  observe,  "Not  En- 
glish !"  when,  Presto  !  with  a  flourish  of  the 
arm,  and  a  flush  of  the  face,  they  were  swept 
away.  Elsewise,  the  world  got  up  at  eight, 
shaved  close  at  a  quarter  past,  breakfasted  at 
nine,  went  to  the  City  at  ten,  came  home  at 
half  past  five,  and  dined  at  seven.  Mr.  Pod- 
snap's notions  of  the  Arts  in  their  integrity  might 
have  been  stated  thus :  Literature ;  large  print, 
respectfully  descriptive  of  getting  up  at  eight, 
shaving  close  at  a  quarter  past,  breakfasting  at 
nine,  going  to  the  City  at  ten,  coming  home  at 
half  past  five,  and  dining  at  seven.  Painting 
and  Sculpture ;  models  and  portraits  represent- 
ing Professors  of  getting  up  at  eight,  shaving 
close  at  a  quarter  past,  breakfasting  at  nine,  go- 
ing to  the  City  at  ten,  coming  home  at  half  past 
five,  and  dining  at  seven.  Music;  a  respecta- 
ble performance  (without  variations)  on  stringed 
and  wind  instruments,  sedately  expressive  of 
getting  up  at  eight,  shaving  close  at  a  quarter 
past,  breakfasting  at  nine,  going  to  the  City  at 
ten,  coming  home  at  half  past  five,  and  dining 
at  seven.  Nothing  else  to  be  permitted  to  those 
same  vagrants  the  Arts,  on  pain  of  excommuni- 
cation.    Nothing  else  To  Be — any  where! 

As  a  so  eminently  respectable  man,  Mr.  Pod- 
snap was  sensible  of  its  being  required  of  him  to 
take  Providence  under  his  protection.  Conse- 
quently he  always  knew  exactly  what  Provi- 
dence meant.  Inferior  and  less  respectable  men 
might  fall  short  of  that  mark,  but  Mr.  Podsnap 
was  always  up  to  it.  And  it  was  very  remarka- 
ble (and  must  have  been  very  comfortable)  that 
what  Providence  meant  was  invariably  what 
Mr.  Podsnap  meant. 

These  may  be  said  to  have  been  the  articles 
of  a  faith  and  school  which  the  present  chapter 
takes  the  liberty  of  calling,  after,  its  representa- 
tive man,  Podsnappery.  They  were  confined 
within  close  bounds,  as  Mr.  Podsnap's  own  head 
was  confined  by  his  shirt-collar ;  and  they  were 
enunciated  with  a  sounding  pomp  that  smacked 
of  the  creaking  of  Mr.  Podsnap's  own  boots. 

There  was  a  Miss  Podsnap.  And  this  young 
rocking-horse  was  being  trained  in  her  mother's 
art  of  prancing  in  a  stately  manner  without 
ever  getting  on.  But  the  high  parental  action 
was  not  yet  imparted  to  her,  and  in  truth  she 
was  but  an  undersized  damsel,  with  high  shoul- 
ders, low  spirits,  chilled  elbows,  and  a  rasped 
surface  of  nose,  who  seemed  to  take  occasional 
frosty  peeps  out  of  childhood  into  womanhood, 
and  to  shrink  back  again,  overcome  by  her  mo- 
ther's head-dress  and  her  father  from  head  to 
foot — crushed  by  the  mere  dead-weight  of  Pod- 
snappery. 

A  certain  institution  in  Mr.  Podsnap's  mind 
which  he  called  "the  young  person"  may  be 
considered  to  have  been  embodied  in  Miss  Pod- 
snap, his  daughter.  It  was  an  inconvenient  and 
exacting  institution,  as  requiring  every  thing  in 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


G9 


the  universe  to  be  filed  down  and  fitted  to  it. 
The  question  about  every  thing  was,  would  it 
bring  a  blush  into  the  cheek  of  the  young  per- 
son ?  And  the  inconvenience  of  the  young  per- 
son was,,  that,  according  to  Mr.  Podsnap,  she 
seemed  always  liable  to  burst  into  blushes  when 
there  was  no  need  at  all.  There  appeared  to  be 
no  line  of  demarkation  between  the  young  per- 
son's excessive  innocence  and  another  person's 
guiltiest  knowledge.  Take  Mr.  Podsnap's  word 
for  it,  and  the  soberest  tints  of  drab,  white,  lilac, 
and  gray,  were  all  flaming  red  to  this  trouble- 
some Bull  of  a  young  person. 

The  Podsnaps  lived  in  a  shady  angle  adjoin- 
ing Portman  Square.  They  were  a  kind  of  peo- 
ple certain  to  dwell  in  the  shade,  wherever  they 
dwelt.  Miss  Podsnap's  life  had  been,  from  her 
first  appearance  on  this  planet,  altogether  of  a 
shady  order;  for  Mr.  Podsnap's  young  person 
was  likely  to  get  little  good  out  of  association 
with  other  young  persons,  and  had  therefore 
been  restricted  to  companionship  with  not  very 
congenial  older  persons,  and  with  massive  fur- 
niture. Miss  Podsnap's  early  views  of  life  being 
principally  derived  from  the  reflections  of  it  in 
her  father's  boots,  and  in  the  walnut  and  rose- 
wood tables  of  the  dim  drawing-rooms,  and  in 
their  swarthy  giants  of  looking-glasses,  were  of 
a  sombre  cast ;  and  it  was  not  wonderful  that 
now,  when  she  was  on  most  days  solemnly 
tooled  through  the  Park  by  the  side  of  her  mo- 
ther in  a  great  tall  custard-colored  phaeton,  she 
showed  above  the  apron  of  that  vehicle  like  a  de- 
jected young  person  sitting  up  in  bed  to  take  a 
startled  look  at  things  in  general,  and  very 
strongly  desiring  to  get  her  head  under  the 
counterpane  again. 

Said  Mr.  Podsnap  to  Mrs.  Podsnap,  "  Geor- 
giana  is  almost  eighteen." 

Said  Mrs.  Podsnap  to  Mr.  Podsnap,  assenting, 
"Almost  eighteen." 

Said  Mr.  Podsnap  then  to  Mrs.  Podsnap, 
"Really  I  think  we  should  have  some  people  on 
Georgiana's  birthday." 

Said  Mrs.  Podsnap  then  to  Mr.  Podsnap, 
"Which  will  enable  us  to  clear  off  all  those 
people  who  are  due." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Mr. -and  Mrs.  Pod- 
snap requested  the  honor  of  the  company  of  sev- 
enteen friends  of  their  souls  at  dinner ;  and  that 
they  substituted  other  friends  of  their  souls  for 
such  of  the  seventeen  original  friends  of  their 
souls  as  deeply  regretted  that  a  prior  engage- 
ment prevented  their  having  the  honor  of  dining 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Podsnap,  in  pursuance  of 
their  kind  invitation ;  and  that  Mrs.  Podsnap 
said  of  all  these  inconsolable  personages,  as  she 
checked  them  off  with  a  pencil  in  her  list, 
"Asked,  at  any  rate,  and  got  rid  of;"  and  that 
they  successfully  disposed  of  a  good  many  friends 
of  their  souls  in  this  way,  and  felt  their  con- 
sciences much  lightened. 

There  were  still  other  friends  of  their  souls 
who  were  not  entitled  to  be  asked  to  dinner,  but 
had  a  claim  to  be  invited  to  come  and  take  a 
haunch  of  mutton  vapor-bath  at  half  past  nine. 
For  the  clearing  off  of  these  worthies,  Mrs.  Pod- 
snap added  a  small  and  early  evening  to  the 
dinner,  and  looked  in  at  the  music-shop  to  be- 
speak a  well-conducted  automaton  to  come  and 
play  quadrilles  for  a  carpet  dance. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Veneering,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


Veneering's  bran-new  bride  and  bridegroom, 
were  of  the  dinner  company ;  but  the  Podsnap 
establishment  had  nothing  else  in  common  with 
the  Veneerings.  Mr.  Podsnap  could  tolerate 
taste  in  a  mushroom  man  who  stood  in  need  of 
that  sort  of  thing,  but  was  far  above  it  himself. 
Hideous  solidity  was  the  characteristic  of  the 
Podsnap  plate.  Every  thing  Was  made  to  look 
as  heavy  as  it  could,  and  to  take  up  as  much 
room  as  possible.  Every  thing  said  boastfully, 
"Here  you  have  as  much  of  me  in  my  ugliness 
as  if  I  were  only  lead ;  but  I  am  so  many  ounces 
of  precious  metal  worth  so  much  an  ounce; — 
wouldn't  you  like  to  melt  me  down  ?"  A  cor- 
pulent straddling  epergne,  blotched  all  over  as 
if  it  had  broken  out  in  an  eruption  rather  than 
been  ornamented,  delivered  this  address  from 
an  unsightly  silver  platform  in  the  centre  of  the 
table.  Four  silver  wine-coolers,  each  furnished 
with  four  staring  heads,  each  head  obtrusively 
carrying  a  big  silver  ring  in  each  of  its  ears, 
conveyed  the  sentiment  up  and  down  the  table, 
and  handed  it  on  to  the  pot-bellied  silver  salt- 
cellars. All  the  big  silver  spoons  and  forks  wid- 
ened the  mouths  of  the  company  expressly  for 
the  purpose  of  thrusting  the  sentiment  down 
their  throats  with  every  morsel  they  ate. 

The  majority  of  the  guests  were  like  the  plate, 
and  included  several  heavy  articles  weighing 
ever  so  much.  But  there  was  a  foreign  gentle- 
man among  them :  whom  Mr.  Podsnap  had  in- 
vited after  much  debate  with  himself — believing 
the  whole  European  continent  to  be  in  mortal 
alliance  against  the  young  person — and  there 
was  a  droll  disposition,  not  only  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Podsnap  but  of  every  body  else,  to  treat 
him  as  if  he  were  a  child  who  was  hard  of  hear- 
ing. 

As  a  delicate  concession  to  this  unfortunate- 
ly-born foreigner,  Mr.  Podsnap,  in  receiving  him, 
had  presented  his  wife  as  "Madame  Podsnap;" 
also  his  daughter  as  "  Mademoiselle  Podsnap," 
with  some  inclination  to  add  "ma  fille,"  in 
which  bold  venture,  however,  he  checked  him- 
self. The  Veneerings  being  at  that  time  the 
only  other  arrivals,  he  had  added  (in  a  conde- 
scendingly explanatory  manner),  "Monsieur 
Vey-nair-reeng,"  and  had  then  subsided  into 
English.  I 

"How  Do  You  Like  London?"  Mr.  Podsnap 
now  inquired  from  his  station  of  host,  as  if  he 
were  administering  something  in  the  nature  of 
a  powder  or  potion  to  the  deaf  child  ;  "  London, 
Londres,  London  ?" 

The  foreign  gentleman  admired  it. 

"  You  find  it  Very  Large  ?"  said  Mr.  Podsnap, 
spaciously. 

The  foreign  gentleman  found  it  very  large. 

"And  Very  Rich?" 

The  foreign  gentleman  found  it,  without 
doubt,  enormement  riche. 

"Enormously  Rich,  We  say,"  returned  Mr. 
Podsnap,  in  a  condescending  manner.  "Our 
English  adverbs  do  Not  terminate  in  Mong,  and 
We  Pronounce  the  'ch'  as  if  there  were  a  't' 
before  it.     We  Say  Ritch." 

"Reetch,"  remarked  the  foreign  gentleman. 

"And  Do  You  Find,  Sir,"  pursued  Mr.  Pod- 
snap, with  dignity,  • '  Many  Evidences  that  Strike 
You,  of  our  British  Constitution  in  the  Streets 
Of  The  World's  Metropolis,  London,  Londres, 
London?" 


70' 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


The  foreign  gentleman  begged  to  be  pardoned, 
but  did  not  altogether  understand. 

"The  Constitution  Britannique,"  Mr.  Pod- 
snap  explained,  as  if  he  were  teaching  in  an  in- 
fant school.  "We  Say  British,  But  You  Say 
Britannique,  You  Know"  (forgivingly,  as  if  that 
were  not  his  fault).     "  The  Constitution,  Sir." 

The  foreign  gentleman  said,  ' '  Mais,  y ees :  I 
know  eem." 

A  youngish  sallowish  gentleman  in  spectacles, 
with  a  lumpy  forehead,  seated  in  a  supplement- 
ary chair  at  a  corner  of  the  table,  here  caused  a 
profound  sensation  by  saying,  in  a  raised  voice, 
"  Esker,"  and  then  stopping  dead. 

"Mais  oui,"  said  the  foreign  gentleman,  turn- 
ing toward  him.     "Est-ce-que?     Quoidonc?" 

But  the  gentleman  with  the  lumpy  forehead 
having  for  the  time  delivered  himself  of  all  that 
he  found  behind  his  lumps,  spake  for  the  time 
no  more. 

"I  Was  Inquiring,"  said  Mr.  Podsnap,  re- 
suming the  thread  of  his  discourse,  "  Whether 
You  Have  Observed  in  our  Streets  as  We  should 
say,  Upon  our  Pavvy  as  You  would  sa^,  any 
Tokens—" 

The  foreign  gentleman,  with  patiCnt  courtesy 
entreated  pardon  :   "  But  what  was  tokenz  ?" 

"Marks,"  said  Mr.  Podsnap;  "Signs,  you 
know,  Appearances — Traces." 

"  Ah !  Of  a  Orse  ?"  inquired  the  foreign  gen- 
tleman. 

"We  call  it  Horse,"  said  Mr.  Podsnap,  with 
forbearance.  "  In  England,  Angleterre,  En- 
gland, We  Aspirate  the  'H,'  and  We  Say 
1  Horse.'    Only  our  Lower  Classes  Say  '  Orse !'  " 

"Pardon,"  said  the  foreign  gentleman;  "I 
am  alwiz  wrong !" 

"Our  Language,"  said  Mr.  Podsnap,  with  a 
gracious  consciousness  of  being  always  right, 
"  is  .Difficult.  Ours  is  a  Copious  Language,  and 
Trying  to  Strangers.*  I  will  not  Pursue  my 
Question." 

But  the  lumpy  gentleman,  unwilling  to  give 
it  up,  again  madly  said,"  Esker,"  and  again 
spake  no  more. 

"It  merely  referred, "  Mr.  Podsnap  explain- 
ed, with  a  sense  of  meritorious  proprietorship, 
"to  Our  Constitution,  Sir.  We  Englishmen 
are  Very  Proud  of  our  Constitution,  Sir.  It 
Was  Bestowed  Upon  Us  By  Providence.  No 
Other  Country  is  so  Favored  as  This  Country." 

"And  ozer  countries? — "  the  foreign  gentle- 
man was  beginning,  when  Mr.  Podsnap  put  him 
right  again. 

"We  do  not  say  Ozer;  we  say  Other:  the 
letters  are  '  T'  and  '  H ;'  You  say  Tay  and  Aish, 
You  Know ;  (still  with  clemency).  The  sound 
is  'th'— -'th!'" 

"And  o^er  countries,"  said  the  foreign  gen- 
tleman.    "They  do  how ?" 

"They  do,  Sir,"  returned  Mr.  Podsnap,  grave- 
ly shaking  his  head ;  "they  do — I  am  sorry  to 
be  obliged  to  say  it — as  they  do." 

"  It  was  a  little  particular  of  Providence,"  said 
the  foreign  gentleman,  laughing ;  "for  the  fron- 
tier is  not  large." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  assented  Mr.  Podsnap  ; 
"But  So  it  is.  It  was  the  Charter  of  the 
Land.  This  Island  was  Blest,  Sir,  to  the  Di- 
rect Exclusion  of  such  Other  Countries  as — as 
there  may  happen  to  be.  And  if  we  were  all 
Englishmen  present,  I  would  say,"  added  Mr. 


Podsnap,  looking  round  upon  his  compatriots, 
and  sounding  solemnly  with  his  theme,  "that 
there  is  in  the  Englishman  a  combination  of 
qualities,  a  modesty,  an  independence,  a  re- 
sponsibility, a  repose,  combined  with  an  ab- 
sence of  every  thing  calculated  to  call  a  blush 
into  the  cheek  of  a  young  person,  which  one 
would  seek  in  vain  among  the  Nations  of  the 
Earth." 

Having  delivered  this  little  summary,  Mr. 
Podsnap's  face  flushed  as  he  thought  of  the  re- 
mote possibility  of  its  being  at  all  qualified  by 
any  prejudiced  citizen  of  any  other  country ; 
and,  with  his  favorite  right-arm  flourish,  he  put 
the  rest  of  Europe  and  the  whole  of  Asia,  Af- 
rica, and  America  nowhere. 

The  audience  were  much  edified  by  this  pas- 
sage of  words ;  and  Mr.  Podsnap,  feeling  that 
he  was  in  rather  remarkable  force  to-day,  be- 
came smiling  and  conversational. 

"Has  any  thing  more  been  heard,  Veneer- 
ing," he  inquired,  "of  the  lucky  legatee?" 

"Nothing more,"  returned  Veneering,  "than 
that  he  has  come  into  possession  of  the  proper- 
ty. I  am  told  people  now  call  him  The  Golden 
Dustman.  I  mentioned  to  you  some  time  ago, 
I  think,  that  the  young  lady  whose  intended 
husband  was  murdered  is  daughter  to  a  clerk 
of  mine?" 

"  Yes,  you  told  me  that,"  said  Podsnap  ;  "and 
by-the-by,  I  wish  you  would  tell  it  again  here, 
for  it's  a  curious  coincidence — curious  that  the 
first  news  of  the  discovery  should  have  been 
brought  straight  to  your  table  (when  I  was 
there),  and  curious  that  one  of  your  people 
should  have  been  so  nearly  interested  in  it.  Just 
relate  that,  will  you?" 

Veneering  was  more  than  ready  to  do  it,  for 
he  had  prospered  exceedingly  upon  the  Har- 
mon Murder,  and  had  turned  the  social  distinc- 
tion it  conferred  upon  him  to  the  account  of 
making  several  dozen  of  bran-new  bosom  friends. 
Indeed,  such  another  lucky  hit  would  almost 
have  set  him  up  in  that  way  to  his  satisfaction. 
So,  addressing  himself  to  the  most  desirable  of 
his  neighbors,  while  Mrs.  Veneering  secured  the 
next  most  desirable,  he  plunged  into  the  case, 
and  emerged  from  it  twenty  minutes  afterward 
with  a  Bank  Director  in  his  arms.  In  the  mean 
time,  Mrs.  Veneering  had  dived  into  the  same 
waters  for  a  wealthy  Ship-Broker,  and  had 
brought  him  up,  safe  and  sound,  by  the  hair. 
Then  Mrs.  Veneering  had  to  relate,  to  a  larger 
circle,  how  she  had  been  to  see  the  girl,  and  how 
she  was  really  pretty,  and  (considering  her  sta- 
tion) presentable.  And  this  she  did  with  such 
a  successful  display  of  her  eight  aquiline  fingers, 
and  their  encircling  jewels,  that  she  happily  laid 
hold  of  a  drifting  General  Officer,  his  wife  and 
daughter,  and  not  only  restored  their  animation 
which  had  become  suspended,  but  made  them 
lively  friends  within  an  hour. 

Although  Mr.  Podsnap  would  in  a  general 
way  have  highly  disapproved  of  Bodies  in  riv- 
ers as  ineligible  topics  with  reference  to  the 
cheek  of  the  young  person,  he  had,  as  one  may 
say,  a  share  in  this  affair  which  made  him  a 
part  proprietor.  As  its  returns  were  immediate, 
too,  in  the  way  of  restraining  the  company  from 
speechless  contemplation  of  the  wine-coolers,  it 
paid,  and  he  was  satisfied. 

And  now  the  haunch  of  mutton  vapor-bath 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


71 


having  received  a  gamey  infusion,  and  a  few 
last  touches  of  sweets  and  coffee,  was  quite  ready, 
and  the  bathers  came ;  but  not  before  the  dis- 
creet automaton  had  got  behind  the  bars  of  the 
piano  music-desk,  and  there  presented  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  captive  languishing  in  a  rosewood 
jail.  And  who  now  so  pleasant  or  so  well  as- 
sorted as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alfred  Lammle,  he  all 
sparkle,  she  all  gracious  contentment,  both  at 
occasional' intervals  exchanging  looks  like  part- 
ners at  cards  who  played  a  game  against  All 
England. 
There  was  not  much  youth  among  the  bath- 


ers, but  there  was  no  youth  (the  young  person 
always  excepted)  in  the  articles  of  Podsnap- 
pery.  Bald  bathers  folded  their  arms  and  talk- 
ed to  Mr.  Podsnap  on  the  hearth-rug ;  sleek- 
whiskered  bathers,  with  hats  in  their  hands, 
lunged  at  Mrs.  Podsnap  and  retreated ;  prowl- 
ing bathers  went  about  looking  into  ornamental 
boxes  and  bowls  as  if  they  had  suspicions  of  lar- 
ceny on  the  part  of  the  Podsnaps,  and  expected 
to  find  something  they  had  lost  at  the  bottom ; 
bathers  of  the  gentler  sex  sat  silently  comparing 
ivory  shoulders.  All  this  time  and  always,  poor 
little  Miss  Podsnap,  whose  tiny  efforts  (if  she 


72 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


had  made  any)  were  swallowed  up  in  the  mag- 
nificence of  her  mother's  rocking,  kept  herself 
as  much  out  of  sight  and  mind  as  she  could,  and 
appeared  to  be  counting  on  many  dismal  returns 
of"  the  day.  It  was  somehow  understood,  as  a 
secret  article  in  the  state  proprieties  of  Podsnap- 
pery,  that  nothing  must  be  said  about  the  day. 
Consequently  this  young  damsel's  nativity  was 
hushed  up  and  looked  over,  as  if  it  were  agreed 
on  all  hands  that  it  would  have  been  better  that 
she  had  never  been  born. 

The  Lammles  were  so  fond  of  the  dear  Ve- 
neerings  that  they  could  not  for  some  time  de- 
tach themselves  from  those  excellent  friends; 
but  at  length,  either  a  very  open  smile  on  Mr. 
Lammle's  part,  or  a  very  secret  elevation  of  one 
of  his  gingerous  eyebrows — certainly  the  one  or 
the  other — seemed  to  say  to  Mrs.  Lammle, 
"Why  don't  you  play?"  And  so,  looking 
about  her,  she  saw  Miss  Podsnap,  and  seeming 
to  say  responsively,  "That  card?"  and  to  be  an- 
swered, "Yes,"  went  and  sat  beside  Miss  Pod- 
snap. 

Mrs.  Lammle  was  overjoyed  to  escape  into  a 
corner  for  a  little  quiet  talk. 

It  promised  to  be  a  very  quiet  talk,  for  Miss 
Podsnap  replied  in  a  flutter,  "  Oh  !  Indeed,  it's 
very  kind  of  you,  but  I  am  afraid  I  don't  talk." 

"  Let  us  make  a  beginning,"  said  the  insinu- 
ating Mrs.  Lammle,  with  her  best  smile. 

"Oh!  I  am  afraid  you'll  find  me  very  dull. 
But  Ma  talks!" 

That  was  plainly  to  be  seen,  for  Ma  was  talk- 
ing then  at  her  usual  canter,  with  arched  head 
and  mane,  opened  eyes  and  nostrils. 

"Fond  of  reading,  perhaps?" 

"Yes.  At  least  I — don't  mind  that  so  much," 
returned  Miss  Podsnap. 

"  M — m — m — m — music." 

So  insinuating  was  Mrs.  Lammle  that  she  got 
half  a  dozen  ms  into  the  word  before  she  got  it 
out. 

"  I  haven't  nerve  to  play  even  if  I  could.  Ma 
plays." 

(At  exactly  the  same  canter,  and  with  a  cer- 
tain flourishing  appearance  of  doing  something, 
Ma  did,  in  fact,  occasionally  take  a  rock  upon 
the  instrument.) 

"  Of  course  you  like  dancing?" 

"Oh  no,  I  don't,"  said  Miss  Podsnap. 

"No?  With  your  youth  and  attractions? 
Truly,  my  dear,  you  surprise  me !" 

"I  can't  say,"  observed  Miss  Podsnap,  after 
hesitating  considerably,  and  stealing  several 
timid  looks  at  Mrs.  Lammle's  carefully  ar- 
ranged face,  "how  I  might,  have  liked  it  if  I 
had  been  a — you  won't  mention  it,  u;j7/you?" 

"My  dear!  Never!" 

"No,  I  am  sure  you  won't.  I  can't  say  then 
how  I  should  have  liked  it,  if  I  had  been  a 
chimney-sweep  on  May-day." 

"Gracious!"  was  the  exclamation  which 
amazement  elicited  from  Mrs.  Lammle. 

"There!  I  knew  you'd  wonder.  But  you 
won't  mention  it,  will  you  ?" 

"Upon  my  word,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle, 
* '  you  make  me  ten  times  more  desirous,  now  I 
talk  to  you,  to  know  you  well  than  I  was  when  I 
sat  over  yonder  looking  at  you.  How  I  wish  we 
could  be  real  friends !  Try  me  as  a  real  friend. 
Come !  Don't  fancy  me  a  frumpy  old  married 
woman,  my  dear ;  I  was  married  but  the  other 


day,  you  know ;  I  am  dressed  as  a  bride  now, 
you  see.     About  the  chimney-sweeps?" 

"Hush!  Ma  '11  hear." 

"  She  can't  hear  from  where  she  sits." 

"Don't  you  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said  Miss 
Podsnap,  in  a  lower  voice.  "Well,  what  I 
mean  is,  that  they  seem  to  enjoy  it." 

"And  that  perhaps  you  would  have  enjoyed 
it,  if  you  had  been  one  of  them  ?" 

Miss  Podsnap  nodded  significantly. 

"Then  you  don't  enjoy  it  now?" 

"How  is  it  possible?"  said  Miss  Podsnap. 
"Oh  it  is  such  a  dreadful  thing!  If  I  was 
wicked  enough — and  strong  enough— to  kill  any 
body,  it  should  be  my  partner. " 

This  was  such  an  entirely  new  view  of  the 
Terpsichorean  art  as  socially  practiced,  that  Mrs. 
Lammle  looked  at  her  young  friend  in  some  as- 
tonishment. Her  young  friend  sat  nervously 
twiddling  her  fingers  in  a  pinioned  attitude,  as 
if  she  were  trying  to  hide  her  elbows.  But  this 
latter  Utopian  object  (in  short  sleeves)  always 
appeared  to  be  the  great  inoffensive  aim  of  her 
existence. 

"It  sounds  horrid,  don't  it?"  said  Miss  Pod- 
snap, with  a  penitential  face. 

Mrs.  Lammle,  not  very  well  knowing  what  to 
answer,  resolved  herself  into  a  look  of  smiling 
encouragement. 

"But  it  is,  and  it  always  has  been,"  pursued 
Miss  Podsnap,  "  such  a  trial  to  me !  I  so  dread 
being  awful.  And  it  is  so  awful !  No  one  knows 
what  I  suffered  at  Madame  S^auteuse's,  where  I 
learned  to  dance  and  make  presentation-courte- 
sies, and  other  dreadful  things — or  at  least  where 
they  tried  to  teach  me.     Ma  can  do  it." 

"At  any  rate,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle, 
soothingly,  "that's  over." 

"  Yes,  it's  over,"  returned  Miss  Podsnap,  "  but 
there's  nothing  gained  by  that.  It's  worse  here 
than  at  Madame  Sauteuse's.  Ma  was  there,  and 
Ma's  here ;  but  Pa  wasn't  there,  and  company 
wasn't  there,  and  there  were  not  real  partners 
there.  Oh  there's  Ma  speaking  to  the  man  at 
the  piano!  Oh  there's  Ma  going  up  to  some- 
body !  Oh  I  know  she's  going  to  bring  him  to 
me !  Oh  please  don't,  please  don't,  please  don't ! 
Oh  keep  away,  keep  away,  keep  away !"  These 
pious  ejaculations  Miss  Podsnap  uttered  with 
her  eyes  closed,  and  her  head  leaning  back 
against  the  wall. 

But  the  Ogre  advanced  under  the  pilotage  of 
Ma,  and  Ma  said,  "Georgiana,  Mr.  Grompus," 
and  the  Ogre  clutched  his  victim  and  bore  her  off 
to  his  castle  in  the  top  couple.  Then  the  discreet 
automaton  who  had  surveyed  his  ground,  played 
a  blossomless  tuneless  "set,"  and  sixteen  disci- 
ples of  Podsnappery  went  through  the  figures  of 
— 1,  Getting  up  at  eight  and  shaving  close  at  a 
quarter  past — 2,  Breakfasting  at  nine— 3,  Going 
to  the  City  at  ten — 4,  Coming  home  at  half  past 
five — 5,  Dining  at  seven,  and  the  grand  chain. 

While  these  solemnities  were  in  progress,  Mr. 
Alfred  Lammle  (most  loving  of  husbands)  ap- 
proached the  chair  of  Mrs.  Alfred  Lammle  (most 
loving  of  wives),  and  bending  over  the  back  of  it, 
trifled  for  some  few  seconds  with  Mrs.  Lammle's 
bracelet.  Slightly  in  contrast  with  this  brief 
airy  toying,  one  might  have  noticed  a  certain 
dark  attention  in  Mrs.  Lammle's  face  as  she 
said  some  words  with  her  eyes  on  Mr.  Lammle's 
waistcoat,  and  seemed  in  return  to  receive  some 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


73 


lesson.  But  it  was  all  done  as  a  breath  passes 
from  a  mirror. 

And  now,  the  grand  chain  riveted  to  the  last 
link,  the  discreet  automaton  ceased,  and  the  six- 
teen, two  and  two,  took  a  walk  among  the  fur- 
niture. And  herein  the  unconsciousness  of  the 
Ogre  Grompus  was  pleasantly  conspicuous ;  for 
that  complacent  monster,  believing  that  he  was 
giving  Miss  Podsnap  a  treat,  prolonged  to  the 
utmost  stretch  of  possibility  a  peripatetic  account 
of  an  archery  meeting ;  while  his  victim,  head- 
ing the  procession  of  sixteen  as  it  slowly  circled 
about,  like  a  revolving  funeral,  never  raised  her 
eyes  except  once  to  steal  a  glance  atMrs.  Lammle, 
expressive  of  intense  despair. 

At  length  the  procession  was  dissolved  by  the 
violent  arrival  of*  a  nutmeg,  before  which  the 
drawing-room  door  bounced  open  as  if  it  were  a 
cannon-ball ;  and  while  that  fragrant  article,  dis- 
persed through  several  glasses  of  colored  warm 
water,  was  going  the  round  of  society,  Miss  Pod- 
snap  returned  to  her  seat  by  her  new  friend. 

"Oh  my  goodness,"  said  Miss  Podsnap. 
"  That's  over !     I  hope  you  didn't  look  at  me." 

"  My  dear,  why  not  ?" 

"  Oh  I  know  all  about  myself,"  said  Miss  Pod- 
snap. 

"I'll  tell  you  something  /  know  about  you, 
my  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Lammle,  in  her  win- 
ning way,  "and  that  is,  you  are  most  unneces- 
sarily shy." 

"Ma  ain't,"  said  Miss  Podsnap.  M — I  de- 
test you!  Go  along!"  This  shot  was  leveled 
under  her  breath  at  the  gallant  Grompus  for  be- 
stowing an  insinuating  smile  upon  her  in  passing. 

"Pardon  me  if  I  scarcely  see,  my  dear  Miss 
Podsnap,"  Mrs.  Lammle  was  beginning  when  the 
young  lady  interposed. 

"  If  we  are  going  to  be  real  friends  (and  I  sup- 
pose we  are,  for  you  are  the  only  person  who 
ever  proposed  it)  don't  let  us  be  awful.  It's  aw- 
ful enough  to  be  Miss  Podsnap  without  being 
called  so.     Call  me  Georgiana." 

"Dearest  Georgiana,"  Mrs.  Lammle  began 
again. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Podsnap. 

"Dearest  Georgiana,  pardon  me  if  I  scarcely 
see,  my  love,  why  your  mamma's  not  being  shy 
is  a  reason  why  you  should  be." 

"Don't  you  really  see  that  ?"  asked  Miss  Pod- 
snap, plucking  at  her  fingers  in  a  troubled  man- 
ner, and  furtively  casting  her  eyes  now  on  Mrs. 
Lammle,  now  on  the  ground.  "Then  perhaps 
it  isn't?" 

"My  dearest  Georgiana,  you  defer  much  too 
readily  to  my  poor  opinion.  Indeed  it  is  not 
even  an  opinion,  darling,  for  it  is  only  a  confes- 
sion of  my  dullness." 

"Oh  you  are  not  dull,"  returned  Miss  Pod- 
snap. "/am  dull,  but  you  couldn't  have  made 
me  talk  if  you  were." 

Some  little  touch  of  conscience  answering  this 
perception  of  her  having  gained  a  purpose,  called 
bloom  enough  into  Mrs.  Lammle's  face  to  make 
it  look  brighter  as  she  sat  smiling  her  best  smile 
on  her  dear  Georgiana,  and  shaking  her  head 
with  an  affectionate  playfulness.  Not  that  it 
meant  any  thing,  but  that  Georgiana  seemed  to 
like  it. 

"What  I  mean  is,"  pursued  Georgiana,  "  that 
Ma  being  so  endowed  with  awfulness,  and  Pa 
being  so  endowed  with  awfulness,  and  there  be- 


ing so  much  awfulness  every  where — I  mean,  at 
least,  every  where  where  I  am — perhaps  it  makes 
me  who  am  so  deficient  in  awfulness,  and  fright- 
ened at  it — I  say  it  very  badly — I  don't  know 
whether  you  can  understand  what  I  mean?" 

"Perfectly,  dearest  Georgiana!"  Mrs.  Lam- 
mle was  proceeding  with  every  reassuring  wile, 
when  the  head  of  that  young  lady  suddenly  went 
back  against  the  wall  again,  and  her  eyes  closed. 

"Oh  there's  Ma  being  awful  with  somebody 
with  a  glass  in  his  eye !  Oh  I  know  she's  going 
to  bring  him  here  !  Oh  don't  bring  him,  don't 
bring  him!  Oh  he'll  be  my  partner  with  his 
glass  in  his  eye!  Oh  what  shall  I  do!"  This 
time  Georgiana  accompanied  her  ejaculations 
with  taps  of  her  feet  upon  the  floor,  and  was  al- 
together in  quite  a  desperate  condition.  But 
there  was  no  escape  from  the  majestic  Mrs.  Pod- 
snap's  production  of  an  ambling  stranger,  with 
one  eye  screwed  up  into  extinction  and  the  oth- 
er framed  and  glazed,  who,  having  looked  down 
out  of  that  organ,  as  if  he  descried  Miss  Pod- 
snap at  the  bottom  of  some  perpendicular  shaft, 
brought  her  to  the  surface,  and  ambled  off  with 
her.  And  then  the  captive  at  the  piano  played 
another  "set,"  expressive  of  his  mournful  aspi- 
rations after  freedom,  and  other  sixteen  went 
through  the  former  melancholy  motions,  and  the 
ambler  took  Miss  Podsnap  for  a  furniture  walk, 
as  if  he  had  struck  out  an  entirely  original  con- 
ception. 

In  the  mean  time  a  stray  personage  of  a  meek 
demeanor,  who  had  wandered  to  the  hearth-rug 
and  got  among  the  heads  of  tribes  assembled 
there  in  conference  with  Mr.  Podsnap,  elimina- 
ted Mr.  Podsnap's  flush  and  flourish  by  a  highly 
unpolite  remark;  no  less  than  a  reference  to  the 
circumstance  that  some  half-dozen  people  had 
lately  died  in  the  streets  of  starvation.  It  was 
clearly  ill-timed  after  dinner.  It  was  not  adapt- 
ed to  the  cheek  of  the  young  person.  It  was  not 
in  good  taste. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Mr.  Podsnap,  put- 
ting it  behind  him. 

The  meek  man  was  afraid  we  must  take  it  as 
proved,  because  there  were  the  Inquests  and  the 
Registrar's  returns. 

"Then  it  was  their  own  fault,"  said  Mr.  Pod- 
snap. 

Veneering  and  other  elders  of  tribes  com- 
mended this  way  out  of  it.  At  once  a  short  cut 
and  a  broad  road. 

The  man  of  meek  demeanor  intimated  that 
truly  it  would  seem,  from  the  facts,  as  if  starva- 
tion had  been  forced  upon  the  culprits  in  ques- 
tion— as  if,  in  their  wretched  manner,  they  had 
made  their  weak  protests  against  it — as  if  they 
would  have  taken  the  liberty  of  staving  it  off  if 
they  could — as  if  they  would  rather  not  have 
been  starved  upon  the  whole,  if  perfectly  agree- 
able to  all  parties. 

"There  is  not,"  said  Mr.  Podsnap,  flushing 
angrily,  "  there  is  not  a  country  in  the  world, 
Sir,  where  so  noble  a  provision  is  made  for  the 
poor  as  in  this  country." 

The  meek  man  was  quite  willing  to  concede 
that,  but  perhaps  it  rendered  the  matter  even 
worse,  as  showing  that  there  must  be  something 
appallingly  wrong  somewhere. 

"Where?"  said  Mr.  Podsnap. 

The  meek  man  hinted,  Wouldn't  it  be  well  to 
try,  very  seriously,  to  find  out  where  ? 


74 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Podsnap.  "Easy  to  say 
somewhere  ;  not  so  easy  to  say  where !  But  I 
see  what  you  are  driving  at.  I  knew  it  from 
the  first.  Centralization.  No.  Never  with  my 
consent.    Not  English." 

An  approving  murmur  arose  from  the  heads 
of  tribes;  as  saying,  "There  you  have  him! 
Hold  him!" 

He  was  not  aware  (the  meek  man  submitted 
of  himself)  that  he  was  driving  at  any  ization. 
He  had  no  favorite  ization  that  he  knew  of. 
But  he  certainly  was  more  staggered  by  these 
terrible  occurrences  than  he  was  by  names,  of 
howsoever  so  many  syllables.  Might  he  ask, 
was  dying  of  destitution  and  neglect  necessarily 
English  ?" 

"  You  know  what  the  population  of  London 
is,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Mr.  Podsnap. 

The  meek  man  supposed  he  did,  but  supposed 
that  had  absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  it,  if  its 
laws  were  well  administered. 

"And  you  know ;  at  least  I  hope  you  know ;" 
said  Mr.  Podsnap,  with  severity,  "that  Provi- 
dence has  declared  that  you  shall  have  the  poor 
always  with  you  ?" 

The  meek  man  also  hoped  he  knew  that. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Podsnap 
with  a  portentous  air.  "lam  glad  to  hear  it. 
It  will  render  you  cautious  how  you  fly  in  the 
face  of  Providence." 

In  reference  to  that  absurd  and  irreverent 
conventional  phrase,  the  meek  man  said,  for 
which  Mr.  Podsnap  was  not  responsible,  he  the 
meek  man  had  no  fear  of  doing  any  thing  so 
impossible;  but — 

But  Mr.  Podsnap  felt  that  the  time  had  come 
for  flushing  and  flourishing  this  meek  man  down 
for  good.     So  he  said : 

11 1  must  decline  to  pursue  this  painful  discus- 
sion. It  is  not  pleasant  to  my  feelings ;  it  is 
repugnant  to  my  feelings.  I  have  said  that  I  do 
not  admit  these  things.  I  have  also  said  that 
if  they  do  occur  (not  that  I  admit  it),  the  fault 
lies  with  the  sufferers  themselves.  It  is  not  for 
me" — Mr.  Podsnap  pointed  "me"  forcibly,  as 
adding  by  implication  though  it  may  be  all  very 
well  for  you — "it  is  not  for  me  to  impugn  the 
workings  of  Providence.  I  know  better  than 
that,  I  trust,  and  I  have  mentioned  what  the 
intentions  of  Providence  are.  Besides,"  said 
Mr.  Podsnap,  flushing  high  up  among  his  hair- 
brushes, with  a  strong  consciousness  of  personal 
affront,  "  the  subject  is  a  very  disagreeable  one. 
I  will  go  so  far  as  to  say  it  is  an  odious  6ne.  It 
is  not  one  to  be  introduced  among  our  wives  and 
young  persons,  and  I — "  He  finished  with  that 
flourish  of  his  ann  which  added  more  express- 
ively than  any  words,  And  I  remove  it  from  the 
face  of  the  earth. 

Simultaneously  with  this  quenching  of  the 
meek  man's  ineffectual  fire,  Georgiana  having 
left  the  ambler  up  a  lane  of  sofa,  in  a  No  Thor- 
oughfare of  back  drawing-room,  to  find  his  own 
way  out,  came  back  to  Mrs.  Lammle.  And  who 
should  be  with  Mrs.  Lammle  but  Mr.  Lammle. 
So  fond  of  her! 

"Alfred,  my  love,  here  is  my  friend.  Geor- 
giana, dearest  girl,  you  must  like  my  husband 
next  to  me." 

Mr.  Lammle  was  proud  to  be  so  soon  distin- 
guished by  this  special  commendation  to  Miss 
Podsnap's  favor.    But  if  Mr.  Lammle  were  prone 


to  be  jealous  of  his  dear  Sophronia's  friendships, 
he  would  be  jealous  of  her  feeling  toward  Miss 
Podsnap. 

"  Say  Georgiana,  darling,"  interposed  his  wife. 

"Toward  —  shall  I?  —  Georgiana."  Mr. 
Lammle  uttered  the  name,  with  a  delicate  curve 
of  his  right  hand,  from  his  lips  outward.  "  For 
never  have  i  known  Sophronia  (who  is  not  apt 
to  take  sudden  likings)  so  attracted  and  so  cap- 
tivated as  she  is  by — shall  I  once  more  ? — Geor- 
giana." 

The  object  of  this  homage  sat  uneasily  enough 
in  receipt  of  it,  and  then  said,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Lammle,  much  embarrassed : 

"  I  wonder  what  you  like  me  for !  I  am  sure 
I  can't  think." 

"  Dearest  Georgiana,  for  yourself.  For  your 
difference  from  all  around  you." 

"Well!  That  may  be.  For  I  think  I  like 
you  for  your  difference  from  all  around  me," 
said  Georgiana  with  a  smile  of  relief. 

"We  must  be  going  with  the  rest,"  observed 
Mrs.  Lammle,  rising  with  a  show  of  unwilling- 
ness, amidst  a  general  dispersal.  "  We  are  real 
friends,  Georgiana  dear?" 

"Real." 

"  Good-night,  dear  girl!" 

She  had  established  an  attraction  over  the 
shrinking  nature  upon  which  her  smiling  eyes 
were  fixed,  for  Georgiana  held  her  hand  while 
she  answered  in  a  secret  and  half-frightened 
tone: 

"Don't  forget  me  when  you  are  gone  away. 
And  come  again  soon.     Good-night!" 

Charming  to  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle  tak- 
ing leave  so  gracefully,  and  going  down  the  stairs 
so  lovingly  and  sweetly.  Not  quite  so  charming 
to  see  their  smiling  faces  fall  and  brood  as  they 
dropped  moodily  into  separate  corners  of  their 
little  carriage.  But  to  be  sure  that  was  a  sight 
behind  the  scenes,  which  nobody  saw,  and  which 
nobody  was  meant  to  see. 

Certain  big,  heavy  vehicles,  built  on  the  model 
of  the  Podsnap  plate,  took  away  the  heavy  arti- 
cles of  guests  weighing  ever  so  much ;  and  the 
less  valuable  articles  got  away  after  their  various 
manners ;  and  the  Podsnap  plate  was  put  to  bed. 
As  Mr.  Podsnap  stood  with  his  back  to  the  draw- 
ing-room fire,  pulling  up  his  shirt-collar,  like  a 
veritable  cock  of  the  walk  literally  pluming  him- 
self in  the  midst  of  his  possessions,  nothing  would 
have  astonished  him  more  than  an  intimatidh 
that  Miss  Podsnap,  or  any  other  young  person 
properly  born  and  bred,  could  not  be  exactly 
put  away  like  the  plate,  brought  out  like  the 
plate,  polished  like  the  plate,  counted,  weighed, 
and  valued  like  the  plate.  That  such  a  young 
person  could  possibly  have  a  morbid  vacancy  in 
the  heart  for  any  thing  younger  than  the  plate, 
or  less  monotonous  than  the  plate ;  or  that  such 
a  young  person's  thoughts  could  try  to  scale  the 
region  bounded  on  the  north,  south,  east,  and 
west,  by  the  plate ;  was  a  monstrous  imagination 
which  he  would  on  the  spot  have  flourished  into 
space.  This  perhaps  in-  some  sort  arose  from 
Mr.  Podsnap's  blushing  young  person  being,  so 
to  speak,  all  cheek :  whereas  there  is  a  possibil- 
ity that  there  may  be  young  persons  of  a  rather 
more  complex  organization. 

If  Mr.  Podsnap,  pulling  up  his  shirt-collar, 
could  only  have  heard  himself  called  "that  fel- 
low" in  a  certain  short  dialogue,  which  passed 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


75 


between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle  in  their  opposite 
corners  of  their  little  carriage,  rolling  home ! 

"  Sophronia,  are  you  awake?" 

"Am  I  likely  to  be  asleep,  Sir?" 

"  Very  likely,  I  should  think,  after  that  fel- 
low's company.  Attend  to  Avhat  I  am  going  to 
say." 

"I  have  attended  to  what  you  have  already 
said,  have  I  not  ?  What  else  have  I  been  doing 
all  to-night  ?" 

"Attend,  I  tell  you"  (in  a  raised  voice),  "to 
what  I  am  going  to  say.  Keep  close  to  that  idiot 
girl.  Keep  her  under  your  thumb.  You  have 
her  fast,  and  you  are  not  to  let  her  go.  Do  you 
hear?" 

"I  hear  you." 
*    "I  foresee  there  is  money  to  be  made  out  of 
this',  besides  taking  that  fellow  down  a  peg.    We 
owe  each  other  money,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Lammle  winced  a  little  at  the  reminder, 
but  only  enough  to  shake  her  scents  and  essences 
anew  into  the  atmosphere  of  the  little  carriage 
as  she  settled  herself  afresh   in  her  own  dark 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  SWEAT  OP  AN  HONEST  MAN'S  BROW. 

Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood  and  Mr.  Eugene 
Wrayburn  took  a  coffee-house  dinner  together  in 
Mr.  Lightwood's  office.  They  had  newly  agreed 
to  set  up  a  joint  establishment  together.  They 
had  taken  a  bachelor  cottage  near  Hampton,  on 
the  brink  of  the  Thames,  with  a  lawn,  and  a 
boat-house,  and  all  things  fitting,  and  were  to 
float  with  the  stream  through  the  summer  and 
the  Long  Vacation. 

It  was  not  summer  yet,  but  spring ;  and  it  was 
not  gentle  spring  ethereally  mild,  as  in  Thom- 
son's Seasons,  but  nipping  spring  with  an  east- 
.  erly  wind,  as  in  Johnson's,  Jac.kson's,  Dickson's, 
Smith's,  and  Jones's  Seasons.  The  grating  wind 
sawed  rather  than  blew ;  and  as  it  sawed,  the 
saw-dust  whirled  about  the  saw-pit.  Every  street 
was  a  saw- pit,  and  there  were  no  top-sawyers ; 
every  passenger  was  an  under-sawyer,  with  the 
saw-dust  blinding  him  and  choking  him. 

That  mysterious  paper  currency  which  circu- 
lates in  London  when  the  wind  blows,  gyrated 
here  and  there  and  every  where.  Whence  can 
it  come,  whither  ean  it  go  ?  It  hangs  on  every 
bush,  flutters  in  every  tree,  is  caught  flying  by 
the  electric  wires,  haunts  every  inclosure,  drinks 
at  every  pump,  cowers  at  every  grating,  shud- 
ders upon  every  plot  of  grass,  seeks  rest  in  vain 
behind  the  legions  of  iron  rails.  In  Paris,  where 
nothing  is  wasted,  costly  and  luxurious  city 
though  it  be,  but  where  wonderful  human  ants 
creep  out  of  holes  and  pick  up  every  scrap,  there 
is  no  such  thing.  There,  it  blows  nothing  but 
dust.  There,  sharp  eyes  and  sharp  stomachs 
reap  even  the  east  wind,  and  get  something  out 
of  it. 

The  wind  sawed,  and  the  saw-dust  whirled. 
The  shrubs  wrung  their  many  hands,  bemoaning 
that  they  had  been  over-persuaded  by  the  sun  to 
bud ;  the  young  leaves  pined ;  the  sparrows  re- 
pented of  their  early  marriages,  like  men  and 
women;  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  were  dis- 
cernible, not  in  floral  spring,  but  in  the  faces 
of  the  people  whom  it   nibbled    and   pinched. 


And  ever  the  wind  sawed,  and  the  saw-dust 
whirled. 

When  the  spring  evenings  are  too  long  and 
light  to  shut  out,  and  such  weather  is  rife,  the 
city  which  Mr.  Podsnap  so  explanatorily  called 
London,  Londres,  London,  is  at  its  worst.  Such 
a  black  shrill  city,  combining  the  qualities  of  a 
smoky  house  and  a  scolding  wife ;  such  a  gritty 
city;  such  a  hopeless  city,  with  no  rent  in  the 
leaden  canopy  of  its  sky;  such  a  beleaguered 
city,  invested  by  the  great  Marsh  Forces  of  Essex 
and  Kent.  So  the  two  old  school-fellows  felt 
it  to  be,  as,  their  dinner  done,  they  turned  to- 
ward the  fire  to  smoke.  Young  Blight  was  gone, 
the  coffee-house  waiter  was  gone,  the  plates  and 
dishes  were  gone,  the  wine  was  going — but  not 
in  the  same  direction. 

"The  wind  sounds  up  here,"  quoth  Eugene, 
stirring  the  fire,  "as  if  we  were  keeping  a  light- 
house.    I  wish  we  were." 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  bore  us?"  Light- 
wood  asked. 

"Not  more  than  any  other  place.  And  there 
would  be  no  Circuit  to  go.  But  that's  a  selfish 
consideration,  personal  to  me." 

"And  no  clients  to  come,"  added  Lightwood. 
"Not  that  that's  a  selfish  consideration  at  all 
personal  to  me." 

"  If  we  were  on  an  isolated  rock  in  a  stormy 
sea,"  said  Eugene,  smoking  with  his  eyes  on  the 
fire,  "  Lady  Tippins  couldn't  put  off  to  visit  us, 
or,  better  still,  might  put  off  and  get  swamped. 
People  couldn't  ask  one  to  wedding  breakfasts. 
There  would  be  no  Precedents  to  hammer  at, 
except  the  plain-sailing  Precedent  of  keeping  the 
light  up.  It  would  be  exciting  to  look  out  for 
wrecks." 

"But  otherwise,"  suggested  Lightwood,  "there 
might  be  a  degree  of  sameness  in  the  life." 

"I  have  thought  of  that  also,"  said  Eugene, 
as  if  he  really  had  been  considering  the  subject 
in  its  various  bearings  with  an  eye  to  the  busi- 
ness; "but  it  would  be  a  defined  and  limited 
monotony.  It  would  not  extend  beyond  two 
people.  Now,  it's  a  question  with  me,  Morti- 
mer, whether  a  monotony  defined  with  that  pre- 
cision and  limited  to  that  extent  might  not  be 
more  endurable  than  the  unlimited  monotony  of 
one's  fellow-creatures." 

As  Lightwood  laughed  and  passed  the  wine 
he  remarked,  "We  shall  have  an  opportunity,  in 
our  boating  summer,  of  trying  the  question." 

"  An  imperfect  one,"  Eugene  acquiesced,  with 
a  sigh,  "but  so  we  shall.  I  hope  we  may  not 
prove  too  much  for  one  another." 

"Now,  regarding  your  respected  father," said 
Lightwood,  bringing  him  to  a  subject  they  had 
expressly  appointed  to  discuss :  always  the  most 
slippery  eel  of  eels  of  subjects  to  lay  hold  of. 

"Yes,  regarding  my  respected  father,"  as- 
sented Eugene,  settling  himself  in  his  arm-chair. 
"  I  would  rather  have  approached  my  respected 
father  by  candle-light,  as  a  theme  requiring  a 
little  artificial  brilliancy ;  but  we  will  take  him 
by  twilight,  enlivened  with  a  glow  of  Wallsend." 

He  stirred  the  fire  again  as  he  spoke,  and  hav- 
ing made  it  blaze,  resumed  : 

"  My  respected  father  has  found,  down  in  the 
parental  neighborhood,  a  wife  for  his  not-gener- 
ally-respected son." 

"  With  some  money,  of  course  ?" 

"With  some  money,  of  course,  or  he  would 


76 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


not  have  found  her.  My  respected  father — let 
me  shorten  the  dutiful  tautology  by  substituting 
in  future  M.  R.  F.,  which  sounds  military,  and 
rather  like  the  Duke  of  Wellington."      , 

"What  an  absurd  fellow  you  are,  Eugene !" 

"Not  at  all,  I  assure  you.  M.  R.  F.  having 
always  in  the  clearest  manner  provided  (as  he 
calls.it)  for  his  children  by  prearranging  from 
the  hour  of  the  birth  of  each,  and  sometimes 
from  an  earlier  period,  what  the  devoted  little 
victim's  ealling  and  course  in  life  should  be,  M. 
R.  F.  prearranged  for  myself  that  I  was  to  be 
the  bax-rister  I  am  (with  the  slight  addition  of 
an  enormous  practice,  which  has  not  accrued), 
and  also  the  married  man  I  am  not." 

"The  first  you  have  often  told  me." 

"The  first  I  have  often  told  you.  Consider- 
ing myself  sufficiently  incongruous  on  my  legal 
eminence,  I  have  until  now  suppressed  my  do- 
mestic destiny.  You  know  M.  R.  F.,  but  not 
as  well  as  I  do.  If  you  knew  him  as  well  as  I 
do  he  would  amuse  you." 

"Filially  spoken,  Eugene!" 

"Perfectly  so,  believe  me;  and  with  every 
sentiment  of  affectionate  deference  toward  M. 
R.  F.  But  if  he  amuses  me,  I  can't  help  it. 
When  my  eldest  brother  was  born,  of  course  the 
rest  of  us  knew  (I  mean  the  rest  of  us  would 
have  known,  if  we  had  been  in  existence)  that 
he  was  heir  to  the  Family  Embarrassments — 
we  call  it  before  company  the  Family  Estate. 
But  when  my  second  brother  was  going  to  be 
born  by-and-by,  i this, '  says  M.  R.  F.,  'is  a  lit- 
tle pillar  of  the  church.'  Was  born,  and  be- 
came a  pillar  of  the  church  ;  a  very  shaky  one. 
My  third  brother  appeared,  considerably  in  ad- 
vance of  his  engagement  to  my  mother;  but  M. 
R.  F.,  not  at  all  put  out  by  surprise,  instantly 
declared  him  a  Circumnavigator.  Was  pitch- 
forked into  the  Navy,  but  has  not  circumnavi- 
gated. I  announced  myself,  and  was  disposed 
of  with  the  highly  satisfactory  results  embodied 
before  you.  When  my  younger  brother  was  half 
an  hour  old,  it  was  settled  by  M.  R.  F.  that  he 
should  have  a  mechanical  genius.  And  so  on. 
Therefore  I  say  that  M.  R.  F.  amuses  me." 

"Touching  the  lady,  Eugene." 

"There  M.  R.  F.  ceases  to  be  amusing,  be- 
cause my  intentions  are  opposed  to  touching  the 
lady." 

"Do  you  know  her?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"  Hadn't  you  better  see  her?" 

11  My  dear  Mortimer,  you  have  studied  my 
character.  Could  I  possibly  go  down  there 
labeled  'Eligible.  On  view,'  and  meet  the 
lady  similarly  labeled?  Any  thing  to  carry 
out  M.  R.  F.'s  arrangements,  I  am  sure,  with  the 
greatest  pleasure — except  matrimony.  Could  I 
possibly  support  it  ?  I,  so  soon  bored,  so  con- 
stantly, so  fatally?" 

"But  you  are  not  a  consistent  fellow,  Eu- 
gene." 

'  "In  susceptibility  to  boredom,"  returned  that 
worthy,  "I  assure  you  1  am  the  most  consistent 
of  mankind." 

"Why,  it  was  but  now  that  you  were  dwell- 
ing on  the  advantages  of  a  monotony  of  two." 

"In  a  light-house.  Do  me  the  justice  to  re- 
member the  condition.     In  a  light-house." 

Mortimer  laughed  again,  and  Eugene,  having 
laughed  too  for  the  first  time,  as  if  he  found  him- 


self on  reflection  rather  entertaining,  relapsed 
into  his  usual  gloom,  and  drowsily  said,  as  he 
enjoyed  his  cigar,  "No,  there  is  no  help  for  it; 
one  of  the  prophetic  deliveries  of  M.  R.  F.  must 
forever  remain  unfulfilled.  With  every  disposi- 
tion to  oblige  him,  he  must  submit  to  a  failure." 

It  had  grown  darker  as  they  talked,  and  the 
wind  was  sawing  and  the  saw-dust  was  whirling 
outside  paler  windows.  The  underlying  church- 
yard was  already  settling  into  deep  dim  shade, 
and  the  shade  was  creeping  up  to  the  house- 
tops among  which  they  sat.  "As  if,"  said  Eu- 
gene, "  as  if  the  church-yard  ghosts  were  rising." 

He  had  walked  to  the  window  with  his  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  to  exalt  its  flavor  by  comparing 
the  fireside  with  the  outside,  when  he  stopped 
midway  on  his  return  to  his  arm-chair,  and 
said : 

"Apparently  one  of  the  ghosts  has  lost  its 
way,  and  dropped  in  to  be  directed.  Look  at 
this  phantom!" 

Lightwood,  whose  back  was  toward  the  door, 
turned  his  head,  and  there,  in  the  darkness  of 
the  entry,  stood  a  something  in  the  likeness  of  a 
man :  to  whom  he  addressed  the  not  irrelevant 
inquiry,  "  Who  the  devil  are  you?" 

"I  ask  your  pardons,  Governors,"  replied  the 
ghost,  in  a  hoarse  double-barreled  whisper,  "  but 
might  either  on  you  be  Lawyer  Lightwood  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  not  knocking  at  the 
door?"  demanded  Mortimer. 

"  I  ask  your  pardons,  Governors,"  replied  the 
ghost,  as  before,  "but  probable  you  was  not 
aware  your  door  stood  open." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?" 

Hereunto  the  ghost  again  hoarsely  replied,  in 
its  double-barreled  manner,  "I  ask  your  par- 
dons, Governors,  but  might  one  on  you  be  Law- 
yer Lightwood  ?" 

"One  of  us  is,"  said  the  owner  of  that  name. 

"All  right,  Governors  Both,"  returned  the 
ghost,  carefully  closing  the  room  door;  "  'tickler 
business."  ' 

Mortimer  lighted  the  candles.  They  showed 
the  visitor  to  be  an  ill-looking  visitor  with  a 
squinting  leer,  who,  as  he  spoke,  fumbled  at  an 
old  sodden  fur  cap,  formless  and  mangy,  that 
looked  like  a  furry  animal,  dog  or  cat,  puppy  or 
kitten,  drowned  and  decaying. 

"Now,"  said  Mortimer,  "what  is  it?" 

"  Governors  Both,"  returned  the  man,  in  what 
he  meant  to  be  a  wheedling  tone,  "  which  on  you 
might  be  Lawyer  Lightwood  ?" 

"lam." 

"Lawyer  Lightwood,"  ducking  at  him  with 
a  servile  air,  "I  am  a  man  as  gets  my  living, 
and  as  seeks  to  get  my  living,  by  the  sweat  of 
my  brow.  Not  to  risk  being  done  out  of  the 
sweat  of  my  brow  by  any  chances,  I  should 
wish,  afore  going  further,  to  be  swore  in." 

"I  am  not  a  swearer  in  of  people,  man." 

The  visitor,  clearly  any  thing  but  reliant  on 
this  assurance,  doggedly  muttered  "Alfred  Da- 
vid." 

"Is  that  your  name?"  asked  Lightwood. 

"My  name?"  returned  the  man.  "No;  I 
want  to  take  a  Alfred  David." 

(Which  Eugene,  smoking  and  contemplating 
him,  interpreted  as  meaning  Affidavit.) 

"  I  tell  you,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Lightwood, 
with  his  indolent  laugh,  "  that  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  swearing." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


77 


"He  can  swear  at  you,"  Eugene  explained; 
"  and  so  can  I.     But  we  can't  do  more  for  you." 

Much  discomfited  by  this  information,  the  vis- 
itor turned  the  drowned  dog  or  cat,  puppy  or  kit- 
ten, about  and  about,  and  looked  from  one  of 
the  Governors  Both  to  the  other  of  the  Govern- 
ors Both,  while  he  deeply  considered  within  him- 
self.    At  length  he  decided  : 

"Then  I  must  be  took  down." 

"Where?"  asked  Lightwood. 

"Here,"  said  the  man.     "In  pen  and  ink." 

"First,  let  us  know  what  your  business  is 
about." 

"It's  about,"  said  the  man,  taking  a  step  for- 
ward, dropping  his  hoafse  voice,  and  shading  it 
with  his  hand,  "it's  about  from  five  to  ten  thou- 
sand pound  reward.  That's  what  it's  about. 
It's  about  Murder.     That's  what  it's  about." 

"Come  nearer  the  table.  Sit  down.  Will 
you  have  a  glass  of  wine?" 

"Yes,  I  will,"  said  the  man;  "and  I  don't 
deceive  you,  Governors." 

It  was  given  him.  Making  a  stiff  arm  to  the 
elbow,  he  poured  the  wine  into  his  mouth,  tilted 
it  into  his  right  cheek,  as  saying,  "  What  do  you 
think  of  it?"  tilted  it  into  his  left  cheek,  as  say- 
ing, "What  do  you  think  of  it?"  jerked  it  into 
his  stomach,  as  saying,  "What  do  you  think  of 
it?"  To  conclude,  smacked  his  lips,  as  if  all 
three  replied,  "We  think  well  of  it." 

"  Will  you  have  another  ?" 

"Yes,  I  will,"  he  repeated,  "and  I  don't  de- 
ceive you,  Governors."  And  also  repeated  the 
other  proceedings. 

"Now,"  began  Lightwood,  "what's  your 
name?" 

"Why,  there  you're  rather  fast,  Lawyer  Light- 
wood,"  he  replied,  in  a  remonstrant  manner. 
Don't  you  see,  Lawyer  Lightwood?  There 
you're*  a  little  bit  fast.  I'm  going  to  earn  from 
five  to  ten  thousand  pound  by  the  sweat  of  my 
brow;  and  as  a  poor  man  doing  justice  to  the 
sweat  of  my  brow,  is  it  likely  I  can  afford  to.  part 
with  so  much  as  my  name  without  its  being  took 
down?" 

Deferring  to  the  man's  sense  of  the  binding 
powers  of  pen  and  ink  and  paper,  Lightwood 
nodded  acceptance  of  Eugene's  nodded  proposal 
to  take  those  spells  in  hand.  Eugene,  bringing 
them  to  the  table,  sat  down  as  clerk  or  notary. 

" Now,"  said  Lightwood, "  what's  your  name  ?" 

But  further  precaution  was  still  due  to  the 
sweat  of  this  honest  fellow's  brow. 

"I  should  wish,  Lawyer  Lightwood,"  he  stip- 
ulated, "to  have  that  T'other  Governor  as  my 
witness  that  what  I  said  I  said.  Consequent, 
will  the  T'other  Governor  be  so  good  as  chuck 
me  his  name  and  where  he  lives?" 

Eugene,  cigar  in  mouth  and  pen  in  hand, 
tossed  him  his  card.  After  spelling  it  out  slow- 
ly, the  man  made  it  into  a  little  roll,  and  tied  it 
up  in  an  end  of  his  neckerchief  still  more  slowly. 

"Now,"  said  Lightwood,  for  the  third  time, 
"  if  you  have  quite  completed  your  various  prep- 
arations, my  friend,  and  have  fully  ascertained 
that  your  spirits  are  cool  and  not  in  any  way 
hurried,  what's  your  name?" 

"Roger  Riderhood." 

"Dwelling-place  ?" 

"Lime'usHole." 

"Calling  or  occupation?" 

Not  quite  so  glib  with  this  answer  as  with  the 


previous  two,  Mr.  Riderhood  gave  in  the  defini- 
tion, "Waterside  character." 

"Any  thing  against  you?"  Eugene  quietly 
put  in,  as  he  wrote. 

Rather  balked,  Mr.  Riderhood  evasively  re- 
marked, with  an  innocent  air,  that  he  believed 
the  T'other  Governor  had  asked  him  summa't. 

"Ever  in  trouble?"  said  Eugene. 

"Once."  (Might  happen  to  any  man,  Mr. 
Riderhood  added  incidentally.) 

"On  suspicion  of — ?" 

"Of  seaman's  pocket,"  said  Mr.  Riderhood. 
"Whereby  I  was  in  reality  the  man's  best  friend, 
and  tried  to  take  care  of  him." 

"With  the  sweat  of  your  brow?"  asked  Eu- 
gene. 

"Till  it  poured  down  like  rain,"  said  Roger 
Riderhood. 

Eugene  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  smoked 
with  his  eyes  negligently  turned  on  the  inform- 
er, and*  his  pen  ready  to  reduce  him  to  more 
writing.  Lightwood  also  smoked,  with  his  eyes 
negligently  turned  on  the  informer. 

"Now  let  me  be  took  down  again,"  said  Ri- 
derhood, when  he  had  turned  the  drowned  cap 
over  and  under,  and  had  brushed  it  the  wrong 
way  (if  it  had  a  right  way)  with  his  sleeve.  "I 
give  information  that  the  man  that  done  the 
Harmon  Murder  is  Gaffer  Hexam,  the  man  that 
found  the  body.  The  hand  of  Jesse  Hexam, 
commonly  called  Gaffer  on  the  river  and  along 
shore,  is  the  hand  that  done  that  deed.  His 
hand,  and  no  other." 

The  two  friends  glanced  at  one  another  with 
more  serious  faces  than  they  had  shown  yet. 

"Tell  us  on  what  grounds  you  make  this  ac- 
cusation," said  Mortimer  Lightwood. 

"  On  the  grounds,"  answered  Riderhood,  wip- 
ing his  face  with  his  sleeve,  "that  I  was  Gaffer's 
pardner,  and  suspected  of  him  many  a  long  day 
and  many  a  dark  night.  On  the  grounds  that  I 
knowed  his  ways.  On  the  grounds  that  I  broke 
the  pardnership  because  I  see  the  danger ;  which 
I  warn  you  his  daughter  may  tell  you  another 
story  about  that,  for  any  think  I  can  say,  but 
you  know  what  it'll  be  worth,  for  she'd  tell  you 
lies,  the  world  round  and  the  heavens  broad,  to 
save  her  father.  On  the  grounds  that  it's  well  un- 
derstood along  the  caus'ays  and  the  stairs  that  he 
done  it.  On  the  grounds  that  he's  fell  off  from, 
because  he  done  it.  On  the  grounds  that  I  will 
swear  he  done  it.  On  the  grounds  that  you  may 
take  me  where  you  will,  and  get  me  sworn  to  it. 
/don't  want  to  back  out  of  the  consequences.  I 
have  made  up  my  mind.    Take  me  any  wheres." 

"All  this  is  nothing,"  said  Lightwood. 

"Nothing?"  repeated  Riderhood,  indignant- 
ly and  amazedly. 

"  Merely  nothing.  It  goes  to  no  more  than 
that  you  suspect  this  man  of  the  crime.  You 
may  do  so  with  some  reason,  or  you  may  do  so 
with  no  reason,  but  he  can  not  be  convicted  on 
your  suspicion." 

"Haven't  I  said  —  I  appeal  to  the  T'other 
Governor  as  my  witness — haven't  I  said  from 
the  first  minute  that  I  opened  my  mouth  in  this 
here  world-without-end-everlasting  chair"  (he 
evidently  used  that  form  of  words  as  next  in 
force  to  an  affidavit),  "that  I  was  willing  to 
swear  that  he  done  it?  Haven't  I  said,  Take 
me  and  get  me  sworn  to  it?  Don't  I  say  so 
now  ?    You  won't  deny  it,  Lawyer  Lightwood  ?" 


78 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  Surely  not ;  but  you  only  offer  to  swear  to 
your  suspicion,  and  I  tell  you  it  is  not  enough 
to  swear  to  your  suspicion." 

"Not  enough,  ain't  it,  Lawyer  Lightwood?" 
he  cautiously  demanded. 

"Positively  not." 

"And  did  I  say  it  was  enough?  Now,  I  ap- 
peal to  the  T'other  Governor.  Now,  fair !  Did 
I  say  so  ?" 

"  He  certainly  has  not  said  that  he  had  no 
more  to  tell,"  Eugene  observed  in  a  low  voice, 
without  looking  at  him,  "whatever  he  seemed 
to  imply." 

"Hah !"  cried  the  informer,  triumphantly  per- 
ceiving that  the  remark  was  generally  in  his 
favor,  though  apparently  not  closely  understand- 
ing it.     " Fort'nate for  me  I  had  a  witness!" 

"Go  on  then,"  said  Lightwood.  "  Say  out 
what  you  have  to  say.     No  after-thought." 

"Let  me  be  took  down  then!"  cried  the  in- 
former, eagerly  and  anxiously.  "Let' me  be 
took  down,  for  by  George  and  the  Draggin  I'm 
a  coming  to  it  now !  Don't  do  nothing  to  keep 
back  from  a  honest  man  the  fruits  of  the  sweat 
of  his  brow  !  I  give  information,  then,  that  he 
told  me  that  he  done  it.     Is  that  enough  ?" 

"Take  care  what  you  say,  my  friend,"  re- 
turned Mortimer. 

"Lawyer  Lightwood,  take  care,  you,  what  I 
say ,•  for  I  judge  you'll  be  answerable  for  foller- 
ing  it  up!"  Then,  slowly  and  emphatically 
beating  it  all  out  with  his  open  right  hand  on 
the  palm  of  his  left ;  "  I,  Roger  Riderhood,  Lime- 
'us  Hole,  Waterside  character,  tell  you,  Law- 
yer Lightwood,  that  the  man  Jesse  Hexam, 
commonly  called  upon  the  river,  and  along- 
shore Gaffer,  told  me  that  he  done  the  deed. 
What's  more,  he  told  me  with  his  own  lips  that 
he  done  the  deed.  What's  more,  he  said  that 
he  done  the  deed.     And  I'll  swear  it !" 

"  Where  did  he  tell  you  so  ?" 

"  Outside,"  replied  Riderhood,  always  beating 
it  out,  with  his  head  determinedly  set  askew,  and 
his  eyes  watchfully  dividing  their  attention  be- 
tween his  two  auditors,  "outside  the  door  of  the 
Six  Jolly  Fellowships,  towards  a  quarter  arter 
twelve  at  midnight — but  I  will  not  in  my  con- 
science undertake  to  swear  to  so  fine  a  matter  as 
live  minutes — on  the  night  when  he  picked  up 
the  body.  The  Six  Jolly  Fellowships  stands  on 
the  spot  still.  The  Six  Jolly  Fellowships  won't 
run  away.  If  it  turns  out  that  he  warn't  at  the 
Six  Jolly  Fellowships  that  night  at  midnight, 
I'm  a  liar." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"I'll  tell  you  (take  me  down,  T'other  Gov- 
ernor, I  ask  no  better).  He  come  out  first ;  I 
come  out  last.  I  might  be  a  minute  arter  him ; 
I  might  be  half  a  minute,  I  might  be  a  quarter 
of  a  minute ;  I  can  not  swear  to  that,  and  there- 
fore I  won't.  That's  knowing  the  obligations 
of  a  Alfred  David,  ain't  it  ?" 

"Goon." 

"  I  found  him  a  waiting  to  speak  to  me.  He 
says  to  me,  'Rogue  Riderhood' — for  that's  the 
name  I'm  mostly  called  by — not  for  any  mean- 
ing in  it,  for  meaning  it  has  none,  but  because 
of  its  being  similar  to  Roger." 

"Never  mind  that." 

" 'Scuse  me,  Lawyer  Lightwood,  it's  a  part 
of  the  truth,  and  as  such  I  do  mind  it,  and  I 
must  mind  it  and  I  will  mind  it.     '  Rogue  Ri- 


derhood,' he  says,  'words  passed  betwixt  us  on 
the  river  to-night.'  Which  they  had ;  ask  his 
daughter!  'I  threatened  you,'  he  say,  'to  chop 
you  over  the  fingers  with  my  boat's  stretcher,  or 
take  a  aim  at  your  brains  with  my  boat-hook. 
I  did  so  on  accounts  of  your  looking  too  hard 
at  what  I  had  in  tow,  as  if  you  was  suspicious, 
and  on  accounts  of  your  holding  on  to  the  gun- 
wale of  my  boat.'  I  says  to  him,  'Gaffer,  I 
know  it.'  He  says  to  me,  'Rogue  Riderhood, 
you  are  a  man  in  a  dozen' — I  think  he  said  in  a 
score,  but  of  that  I  am  not  positive,  so  take  the 
lowest  figure,  for  precious  be  the  obligations  of 
a  Alfred  David.  'And,'  he  says,  'when  your 
fellow-men  is  up,  be  it  their  lives  or  be  it  their 
watches,  sharp  is  ever  the  word  with  you.  Had 
you  suspicions?'  I  says,  'Gaffer,  I  had;  and 
what's  more,  I  have.'  He  falls  a  shaking,  and 
he  says  '  Of  what  ?'  I  says,  '  Of  foul  play.'  He 
falls  a  shaking  worse,  and  he  says,  'There  was 
foul  play  then.  I  done  it  for  his  money.  Don't 
betray  me  ! '  Those  were  the  'words  as  ever  he 
used." 

There  was  a  silence  broken  only  by  the  fall  of 
the  ashes  in  the  grate.  An  opportunity  which 
the  informer  improved  by  smearing  himself  all 
over  the  head  and  neck  and  face  with  his 
drowned  cap,  and  not  at  all  improving  his  own 
appearance. 

"What  more?"  asked  Lightwood. 

"  Of  him,  d'ye  mean,  Lawyer  Lightwood  ?" 

"  Of  any  thing  to  the  purpose." 

"Now,  I'm  blest  if  I  understand  you,  Gov- 
ernors Both,"  said  the  informer,  in  a  creeping 
manner  :  propitiating  both,  though  only  one  had 
spoken.     "What?     Ain't  that  enough  ?" 

"Did  you  ask  him  how  he  did  it,  where  he 
did  it,  when  he  did  it  ?" 

"Far  be  it  from  me,  Lawyer  Lightwood  !  I 
was  so  troubled  in  mind,  that  I  wouldn't  have 
knowed  more,  no,  not  for  the  sum  as  I  expect  to 
earn  from  you  by  the  sweat  of  my  brow,  twice 
told !  I  had  put  an  end  to  the  pardnership.  I 
had  cut  the  connection.  I  couldn't  undo  what 
was  done  ;  and  when  he  begs  and  prays,  '  Old 
pardner,  on  my  knees,  don't  split  upon  me !'  I 
only  makes  answer,  '  Never  speak  another  word 
to  Roger  Riderhood,  nor  look  him  in  the  face  !' 
and  I  shuns  that  man." 

Having  given  these  words  a  swing  to  make 
them  mount  the  higher  and  go  the  further,  Rogue 
Riderhood  poured  himself  out  another  glass  of 
wine  unbidden,  and  seemed  to  chew  it,  as,  with 
the  half-emptied  glass  in  his  hand,  he  stared  at 
the  candles. 

Mortimer  glanced  at  Eugene,  but  Eugene  sat 
glowering  at  his  paper,  and  would  give  him  no 
responsive  glance.  Mortimer  again  turned  to 
the  informer,  to  whom  he  said : 

' '  You  have  been  troubled  in  your  mind  a  long 
time,  man?" 

Giving  his  wine  a  final  chew,  and  swallowing 
it,  the  informer  answered  in  a  single  word : 

"Hages!" 

"  When  all  that  stir  was  made,  when  the  Gov- 
ernment reward  was  offered,  when  the  police 
were  on  the  alert,  when  the  whole  country  rang 
with  the  crime !"  said  Mortimer,  impatiently. 

"Hah!"  Mr.  Riderhood  very  slowly  and 
hoarsely  chimed  in,  with  several  retrospective 
nods  of  his  head.  "Warn't  I  troubled  in  my 
mind  then ! " 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


7<J 


"When  conjecture  ran  wild,  when  the  most 
extravagant  suspicions  were  afloat,  when  half  a 
dozen  innocent  people  might  have  been  laid  by 
the  heels  any  hour  in  the  day !"  said  Mortimer, 
almost  warming. 

"Hah!"  Mr.  Riderhood  chimed  in,  as  be- 
fore. "  Warn't  I  troubled  in  my  mind  through 
it  all !" 

"But  he  hadn't,"  said  Eugene,  drawing  a 
lady's  head  upon  his  writing-paper,  and  touch- 
ing it  at  intervals,  "the  opportunity  then  of 
earning  so  much  money,  you  see." 

"The T'other  Governor  hits  the  nail,  Lawyer 
Lightwood !  It  was  that  as  turned  me.  I  had 
many  times  and  again  struggled  to  relieve  my- 
self of  the  trouble  on  my  mind,  but  I  couldn't 
get  it  off.  I  had  once  very  nigh  got  it  off  to 
Miss  Abbey  Potterson  which  keeps  the  Six  Jolly 
Fellowships — there  is  the  'ouse,  it  won't  run 
away — there  lives  the  lady,  she  ain't  likely  to  be 
struck  dead.afore  you  get  there — ask  her! — but 
I  couldn't  do  it.  At  last,  out  comes  the  new 
bill  with  your  own  lawful  name,  Lawyer  Light- 
wood,  printed  to  it,  and  then  I  asks  the  question 
of  my  own  intellects,  Am  I  to  have  this  trouble 
on  my  mind  forever?  Am  I  never  to  throw  it 
off?  Am  I  always  to  think  more  of  Gaffer  than 
of  my  own  self?  If  he's  got  a  daughter,  ain't  / 
got  a  daughter?" 

"  And  echo  answered —  ?"  Eugene  suggested. 

"You  have,"  said  Mr.  Riderhood,  in  a  firm 
tone. 

"Incidentally  mentioning,  at  the  same  time, 
her  age  ?"  inquired  Eugene. 

"  Yes,  governor.  Two-and-twenty  last  Octo- 
ber. And  then  I  put  it  to  myself,  '  Regarding 
the  money.  It  is  a  pot  of  money.'  For  it  is  a 
pot,"  said  Mr.  Riderhood,  with  candor,  "and 
why  deny  it?" 

"Hear!"  from  Eugene,  as  he  touched  his 
drawing. 

"  '  It  is  a  pot  of  money ;  but  is  it  a  sin  for  a 
laboring  man  that  moistens  every  crust  of  bread 
he  earns  with  his  tears — or*  if  not  with  them, 
with  the  colds  he  catches  in  his  head — is  it  a  sin 
for  that  man  to  earn  it?  Say  there  is  any  thing 
again  earning  it.'  This  I  put  to  myself  strong, 
as  in  duty  bound ;  •  how  can  it  be  said  without 
blaming  Lawyer  Lightwood  for  offering  it  to  be 
earned  ?'  And  was  it  for  me  to  blame  Lawyer 
Lightwood?     No." 

"No,"  said  Eugene. 

"Certainly  not,  Governor,"  Mr.  Riderhood 
acquiesced.  "So  I  made  up  my  mind  to  get 
my  trouble  off  my  mind,  and  to  earn  by  the  sweat 
of  my  brow  what  was  held  out  to  me.  And 
what's  more,"  he  added,  suddenly  turning  blood- 
thirsty, "  I  mean  to  have  it !  And  now  I  tell  you, 
once  and  away,  Lawyer  Lightwood,  that  Jesse 
Hexam,  commonly  called  Gaffer,  his  hand  and 
no  other,  done  the  deed,  on  his  own  confession 
to  me.  And  I  give  him  up  to  you,  and  I  want 
him  took.     This  night !" 

After  another  silence,  broken  only  by  the  fall 
of  the  ashes  in  the  grate,  which  attracted  the  in- 
former's attention  as  if  it  were  the  chinking  of 
money,  Mortimer  Lightwood  leaned  over  his 
friend,  and  said,  in  a  whisper : 

"I  suppose  I  must  go  with  this  fellow  to  our 
imperturbable  friend  at  the  police-station." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Eugene,  "  there  is  no  help 
for  it." 


"  Do  you  believe  him  ?" 

"I  believe  him  to  be  a  thorough  rascal.  But 
he  may.  tell  the  truth  for  his  own  purpose,  and 
for  this  occasion  only." 

"It  doesn't  look  like  it." 

"i/e  doesn't,"  said  Eugene.  "But  neither 
is  his  late  partner,  whom  he  denounces,  a  pre- 
possessing person.  The  firm  are  cut-throat  Shep- 
herds both,  in  appearance,  I  should  like  to  ask 
him  one  thing." 

The  subject  of  this  conference  sat  leering  at 
the  ashes,  trying  with  all  his  might  to  overhear 
what  was  said,  but  feigning  abstraction  as  the 
"Governors  Both"  glanced  at  him. 

"You  mentioned  (twice,  I*think)  a  daughter 
of  this  Hexam' s,"  said  Eugene,  aloud.  "You 
don't  mean  to  imply  that  she  had  any  guilty 
knowledge  of  the  crime  ?" 

The  honest  man,  after  considering — perhaps 
considering  how  his  answer  might  affect  the 
fruits  of  the  sweat  of  his  brow — replied,  unre- 
servedly, "No,  I  don't." 

"  And  you  implicate  no  other  person  ?" 

"It  ain't  what  I  implicate,  it's  what  Gaffer 
implicated,"  was  the  dogged  and  determined  an- 
swer. "I  don't  pretend  to  know  more  than  that 
his  words  to  me  was,  '  I  done  it.'  Those  was 
his  words." 

"I  must  see  this  out,  Mortimer,"  whispered 
Eugene,  rising.     " How  shall  we  go?" 

"Let  us  walk,"  whispered  Lightwood,  "and 
give  this  fellow  time  to  think  of  it." 

Having  exchanged  the  question  and  answer, 
they  prepared  themselves  for  going  out,  and  Mr. 
Riderhood  rose.  While  extinguishing  the  can- 
dles, Lightwood,  quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  took 
up  the  glass  from  which  that  honest  gentleman 
had  drunk,  and  coolly  tossed  it  under  the  grate, 
where  it  fell  shivering  into  fragments. 

"Now,  if  you  will  take  the  lead,"  said  Light- 
wood,  "Mr.  Wrayburn  and  I  will  follow.  You 
know  where  to  go,  I  suppose  ?" 

"I  suppose  I  do,  Lawyer  Lightwood." 

"Take  the  lead,  then." 

The  water-side  character  pulled  his  drowned 
cap  over  his  ears  with  both  hands,  and  making 
himself  more  round-shouldered  than  nature  had 
made  him,  by  the  sullen  and  persistent  slouch 
with  which  he  went,  went  down  the  stairs,  round 
by  the  Temple  Church,  across  the  Temple  into 
Whitefriars,  and  so  on  by  the  water-side  streets. 

"Look  at  his  hang- dog  air,"  said  Lightwood, 
following. 

"It  strikes  me  rather  as  a  hang-wow  air,"  re- 
turned Eugene.  "He  has  undeniable  inten- 
tions that  way." 

They  said  little  else  as  they  followed.  He 
went  on  before  them  as  an  ugly  Fate  might  have 
done,  and  they  kept  him  in  view,  and  would  have 
been  glad  enough  to  lose  sight  of  him.  But  on 
he  went  before  them,  always  at  the  same  dis- 
tance, and  the  same  rate.  Aslant  against  the 
hard  implacable  weather  and  the  rough  wind, 
he  was  no  more  to  be  driven  back  than  hurried 
forward,  but  held  on  like,  an  advancing  Destiny. 
There  came,  when  they  were  about  midway  on 
their  journey,  a  heavy  rush  of  hail,  which  in  a 
few  minutes  pelted  the  streets  clear,  and  whiten- 
ed them.  It  made  no  difference  to  him.  A 
man's  life  being  to  be  taken  and  the  p»ice  of  it 
got,  the  hailstones  to  arrest  the  purpose  must 
lie  larger  and  deeper  than  those.     He  crushed 


SO 


OUK  MUTUAL  FRIEND 


through  them,  leaving  marks  in  the  fast-melting 
slush  that  were  mere  shapeless  holes ;  one  might 
have  fancied,  following,  that  the  very  fashion  of 
humanity  had  departed  from  his  feet. 

The  blast  went  by,  and  the  moon  contended 
with  the  fast-flying  clouds,  and  the  wild  disor- 
der reigning  up  there  made  the  pitiful  tumults 
in  the  streets  of  no  account.  It  was  not  that 
the  wind  swept  all  the  brawlers  into  places  of 
shelter,  as  it  had  swept  the  hail  still  lingering 
in  heaps  wherever  there  was  refuge  for  it;  but 
that  it  seemed  as  if  the  streets  were  absorbed  by 
the  sky,  and  the  night  were  all  in  the  air. 

"If  he  has  had  time  to  think  of  it,"  said  Eu- 
gene, "  he  has  notTiad  time  to  think  better  of  it 
— or  differently  of  it,  if  that's  better.  There  is 
no  sign  of  drawing  back  in  him ;  and  as  I  recol- 
lect this  place,  we  must  be  close  upon  the  corner 
where  we  alighted  that  night." 

In  fact,  a  few  abrupt  turns  brought  them  to 
the  river-side,  where  they  had  slipped  about 
among  the  stones,  and  where  they  now  slipped 
more ;  the  wind  coming  against  them  in  slants 
and  flaws,  across  the  tide  and  the  windings  of 
the  river,  in  a  furious  way.  With  that  habit 
of  getting  under  the  lee  of  any  shelter  which 
water-side  characters  acquire,  the  water-side 
character  at  present  in  question  led  the  way  to 
the  lee  side  of  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship  Porters 
before  he  spoke. 

"Look  round  here,  Lawyer  Lightwood,  at 
them  red  curtains.  It's  the  Fellowships,  the 
'ouse  as  I  told  you  wouldn't  run  away.  And 
has  it  run  away  ?" 

Not  showing  himself  much  impressed  by  this 
remarkable  confirmation  of  the  informer's  evi- 
dence, Lightwood  inquired  what  other  business 
they  had  there  ? 

"I  wished  you  to  see  the  Fellowships  for 
yourself,  Lawyer  Lightwood,  that  you  might 
judge  whether  I'm  a  liar ;  and  now  I'll  see 
Gaffer's  window  for  myself,  that  we  may  know 
whether  he's  at  home." 

With  that  he  crept  away. 

"He'll  come  back,  I  suppose?"  murmured 
Lightwood. 

"Ay!  and  go  through  with  it,"  murmured 
Eugene. 

He  came  back  after  a  very  short  interval  in- 
deed. 

"  Gaffer's  out,  and  his  boat's  out.  His  daugh- 
ter's at  home,  sitting  a-looking  at  the  fire.  But 
there's  some  supper  getting  ready,  so  Gaffer's 
expected.  I  can  find  what  move  he's  upon, 
easy  enough,  presently." 

Then  he  beckoned  and  led  the  way  again,  and 
they  came  to  the  police-station,  still  as  clean  and 
cool  and  steady  as  before,  saving  that  the  flame 
of  its  lamp — being  but  a  lamp-flame,  and  only 
attached  to  the  Force  as  an  outsider— flickered 
in  the  wind. 

Also,  within  doors,  Mr.  Inspector  was  at  his 
studies  as  of  yore.  He  recognized  the  friends 
the  instant  they  reappeared,  but  their  reappear- 
ance had  no  effect  on  his  composure.  Not  even 
the  circumstance  that  Riderhood  was  their  con- 
ductor moved  him,  otherwise  than  that  as  he 
took  a  dip  of  ink  he  seemed,  by  a  settlement  of 
his  chin  in  his  stock,  to  propound  to  that  per- 
sonage, without  looking  at  him,  the  question, 
"What  have  you  been  up  to  last?" 

Mortimer  Lightwood  asked  him,  would  he  be 


so  good  as  look  at  those  notes  ?     Handing  him 
Eugene's. 

Having  read  the  first  few  lines,  Mr.  Inspector 
mounted  to  that  (for  him)  extraordinary  pitch 
of  emotion  that  he  said,  "Does  either  of  you 
two  gentlemen  happen  to  have  a  pinch  of  snuff 
about  him  ?"  Finding  that  neither  had,  he  did 
quite  as  well  without  it,  and  read  on. 

"Have  you  heard  these  read?"  he  then  de- 
manded of  the  honest  man. 

"No,"  said  Riderhood. 

"Then  you  had  better  hear  them."  And  so 
read  them  aloud  in  an  official  manner. 

' '  Are  these  notes  correct,  now,  as  to  the  in- 
formation you  bring  here  and  the  evidence  you 
mean  to  give?"  he  asked,  when  he  had  finished 
reading. 

"They  are.  They  are  as  correct,"  returned 
Mr.  Riderhood,  "as  I  am.  I  can't  say  more 
than  that  for  'em." 

"I'll  take  this -man  myself,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  In- 
spector to  Lightwood.  Then  to  Riderhood,  "  Is 
he  at  home  ?  Where  is  he  ?  What's  he  doing  ? 
You  have  made  it  your  business  to  know  all  about 
him,  no  doubt." 

Riderhood  said  what  he  did  know,  and  prom- 
ised to  find  out  in  a  few  minutes  what  he  didn't 
know. 

"Stop,"  said  Mr.  Inspector;  "not  till  I  tell 
you.  We  mustn't  look  like  business.  Would 
you  two  gentlemen  object  to  making  a  pretense 
of  taking  a  glass  of  something  in  my  company 
at  the  Fellowships  ?  Well-conducted  house,  and 
highly  respectable  landlady." 

They  replied  that  they  would  be  happy  to 
substitute  a  reality  for  the  pretense,  which,  in 
the  main,  appeared  to  be  as  one  with  Mr.  In- 
spector's meaning. 

"Very  good,"  said  he,  taking  his  hat  from 
its  peg,  and  putting  a  pair  of  handcuffs  in  his 
pocket  as  if  they  were  his  gloves.  "Reserve!" 
Reserve  saluted.  "  You  know  where  to  find 
me?"  Reserve  again  saluted.  "Riderhood, 
when  you  have  found  out  concerning  his  com- 
ing home,  come  round  to  the  window  of  Cosy, 
tap  twice  at  it,  and  wait  for  me.  Now,  gentle- 
men." 

As  the  three  went  out  together,  and  Riderhood 
slouched  off' from  under  the  trembling  lamp  his 
separate  way,  Lightwood  asked  the  officer  what 
he  thought  of  this? 

Mr.  Inspector  replied,  with  due  generality  and 
reticence,  that  it  was  always  more  likely  that  a 
man  had  done  a  bad  thing  than  that  he  hadn't. 
That  he  himself  had  several  times  "reckoned 
up"  Gaffer,  but  had  never  been  able  to  brfng 
him  to  a  satisfactory  criminal  total.  That  if  this 
story  was  true,  it  was  only  in  part  true.  That 
the  two  men,  very  shy  characters,  would  have 
been  jointly  and  pretty  equally  "  in  it ;"  but  that 
this  man  had  "spotted"  the  other,  to  save  him- 
self and  get  the  money. 

"And  I  think,"  added  Mr.  Inspector,  in  con- 
clusion, "that  if  all  goes  well  with  him,  he's  in 
a  tolerable  way  of  getting  it.  But  as  this  is  the 
Fellowships,  gentlemen,  where  the  lights  are,  I 
recommend  dropping  the  subject.  You  can't  do 
better  than  be  interested  in  some  lime  works 
any  where  down  about  Northfleet,  and  doubtful 
whether  some  of  your  lime  don't  get  into  bad 
company,  as  it  comes  up  in  barges." 

"You  hear,  Eugene?"  said  Lightwood,  over 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


81 


his  shoulder.     "You  are  deeply  interested  in 
lime." 

"Without  lime,"  returned  that  unmoved  bar- 
rister-at-law,  "my  existence  would  be  unillu- 
minated  by  a  ray  of  hope." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

TRACKING  THE   BIRD   OF   PREY. 

The  two  lime  merchants,  with  their  escort, 
entered  the  dominions  of  Miss  Abbey  Potterson, 
to  whom  their  escort  (presenting  them  and  their 
pretended  business  over  the  half-door  of  the  bar 
in  a  confidential  way)  preferred  his  figurative 
request  that  "a  mouthful  of  fire"  might  be 
lighted  in  Cosy.  Always  well  disposed  to  assist 
the  constituted  authorities,  Miss  Abbey  bade 
Bob  Gliddery  attend  the  gentlemen  to  that  re- 
treat, and  promptly  enliven  it  with  fire  and  gas- 
light. Of  this  commission  the  bare-armed  Bob, 
leading  the  way  with  a  flaming  wisp  of  paper,  so 
speedily  acquitted  himself,  that  Cosy  seemed  to 
leap  out  of  a  dark  sleep  and  embrace  them  warm- 
ly the  moment  they  passed  the  lintels  of  its  hos- 
pitable door. 

"They  burn  sherry  very  well  here,"  said  Mr. 
Inspector,  as  a  piece  of  local  intelligence.  "  Per- 
haps you  gentlemen  might  like  a  bottle  ?" 

The  answer  being  By  all  means,  Bob  Gliddery 
received  his  instructions  from  Mr.  Inspector,  and 
departed  in  a  becoming  state  of  alacrity  engen- 
dered by  reverence  for  the  majesty  of  the  law. 

"It's  a  certain  fact,"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  "that 
this  man  we  have  received  our  information  from," 
indicating  Riderhood  with  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder,  "has  for  some  time  past  given  the 
other  man  a  bad  name  arising  out  of  your  lime 
barges,  and  that  the  other  man  has  been  avoided 
in  consequence.  I  don't  say  what  it  means  or 
proves,  but  it's  a  certain  fact.  I  had  it  first  from 
one  of  the  opposite  sex  of  my  acquaintance," 
vaguely  indicating  Miss  Abbey  with  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder,  "down  away  at  a  distance, 
over  yonder." 

Then  probably  Mr.  Inspector  was  not  quite 
unprepared  for  their  visit  that  evening?  Light- 
wood  hinted. 

"Well  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  "it  was 
a  question  of  making  a  move.  It's  of  no  use 
moving  if  you  don't  know  what  your  move  is. 
You  had  better  by  far  keep  still.  In  the  matter 
of  this  lime,  I  certainly  had  an  idea  that  it  might 
lie  between  the  two  men;  I  always  had  that 
idea.  Still  I  was  forced  to  wait  for  a  start,  and 
I  wasn't  so  lucky  as  to  get  a  start.  This  man 
that  we  have  received  our  information  from  has 
got  a  start,  and  if  he  don't  meet  with  a  check  he 
may  make  the  running  and  come  in  first.  There 
may  turn  out  to  be  something  considerable  for 
him  that  comes  in  second,  and  I  don't  mention 
who  may  or  who  may  not  try  for  that  place. 
There's  duty  to  do,  and  I  shall  do  it,  under  any 
circumstances,  to  the  best  of  my  judgment  and 
ability." 

"Speaking  as  a  shipper  of  lime — "  began 
Eugene. 

"Which  no  man  has  a  better  right  to  do  than 
yourself,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Inspector. 

"I  hope  not,*"  said  Eugene ;  ' '  my  father  hav- 
ing been  a  shipper  of  lime  before  me,  and  my 
F 


grandfather  before  him — in  fact  we  having  been 
a  family  immersed  to  the  crowns  of  our  heads  in 
lime  during  several  generations — I  beg  to  ob- 
serve that  if  this  missing  lime  could  be  got  hold 
of  without  any  young  female  relative  of  any  dis- 
tinguished gentleman  engaged  in  the  lime  trade 
(which  I  cherish  next  to  my  life)  being  present, 
I  think  it  might  be  a  more  agreeable  proceeding 
to  the  assisting  by-standers,  that  is  to  say,  lime- 
burners." 

"I also,"  said  Lightwood,  pushing  his  friend 
aside  with  a  laugh,  "should  much  prefer  that." 

"It  shall  be  done,  gentlemen,  if  it  can  be  done 
conveniently,"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  with  coolness. 
"There  is  no  wish  on  my  part  to  cause  any  dis- 
tress in  that  quarter.  Indeed,  I  am  sorry  for 
that  quarter." 

"There  was  a  boy  in  that  quarter,"  remarked 
Eugene.     "  He  is  still  there  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Inspector.  "  He  has  quitted 
those  works.     He  is  otherwise  disposed  of." 

"Will  she  be  left  alone  then?"  asked  Eu- 
gene. 

"She  will  be  left,"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  "alone." 

Bob's  reappearance  with  a  steaming  jug  broke 
off  the  conversation.  But  although  the  jug 
steamed  forth  a  delicious  perfume,  its  contents 
had  not  received  that  last  happy  touch  which  the 
surpassing  finish  of  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship 
Porters  imparted  on  such  momentous  occasions. 
Bob  carried  in  his  left  hand  one  of  those  iron 
models  of  sugar-loaf  hats,  before  mentioned, 
into  which  he  emptied  the  jug,  and  the  pointed 
end  of  which  he  thrust  deep  down  into  the  fire, 
so  leaving  it  for  a  few  moments  while  he  disap- 
peared and  reappeared  with  three  bright  drink- 
ing-glasses.  Placing  these  on  the  table  and 
bending  over  the  fire,  meritoriously  sensible  of 
the  trying  nature  of  his  duty,  he  watched  the 
wreaths  of  steam,  until  at  the  special  instant  of 
projection  he  caught  up  the  iron  vessel  and  gave 
it  one  delicate  twirl,  causing  it  to  send  forth  one 
gentle  hiss.  Then  he  restored  the  contents  to 
the  jug ;  held  over  the  steam  of  the  jug  each  of 
the  three  bright  glasses  in  succession  ;  finally 
filled  them  all,  and  with  a  clear  conscience 
awaited  the  applause  of  his  fellow-creatures. 

It  was  bestowed  (Mr.  Inspector  having  pro- 
posed as  an  appropriate  sentiment  "The  lime 
trade!"),  and  Bob  withdrew  to  report  the  com- 
mendations of  the  guests  to  Miss  Abbey  in  the 
bar.  It  may  be  here  in  confidence  admitted 
that,  the  room  being  close  shut  in  his  absence, 
there  had  not  appeared  to  be  the  slightest  rea- 
son for  the  elaborate  maintenance  of  this  same 
lime  fiction.  Only  it  had  been  regarded  by 
Mr.  Inspector  as  so  uncommonly  satisfactory, 
and  so  fraught  with  mysterious  virtues,  that 
neither  of  his  clients  had  presumed  to  ques- 
tion it. 

Two  taps  were  now  heard  on  the  outside  of 
the  window.  Mr.  Inspector,  hastily  fortifying 
himself  with  another  glass,  strolled  out  with  a 
noiseless  foot  and  an  unoccupied  countenance. 
As  one  might  go  to  survey  the  weather  and  the 
general  aspect  of  the  heavenly  bodies. 

"This  is  becoming  grim,  Mortimer,"  said  Eu- 
gene, in  a  low  voice.     "  I  don't  like  this." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Lightwood.     "  Shall  we  go  ?" 

"  Being  here,  let  us  stay.  You  ought  to  see 
it  out,  and  I  won't  leave  you.  Besides,  that 
lonely  girl  with  the  dark  hair  runs  in  my  head. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


It  was  little  more  than  a  glimpse  we  had  of  her 
that  last  time,  and  yet  I  almost  see  her  waiting 
hy  the  fire  to-night.  Do  you  feel  like  a  dark 
combination  of  traitor  and  pickpocket  when  you 
think  of  that  girl  ?" 

"  Rather,"  returned  Lightwood.    "  Do  you?" 

"Very  much  so." 

Their  escort  strolled  back  again,  and  report- 
ed. Divested  of  its  various  lime-lights  and 
shadows,  his  report  went  to  the  effect  that  Gaf- 
fer was  away  in  his  boat,  supposed  to  be  on  his 
old  look-out ;  that  he  had  been  expected  last 
high-water  ;  that  having  missed  it  for  some  rea- 
son or  otherj  he  was  not,  according  to  his  usual 
habits  at  night,  to  be  counted  on  before  next 
high-water,  or  it  might  be  an  hour  or  so  later ; 
that  his  daughter,  surveyed  through  the  win- 
dow, would  seem  to  be  so  expecting  him,  for 
the  supper  was  not  cooking,  but  set  out  ready  to 
be  cooked ;  that  it  would  be  high-water  at  about 
one,  and  that  it  was  now  barely  ten  ;  that  there 
was  nothing  to  be  done  but  watch  and  wait ;  that 
the  informer  was  keeping  watch  at  the  instant 
of  that  present  reporting,  but  that  two  heads 
were  better  than  one  (especially  when  the  sec- 
ond was  Mr.  Inspector's) ;  and  that  the  reporter 
meant  to  share  the  watch.  And  forasmuch  as 
crouching  under  the  lee  of  a  hauled-up  boat  on 
a  night  when  it  blew  cold  and  strong,  and  when 
the  weather  was  varied  with  blasts  of  hail  at 
times,  might  be  wearisome  to  amateurs,  the  re- 
porter closed  with  the  recommendation  that  the 
two  gentlemen  should  remain  figr  a  while,  at  any 
rate,  in  their  present  quarters,  which  were  weath- 
er-tight and  warm. 

They  were  not  inclined  to  dispute  this  rec- 
ommendation, but  they  wanted  to  know  where 
they  could  join  the  watchers  when  so  disposed. 
Rather  than  trust  to  a  verbal  description  of  the 
place,  which  might  mislead,  Eugene  (with  a  less 
weighty  sense  of  personal  trouble  on  him  than 
he  usually  had)  would  go  out  with  Mr.  Inspect- 
or, note  the  spot,  and  come  back. 

On  the  shelving  bank  of  the  river,  among  the 
slimy  stones  of  a  causeway — not  the  special 
causeway  of  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowships,  which 
had  a  landing-place  of  its  own,  but  another,  a 
little  removed,  and  very  near  to  the  old  wind- 
mill which  was  the  denounced  man's  dwelling- 
place — were  a  few  boats  ;  some,  moored  and  al-* 
ready  beginning  to  float ;  others,  hauled  up  above 
the  reach  of  the  tide.  Under  one  of  these  latter 
Eugene's  companion  disappeared.  And  when 
Eugene  had  observed  its  position  with  reference 
to  the  other  boats,  and  had  made  sure  that  he 
could  not  miss  it,  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  the 
building  where,  as  he  had  been  told,  the  lonely 
girl  with  the  dark  hair  sat  by  the  fire. 

He  could  see  the"  light  of  the  fire  shining 
through  the  window.  Perhaps  it  drew  him  on 
to  look  in.  Perhaps  he  had  come  out  with  the 
express  intention.  That  part  of  the  bank  hav- 
ing rank  grass  growing  op  it,  there  was  no  diffi- 
culty in  getting  close  without  any  noise  of  foot- 
steps :  it  was  but  to  scramble  up  a  ragged  face 
of  pretty  hard  mud  some  three  or  four  feet  high, 
and  come  upon  the  grass  and  to  the  window. 
He  came  to  the  window  by  that  means. 

She  had  no  other  light  than  the  light  of  the 
fire.  The  unkindled  lamp  stood  on  the  table. 
She  sat  on  the  ground,  looking  at  the  brazier, 
with  her  face  leaning  on  her  hand.     There  was 


a  kind  of  film  or  flicker  on  her  face,  which  at 
first  he  took  to  be  the  fitful  fire-light ;  but,  on  a 
second  look,  he  saw  that  she  was  weeping.  A 
sad  and  solitary  spectacle,  as  shown  him  by  the 
rising  and  the  falling  of  the  fire. 

It  was  a  little  window  of  but  four  pieces  of 
glass,  and  was  not  curtained;  he  chose  it  be- 
cause the  larger  window  near  it  was.  It  show- 
ed him  the  room,  and  the  bills  upon  the  wall 
respecting  the  drowned  people  starting  out  and 
receding  by  turns.  But  he  glanced  slightly  at 
them,  though  he  looked  long  and  steadily  at 
her.  A  deep  rich  piece  of  color,  with  the  brown 
flush  of  her  cheek  and  the  shining  lustre  of  her 
hair,  though  sad  and  solitary,  weeping  by  the 
rising  and  the  falling  of  the  fire. 

She  started  up.  He  had  been  so  very  still 
that  he  felt  sure  it  was"  not  he  who  had  disturb- 
ed her,  so  merely  withdrew  from  the  window 
and  stood  near  it  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall. 
She  opened  the  door,  and  said,  in  an  alarmed 
tone,  "  Father,  was  that  you  calling  me?"  And 
again,  "Father!"  And  once  again,  after  list- 
ening, "  Father !  I  thought  I  heard  you  call  me 
twice  before!" 

No  response.  As  she  re-entered  at  the  door 
he  dropped  over  the  bank  and  made  his  way 
back,  among  the  ooze  and  near  the  hiding-place, 
to  Mortimer  Lightwood :  to  whom  he  told  what 
he  had  seen  of  the  girl,  and  how  this  was  be- 
coming very  grim  indeed. 

"  If  the  real  man  feels  as  guilty  as  I  do,"  said 
Eugene,  "he  is  remarkably  uncomfortable." 

"Influence  of  secrecy, "suggested  Lightwood. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  obliged  to  it  for  making  me 
Guy  Fawkes  in  the  vault  and  a  Sneak  in  the 
area  both  at  once,"  said  Eugene.  "Give  me 
some  more  of  that  stuff." 

Lightwood  helped  him  to  some  more  of  that 
stuff,  but  it  had  been  cooling,  and  didn't  answer 
now. 

"Pooh,"  said  Eugene,  spitting  it  out  among 
the  ashes.     "Tastes  like  the  wash  of  the  river." 

"Are  you  so  familiar  with  the  flavor  of  the 
wash  of  the  river?" 

"I  seem  to  be  to-night.  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
been  half  drowned,  and  swallowing  a  gallon  of 
it." 

"  Influence  of  locality,"  suggested  Lightwood. 
•  "You  are  mighty  learned  to-night,  you  and 
your  influences,"  returned  Eugene.  "How  long 
do  we  stay  here  ?" 

"  How  long  do  you  think?" 

"If  I  could  choose,  I  should  say  a  minute," 
replied  Eugene,  "for  the  Jolly  Fellowship  Por- 
ters are  not  the  jolliest  dogs  I  have  known.  But 
I  suppose  we  are  best  here  until  they  turn  us  out 
with  the  other  suspicious  characters,  at  mid- 
night." 

Thereupon  he  stirred  the  fire,  and  sat  down 
on  one  side  of  it.  It  struck  eleven,  and  he 
made  believe  to  compose  himself  patiently.  But 
gradually  he  took  the  fidgets  in  one  leg,  and 
then  in  the  other  leg,  and  then  in  one  arm,  and 
then  in  the  other  arm,  and  then  in  his  chin,  and 
then  in  his  back,  and  then  in  his  forehead,  and 
then  in  his  hair,  and  then  in  his  nose  ;  and  then 
he  stretched  himself  recumbent  on  two  chairs, 
and  groaned ;  and  then  he  started  up. 

"Invisible  insects  of  diabolical  activity  swarm 
in  this  place.  I  am  tickled  and  twitched  all 
over.     Mentally,  I  have  now  committed  a  bur- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


WAITING  FOR   FATHER. 


glary  under  the  meanest  circumstances,  and  the 
myrmidons  of  justice  are  at  my  heels." 

"I  am  quite  as  bad,"  said  Lightwood,  sitting 
up  facing  him,  with  a  tumbled  head,  after  going 
through  some  wonderful  evolutions,  in  which 
his  head  had  been  jhe  lowest  part  of  him.  "This 
restlessness  began,  with  me,  long  ago.  All  the 
time  you  were  out  I  felt  like  Gulliver  with  the 
Liliputians  firing  upon  him." 

"It  won't  do,  Mortimer.  We  must  get  into 
the  air;  we  must  join  our  dear  friend  and  broth- 
er, Riderhood.  And  let  us  tranquilize  ourselves 
by  making  a  compact.  Next  time  (with  a  view 
to  our  peace  of  mind)  we'll  commit  the  crime, 
instead  of  taking  the  criminal.    You  swear  it  ?" 

"Certainly." 


"  Sworn!  Let  Tippins  look  to  it.  Her  life's 
in  danger." 

Mortimer  rang  the  bell  to  pay  the  score,  and 
Bob  appeared  to  transact  that  business  with  him : 
whom  Eugene,  in  his  careless  extravagance,  ask- 
ed if  he  would  like  a  situation  in  the  lime-trade  ? 

"Thankee  Sir,  no  Sir,"  said  Bob.  "I've  a 
good  sitiwation  here,  Sir." 

"If  you  change  your  mind  at  any  time,"  re- 
turned Eugene,  "come  to  me  at  my  works,  and 
you'll  always  find  an  opening  in  the  lime-kiln." 

"Thankee  Sir,"  said  Bob. 

"This  is  my  partner,"  said  Eugene,  "who 
keeps  the  books  and  attends  to  the  wages.  A 
fair  day's  wages  for  a  fair  day's  work  is  ever  my 
partner's  motto." 


84 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  And  a  very  good  'un  it  is,  gentlemen,"  said 
Bob,  receiving  his  fee,  and  drawing  a  bow  out 
of  his  head  with  his  right  hand,  very  much  as 
he  would  have  drawn  a  pint  of  beer  out  of  the 
beer  engine. 

"Eugene,"  Mortimer  apostrophized  him, 
laughing  quite  heartily  when  they  were  alone 
again,  "how  can  you  be  so  ridiculous?" 

"I  am  in  a  ridiculous  humor,"  quoth  Eugene  ; 
"I  am  a  ridiculous  fellow.  Every  thing  is  ri- 
diculous. Come  along!" 
■  It  passed  into  Mortimer  Lightwood's  mind 
that  a  change  of  some  sort,  best  expressed  per- 
haps as  an  intensification  of  all  that  was  wildest 
and  most  negligent  and  reckless  in  his  friend, 
had  come  upon  him  in  the  last  half  hour  or  so. 
Thoroughly  used  to  him  as  he  was,  he  found 
something  new  and  strained  in  him  that  was  for 
the  moment  perplexing.  This  passed  into  his 
mind,  and  passed  out  again ;  but  he  remember- 
ed it  afterward. 

"There's  where  she  sits,  you  see,"  said  Eu- 
gene, when  they  were  standing  under  the  bank, 
roared  and  riven  at  by  the  wind.  "There's  the 
light  of  her  fire." 

"I'll  take  a  peep  through  the  window,"  said 
Mortimer. 

"No,  don't!"  Eugene  caught  him  by  the 
arm.  "Best  not  make  a  show  of  her.  Come 
to  our  honest  friend." 

He  led  him  to  the  post  of  watch,  and  they 
both  dropped  down  and  crept  under  the  lee  of 
the  boat;  a  better  shelter  than  it  had  seemed, 
before  being  directly  contrasted  with  the  blowing 
wind  and  the  bare  night. 

"  Mr.  Inspector  at  home  ?"  whispered  Eugene. 

"Here  I  am,  Sir." 

"And  our  friend  of  the  perspiring  brow  is  at 
the  far  corner  there?  Good.  Any  thing  hap- 
pened ?" 

"His  daughter  has  been  out,  thinking  she 
heard  him  calling,  unless  it  was  a  sign  to  him 
to  keep  out  of  the  way.     It  might  have  been." 

"It  might  have  been  Rule  Britannia,"  mut- 
tered Eugene,  " but  it  wasn't.     Mortimer!" 

"  Here !"  (On  the  other  side  of  Mr.  Inspector  ) 

"Two  burglaries  now,  and  a  forgery!" 

With  this  indication  of  his  depressed  state  of 
mind  Eugene  fell  silent. 

They  were  all  silent  for  a  long  while.  As  it 
got  to  be  flood-tide,  and  the  water  came  nearer 
to  them,  noises  on  the  river  became  more  fre- 
quent, and  they  listened  more.  To  the  turning 
of  steam-paddles,  to  the  clinking  of  iron  chain, 
to  the  creaking  of  blocks,  to  the  measured  work- 
ing of  oars,  to  the  occasional  violent  barking  of 
some  passing  dog  on  shipboard,  who  seemed  to 
scent  them  lying  in  their  hiding-place.  The 
night  was  not  so  dark  but  that,  besides  the  lights 
at  bows  and  mast-heads  gliding  to  and  fro,  they 
could  discern  some  shadowy  bulk  attached ;  and 
now  and  then  a  ghostly  lighter  with  a  large  dark 
sail,  like  a  warning  arm,  would  start  up  very 
near  them,  pass  on,  and  vanish.  At  this  time 
of  their  watch  the  water  close  to  them  would  be 
often  agitated  by  some  impulsion  given  it  from 
a  distance.  Often  they  believed  this  beat  and 
plash  to  be  the  boat  they  lay  in  wait  for,  running 
in  ashore ;  and  again  and  again  they  would  have 
started  up,  but  for  the  immobility  with  which 
the  informer,  well  used  to  the  river,  kept  quiet 
in  his  place. 


The  wind  carried  away  the  striking  of  the 
great  multitude  of  city  church  clocks,  for  those 
lay  to  leeward  of  them ;  but  there  were  bells  to 
windward  that  told  them  of  its  being  One — Two 
— Three.  Without  that  aid  they  would  have 
known  how  the  night  wore  by  the  falling  of  the 
tide,  recorded  in  the  appearance  of  an  ever-wid- 
ening black  wet  strip  of  shore,  and  the  emerg- 
ence of  the  paved  causeway  from  the  river,  foot 
by  foot. 

As  the  time  so  passed,  this  slinking  business 
became  a  more  and  more  precarious  one.  It 
would  seem  as  if  the  man  had  had  some  intima- 
tion of  what  was  in  hand  against  him,  or  had 
taken  fright  ?  His  movements  might  have  been 
planned  to  gain  for  him,  in  getting  beyond  their 
reach,  twelve  hours'  advantage?  The  honest 
man  who  had  expended  the  sweat  of  his  brow 
became  uneasy,  and  began  to  complain  with  bit- 
terness of  the  proneness  of  mankind  to  cheat  him 
— him  invested  with  the  dignity  of  Labor ! 

Their  retreat  was  so  chosen  that  while  they 
could  watch  the  river  they  could  watch  the  house. 
No  one.  had  passed  in  or  out  since  the  daughter 
thought  she  heard  the  father  calling.  No  one 
could  pass  in  or  out  without  being  seen. 

"But  it  will  be  light  at  five,"  said  Mr.  In- 
spector, "and  then  we  shall  be  seen." 

"Look  here,"  said  Riderhood,  "what  do  you 
say  to  this  ?  He  may  have  been  lurking  in  and 
out,  and  just  holding  his  own  between  two  or 
three  bridges  for  hours  back." 

"What  do  you  make  of  that?"  said  Mr.  In- 
spector ;  stoical,  but  contradictory. 

"  He  may  be  doing  so  at  this  present  time." 

"What  do  you  make  of  that?"  said  Mr.  In- 
spector. 

"My  boat's  among  them  boats  here  at  the 
cause' ay." 

"And  what  do  you  make  of  your  boat?"  said 
Mr  Inspector. 

"  What  if  I  put  off  in  her  and  take  a  look 
round  ?  I  know  his  ways,  and  the  likely  nooks 
he  favors.  I  know  where  he'd  be  at  such  a  time 
of  the  tide,  and  where  he'd  be  at  such  another 
time.  Ain't  I  been  his  pardner  ?  None  of  you 
need  show.  None  of  you  need  stir.  I  can  shove 
her  off  without  help  ;  and  as  to  me  being  seen, 
I'm  about  at  all  times." 

"You  might  have  given  a  worse  opinion,"  said 
Mr.  Inspector,  after  brief  consideration.  "  Tryit." 

"Stop  a  bit.  Let's  work  it  out.  If  I  want 
you,  I'll  drop  round  under  the  Fellowships  and 
tip  you  a  whistle." 

"If  I  might  so  far  presume  as  to  offer  a  sug- 
gestion to  my  honorable  and  gallant  friend, 
whose  knowledge  of  naval  matters  far  be  it  from 
me  to  impeach,"  Eugene  struck  in  with  great 
deliberation,  "it  would  be,  that  to  tip  a  whistle 
is  to  advertise  mystery  and  invite  speculation. 
My  honorable  and  gallant  friend  will,  I  trust, 
excuse  me,  as  an  independent  member,  for  throw- 
ing out  a  remark  which  1  feel  to  be  due  to  this 
house  and  the  country." 

"Was  that  the  T'other  Governor,  or  Lawyer 
Lightwood?"  asked  Riderhood;  for  they  spoke, 
as  they  crouched  or  lay,  without  seeing  one  an- 
other's faces. 

"  In  reply  to  the  question  put  by  my  honora- 
ble and  gallant  friend,"  said  Eugene,  who  was 
I  lying  on  his  back  with  his  hat  on  his  face,  as  an 
[  attitude  highly  expressive  of  watchfulness,  "I 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


85 


can  have  no  hesitation  in  replying  (it  not  being  in- 
consistent with  the  public  service)  that  those  ac- 
cents were  the  accents  of  the  T'other  Governor." 

"You've  tolerable  good  eyes,  ain't  you,  Gov- 
ernor? You've  all  tolerable  good  eyes,  ain't 
you?"  demanded  the  informer. 

All. 

"  Then  if  I  row  up  under  the  Fellowships  and 
lay  there,  no  need  to  whistle.  You'll  make  out 
that  there's  a  speck  of  something  or  another 
there,  and  you'll  know  it's  me,  and  you'll  come 
down  that  cause'ay  to  me.     Understood  all  ?" 

Understood  all. 

"Off  she  goes  then!" 

In  a  moment,  with  the  wind  cutting  keenly 
at  him  sideways,  he  was  staggering  down  to  his 
boat ;  in  a  few  moments  he  was  clear,  and  creep- 
ing up  the  river  under  their  own  shore. 

Eugene  had  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  to 
look  into  the  darkness  after  him.  "I  wish  the 
boat  of  my  honorable  and  gallant  friend,"  he 
murmured,  lying  down  again  and  speaking  into 
his  hat,  "may  be  endowed  with  philanthropy 
enough  to  turn  bottom  upward  and  extinguish 
him! — Mortimer." 

"My  honorable  friend." 

"Three  burglaries,  two  forgeries,  and  a  mid- 
night assassination." 

Yet,  in  spite  of  having  those  weights  on  his 
conscience,  Eugene  was  somewhat  enlivened  by 
the  late  slight  change  in  the  circumstances  of 
affairs.  So  were  his  two  companions.  "Its  be- 
ing a  change  was  every  thing.  The  suspense 
seemed  to  have  taken  a  new  lease,  and  to  have 
begun  afresh  from  a  recent  date.  There  was 
something  additional  to  look  for.  They  were  all 
three  more  sharply  on  the  alert,  and  less  dead- 
ened by  the  miserable  influences  of  the  place  and 
time. 

More  than  an  hour  had  passed,  and  they  were 
even  dozing,  when  one  of  the  three — each  said 
it  was  he,  and  he  had  not  dozed — made  out  Ri- 
derhood  in  his  boat  at  the  spot  agreed  on.  They 
sprang  up,  came  out  from  their  shelter,  and  went 
down  to  him.  When  he  saw  them  coming  he 
dropped  alongside  the  causeway ;  so  that  they, 
standing  on  the  causeway,  could  speak  with  him 
in  whispers,  under  the  shadowy  mass  of  the  Six 
Jolly  Fellowship  Porters  fast  asleep. 

"  Blest  if  I  can  make  it  out !"  said  he,  staring 
at  them. 

"  Make  what  out  ?    Have  you  seen  him  ?" 

"No." 

"What  have  you  seen?"  asked  Lightwood; 
for  he  was  staring  at  them  in  the  strangest  way. 

"I've'  seen  his  boat." 

"Not  empty?" 

"Yes,  empty.  And  what's  more, —adrift. 
And  what's  more, — with  one  scull  gone.  And 
what's  more, — with  t'other  scull  jammed  in  the 
thowels  and  broke  short  off.  And  what's  more, 
— the  boat's  drove  tight  by  the  tide  'atwixt  two 
tiers  of  barges.  And  what's  more, — he's  in  luck 
again,  by  George  if  he  ain't !" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   BIRD   OF  PREY  BROUGHT  DOWN. 

Cold  on  the  shore,  in  the  raw  cold  of  that 
leaden  crisis  in  the  four-and-twenty  hours  when 


the  vital  force  of  all  the  noblest  and  prettiest 
things  that  live  is  at  its  lowest,  the  three  watch- 
ers looked  each  at  the  blank  faces  of  the  other 
two,  and  all  at  the  blank  face  of  Riderhood  in 
his  boat. 

"Gaffer's  boat,  Gaffer  in  luck  again,  and  yet 
no  Gaffer!"  So  spake  Riderhood,  staring  dis- 
consolate. 

As  if  with  one  accord,  they  all  turned  their 
eyes  toward  the  light  of  the  fire  shining  through 
the  window.  It  was  fainter  and  duller.  Per- 
haps fire,  like  the  higher  animal  and  vegetable 
life  it  helps  to  sustain,  has  its  greatest  tendency 
toward  death,  when  the  night  is  dying  and  the 
day  is  not  yet  born. 

"  If  it  was  me  that  had  the  law  of  this  here 
job  in  hand,"  growled  Riderhood  with  a  threat- 
ening shake  of  his  head,  "  blest  if  I  wouldn't  lay 
hold  of  her,  at  any  rate !" 

"Ay,  but  it  is  not  you,"  said  Eugene.  With 
something  so  suddenly  fierce  in  him  that  the  in- 
former returned,  submissively :  "  Well,  well,  well, 
t'other  governor,  I  didn't  say  it  was.  A  man 
may  speak." 

"And  vermin  may  be  silent,"  said  Eugene. 
"Hold  your  tongue,  you  water-rat!" 

Astonished  by  his  friend's  unusual  heat,  Light- 
wood  stared  too,  and  then  said :  ' '  What  can  have 
become  of  this  man?" 

1 '  Can't  imagine.  Unless  he  dived  overboard. " 
The  informer  wiped  his  brow  ruefully  as  he  said 
it,  sitting  in  his  boat  and  always  staring  discon- 
solate. 

"  Did  you  make  his  boat  fast  ?" 

"  She's  fast  enough  till  the  tide  runs  back.  I 
couldn't  make  her  faster  than  she  is.  Come 
aboard  of  mine,  and  see  for  your  ownselves." 

There  was  a  little  backwardness  in  comply- 
ing, for  the  freight  looked  tSo  much  for  the  boat ; 
but  on  Riderhood's  protesting  '  •  that  he  had  had 
half  a  dozen,  dead  and  alive,  in  her  afore  now, 
and  she  was  nothing  deep  in  the  water  nor  down 
in  the  stern  even  then,  to  speak  of,"  they  care- 
fully took  their  places,  and  trimmed  the  crazy 
thing.  While  they  were  doing  so,  Riderhood 
still  sat  staring  disconsolate. 

"All  right.     Give  way !"  said  Lightwood. 

"  Give  way,  by  George !"  repeated  Riderhood, 
before  shoving  off.  "  If  he's  gone  and  made  off 
any  how  Lawyer  Lightwood,  it's  enough  to  make 
me  give  way  in  a  different  manner.  But  he  al- 
ways was  a  cheat,  con-found  him!  He  always 
was  a  infernal  cheat,  was  Gaffer.  Nothing 
straightfbr'ard,  nothing  on  the  square.  So 
mean,  so  underhanded.  Never  going  through 
with  a  thing,  nor  carrying  it  out  like  a  man  !" 

"  Halloo !  Steady !"  cried  Eugene  (he  had  re- 
covered immediately  on  embarking),  as  they 
bumped  heavily  against  a  pile ;  and  then  in  a 
lower  voice  reversed  his  late  apostrophe  by  re- 
marking ("I  wish  the  boat  of  my  honorable  and 
gallant  friend  may  be  endowed  with  philanthro- 
py enough  not  to  turn  bottom-upward  and  ex- 
tinguish us !)  Steady,  steady !  Sit  close,  Mor- 
timer. Here's  the  hail  again.  See  how  it  flies, 
like  a  troop  of  wild-cats,  at  Mr.  Riderhood's 
eyes!" 

Indeed  he  had  the  full  benefit  of  it,  and  it  so 
mauled  him,  though  he  bent  his  head  low  and 
tried  to  present  nothing  but  the  mangy  cap  to 
it,  that  he  dropped  under  the  lee  of  a  tier  of 
shipping,  and  they  lay  there  until  it  was  over. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


The  squall  had  come  up,  like  a  spiteful  messen- 
ger before  the  morning ;  there  followed  in  its 
wake  a  ragged  tear  of  light  which  ripped  the 
dark  clouds  until  they  showed  a  great  gray  hole 
of  day. 

They  were  all  shivering,  and  every  thing  about 
them  seemed  to  be  shivering ;  the  river  itself, 
craft,  rigging,  sails,  such  early  smoke  as  there 
yet  was  on  the  shore.  Black  with  wet,  and  al- 
tered to  the  eye  by  white  patches  of  hail  and 
sleet,  the  huddled  buildings  looked  lower  than 
usual,  as  if  they  were  cowering,  and  had  shrunk 
with  the  cold.  Very  little  life  was  to  be  seen 
on  either  bank,  windows  and  doors  were  shut, 
and  the  staring  black  and  white  letters  upon 
wharves  and  warehouses  "looked," said  Eugene 
to  Mortimer,  "like  inscriptions  over  the  graves 
of  dead  businesses." 

As  they  glided  slowly  on,  keeping  under  the 
shore,  and  sneaking  in  and  out  among  the  ship- 
ping by  back-alleys  of  water,  in  a  pilfering  way 
that  seemed  to  be  their  boatman's  normal  man- 
ner of  progression,  all  the  objects  among  which 
they  crept  were  so  huge  in  contrast  with  their 
wretched  boat  as  to  threaten  to  crush  it.  Not 
a  ship's  hull,  with  its  rusty  iron  links  of  cable 
run  out  of  hawse-holes  long  discolored  with  the 
iron's  rusty  tears,  but  seemed  to  be  there  with  a 
fell  intention.  Not  a  figure-head  but  had  a 
menacing  look  of  bursting  forward  to  run  them 
down.  Not  a  sluice-gate,  or  a  painted  scale 
upon  a  post  or  wall,  showing  the  depth  of  wa- 
ter, but  seemed  to  hint,  like  the  dreadfully  face- 
tious Wolf  in  bed  in  Grandmamma's  cottage, 
"That's  to  drown  you  in,  my  dears!"  Not  a 
lumbering  black  barge,  with  its  cracked  and 
blistered  side  impending  over  them,  but  seemed 
to  suck  at  the  river  with  a  thirst  for  sucking 
them  under.  And  erery  thing  so  vaunted  the 
spoiling  influences  of  water — discolored  copper, 
rotten  wood,  honey-combed  stone,  green  dank 
deposit  —  that  the  after-consequences  of  being 
crushed,  sucked  under,  and  drawn  down,  looked 
as  ugly  to  the  imagination  as  the  main  event. 

Some  half  hour  of  this  work,  and  Riderhood 
unshipped  his  sculls,  stood  holding  on  to  a  barge, 
and  hand  over  hand  long-wise  along  the  barge's 
side  gradually  worked  his  boat  under  her  head 
into  a  secret  little  nook  of  scummy  water.  And 
driven  into  that  nook,  and  wedged  as  he  had 
described,  was  Gaffer's  boat ;  that  boat  with  the 
stain  still  in  it,  bearing  some  resemblance  to  a 
muffled  human  form. 

"Now  tell  me  I'm  a  liar!"  said  the* honest 
man. 

("With  a  morbid  expectation,"  murmured 
Eugene  to  Lightwood,  "that  somebody  is  al- 
ways going  to  tell  him  the  truth.") 

"This  is  Hexam's  boat,"  said  Mr.  Inspector. 
"I  know  her  well." 

"Look  at  the  broken  scull.  Look  at  the 
t'other  scull  gone.  Now  tell  me  I  am  a  liar !" 
said  the  honest  man. 

Mr.  Inspector  stepped  into  the  boat.  Eugene 
and  Mortimer  looked  on. 

"And  see  now!"  added  Riderhood,  creeping 
aft,  and  showing  a  stretched  rope  made  fast 
there  and  towing  overboard.  "  Didn't  I  tell 
you  he  was  in  luck  again?" 

"Haul  in,"  said  Mr.  Inspector. 

"Easy  to  say  haul  in,"  answered  Riderhood. 
"  Not  so  easy  done.    His  luck's  got  fouled  under 


the  keels  of  the  barges.     I  tried  to  haul  in  last 
time,  but  I  couldn't.    See  how  taut  the  line  is !" 

"  I  must  have  it  up,"  said  Mr.  Inspector.  "  I 
am  going  to  take  this  boat  ashore,  and  his  luck 
along  with  it.     Try  easy  now." 

He  tried  easy  now ;  but  the  luck  resisted ; 
wouldn't  come. 

1 '  I  mean  to  have  it,  and  the  boat  too, "  said 
Mr.  Inspector,  playing  the  line. 

But  still  the  luck  resisted  ;  wouldn't  cOme. 

"Take  care,"  said  Riderhood.  "You'll  dis. 
figure.     Or  pull  asunder  perhaps." 

"I  am  not  going  to  do  either,  not  even  to 
your  Grandmother,"  said  Mr.  Inspector;  "but 
I  mean  to  have  it.  Come !"  he  added,  at  once 
persuasively  and  with  authority  to  the  hidden 
object  in  the  water,  as  he  played  the  line  again ; 
"  it's  no  good  this  sort  of  game,  you  know.  You 
must  come  up.     I  mean  to  have  you." 

,  There  was  so  much  virtue  in  this  distinctly 
and  decidedly  meaning  to  have  it,  that  it  yielded 
a  little,  even  while  the  line  was  played. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  quoth  Mr.  Inspector,  pulling 
off  his  outer  coat,  and  leaning  well  over  the 
stern  with  a  will.     "Come!" 

It  was  an  awful  sort  of  fishing,  but  it  no  more 
disconcerted  Mr.  Inspector  than  if  he  had  been 
fishing  in  a  punt  on  a  summer  evening  by  some 
soothing  weir  high  up  the  peaceful  river.  After 
certain  minutes,  and  a  few  directions  to  the  rest 
to  "ease  her  a  little  for'ard,"  and  "now  ease 
her  a  trifle  aft,"  and  the  like,  he  said,  composed- 
ly, "All  clear  !"  and  the  line  and  the  boat  came 
free  together. 

Accepting  Lightwood's  proffered  hand  to  help 
him  up,  he  then  put  on  his  coat,  and  said  to 
Riderhood,  "Hand  me  over  those  spare  sculls 
of  yours,  and  I'll  pull  this  into  the  nearest  stairs. 
Go  ahead  you,  and  keep  out  in  pretty  open  wa- 
ter, that  I  mayn't  get  fouled  again." 

His  directions  were  obeyed,  and  they  pulled 
ashore  directly;  two  in  one  boat,  two  in  the 
other. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  again  to  Rider- 
hood, when  they  were  all  on  the  slushy  stones  ; 
"you  have  had  more  practice  in  this  than  I  have 
had,  and  ought  to  be  a  better  workman  at  it. 
Undo  the  tow-rope,  and  we'll  help  you  haul  in." 

Riderhood  got  into  the  boat  accordingly.  It 
appeared  as  if  he  had  scarcely  had  a  moment's 
time  to  touch  the  rope  or  look  over  the  stern, 
when  he  came  scrambling  back,  as  pale  as  the 
morning,  and  gasped  out: 

"By  the  Lord,  he's  done  me!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  they  all  demanded. 

He  pointed  behind  him  at  the  boat,  and  gasped 
to  that  degree  that  he  dropped  upon*  the  stones 
to  get  his  breath. 

"Gaffer's  done  me.     It's  Gaffer!" 

They  ran  to  the  rope,  leaving  him  gasping 
there.  Soon  the  form  of  the  bird  of  prey,  dead 
some  hours,  lay  stretched  upon  the  shore,  with 
a  new  blast  storming  at  it  and  clotting  the  wet 
hair  with  hailstones. 

Father,  was  that  you  calling  me  ?  Father!  I 
thought  I  heard  you  call  me  twice  before !  Words 
never  to  be  answered,  those,  upon  the  earth-side 
of  the  grave.  The  wind  sweeps  jeeringly  over 
Father,  whips  him  with  the  frayed  ends  of  his 
dress  and  his  jagged  hair,  tries  to  turn  him  where 
he  lies  stark  on  his  back,  and  force  his  face  to- 
ward the  rising  sun,  that  he  may  be  shamed  the 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


87 


more.  A  lull,  and  the  wind  is  secret  and  prying 
with  him ;  lifts  and  lets  fall  a  rag ;  hides  pal- 
pitating under  another  rag ;  runs  nimbly  through 
his  hair  and  beard.  Then,  in  a  rush,  it  cruelly 
taunts  him.  Father,  was  that  you  calling  me? 
Was  it  you,  the  voiceless  and  the  dead  ?  Was  it 
you,  thus  buffeted  as  you  lie  here  in  a  heap? 
Was  it  you,  thus  baptized  unto  Death,  with 
these  flying  impurities  now  flung  upon  your  face  ? 
Why  not  speak,  Father?  Soaking  into  this 
filthy  ground  as  you  lie  here,  is  your  own  shape. 
Did  you  never  see  such  a  shape  soaked  into  your 
boat  ?  Speak,  Father.  Speak  to  us,  the  winds, 
the  only  listeners  left  you  ! 

"Now  see,"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  after  mature 
deliberation:  kneeling  on  one  knee  beside  the 


body,  when  they  had  stood  looking  down  on  the 
drowned  man,  as  he  had  many  a  time  looked 
down  on  many  another  man  :  "  the  way  of  it  was 
this.  Of  course  you  gentlemen  hardly  failed  to 
observe  that  he  was  towing  by  the  neck  and 
arms." 

They  had  helped  to  release  the  rope,  and  of 
course  not. 

"  And  you  will  have  observed  before,  and  you 
will  observe  now,  that  this  knot,  which  was  drawn 
chock-tight  round  his  neck  by  the  strain  of  his 
own  arms,  is  a  slip-knot :"  holding  it  up  for  dem- 
onstration. 

Plain  enough. 

"Likewise  you  will  have  observed  how  he  had 
run  the  other  end  of  this  rope  to  his  boat." 


88 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


It  had  the  curves  and  indentations  in  it  still, 
where  it  had  been  twined  and  bound. 

"Now  see,"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  "see  how  it 
works  round  upon  him.  It's  a  wild  tempestuous 
evening  when  this  man  that  was,"  stooping  to 
wipe  some  hailstones  out  of  his  hair  with  an  end 
of  his  own  drowned  jacket,  '  '—there !  Now  he's 
more  like  himself,  though  he's  badly  bruised — 
when  this  man  that  was  rows  out  upon  the  river 
on  his  usual  lay.  He  carries  with  him  this  coil 
of  rope.  He  always  carries  with  him  this  coil 
of  rope.  It's  as  well  known  to  me  as  he  was 
himself.  Sometimes  it  lay  in  the  bottom  of  his 
boat.  Sometimes  he  hung  it  loose  round  his 
neck.  He  was  a  light-dresser  was  this  man — 
you  see?"  lifting  the  loose  neckerchief  over  his 
breast,  and  taking  the  opportunity  of  wiping  the 
dead  lips  with  it — "and  when  it  was  wet,  or 
freezing,  or  blew  cold,  he  would  hang  this  coil 
of  line  round  his  neck.  Last  evening  he  does 
this.  Worse  for  him !  He  dodges  about  in  his 
boat,  does  this  man,  till  he  gets  chilled.  His 
hands,"  taking  up  one  of  them,  which  dropped 
like  a  leaden  weight,  "get  numbed.  He  sees 
some  object  that's  in  his  way  of  business,  float- 
ing. He  makes  ready  to  secure  that  object.  He 
unwinds  the  end  of  his  coil  that  he  wants  to  take 
some  turns  on  in  his  boat,  and  he  takes  turns 
enough  on  it  to  secure  that  it  sha'n't  run  out. 
He  makes  it  too  secure,  as  it  happens.  He  is  a 
little  longer  about  this  than  usual,  his  hands 
being  numbed.  His  object  drifts  up,  before  he 
is  quite  ready  for  it.  He  catches  at  it,  thinks 
he'll  make  sure  of  the  contents  of  the  pockets 
any  how,  in  case  he  should  be  parted  from  it, 
bends  right  over  the  stern,  and  in  one  of  these 
heavy  squalls,  or  in  the  cross-swell  of  two  steam- 
ers, or  in  not  being  quite  prepared,  or  through 
all  or  most  or  some,  gets  a  lurch,  overbalances 
and  goes  head-foremost  overboard.  Now  see ! 
He  can  swim,  can  this  man,  and  instantly  he 
strikes  out.  But  in  such  striking-out  he  tangles 
his  arms,  pulls  strong  on  the  slip-knot,  and  it 
runs  home.  The-object  he  had  expected  to  take 
in  tow  floats  by,  and  his  own  boat  tows  him 
dead,  to  where  we  found  him,  all  entangled  in 
his  own  line.  You'll  ask  me  how  I  make  out 
about  the  pockets?  First,  I'll  tell  you  more; 
there  was  silver  in  'em.  How  do  I  make  that 
out?  Simple  and  satisfactory.  Because  he's 
got  it  here."  The  lecturer  held  up  the  tightly- 
clenched  right  hand. 

"What  is  to  be  done  with  the  remains?" 
asked  Lightwood. 

"If  you  wouldn't  object  to  standing  by  him 
half  a  minute,  Sir,"  was  the  reply,  "I'll  find 
the  nearest  of  our  men  to  come  and  take  charge 
of  him — [  still  call  it  him,  you  see,"  said  Mr. 
Inspector,  looking  back  as  he  went,  with  a  phil- 
osophical smile  upon  the  force  of  habit. 

"Eugene,"  said  Lightwood — and  was  about 
to  add  "we  may  wait  at  a  little  distance,"  when 
turning  his  head  he  found  that  no  Eugene  was 
there. 

He  raised  his  voice  and  called  "Eugene! 
Holloa !"     But  no  Eugene  replied. 

It  was  broad  daylight  now,  and  he  looked 
about.     But  no  Eugene  was  in  all  the  view. 

Mr.  Inspector  speedily  returning  down  the 
wooden  stairs,  with  a  police  constable,  Light- 
wood  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  his  friend  leave 
them?     Mr.  Inspector  could  not  exactly  say 


that  he  had  seen  him  go,  but  had  noticed  that 
he  was  restless. 

"Singular  and  entertaining  combination,  Sir, 
your  friend." 

"I  wish  it  had  not  been  a  part  of  his  singular 
and  entertaining  combination  to  give  me  the 
slip  under  these  dreary  circumstances  at  this 
time  of  the  morning,"  said  Lightwood.  "Can 
we  get  any  thing  hot  to  drink  ?" 

We  could,  and  we  did.  In  a  public-house 
kitchen  with  a  large  fire.  We  got  hot  brandy 
and  water,  and  it  revived  us  wonderfully.  Mr. 
Inspector  having  to  Mr.  Riderhood  announced 
his  official  intention  of  "keeping  his  eye  upon 
him,"  stood  him  in  a  corner  of  the  fire-place, 
like  a  wet  umbrella,  and  took  no  further  out- 
ward and  visible  notice  of  that  honest  man,  ex- 
cept ordering  a  separate  service  of  brandy  and 
water  for  him:  apparently  out  of  the  public 
funds. 

As  Mortimer  Lightwood  sat  before  the  blaz- 
ing fire,  conscious  of  drinking  brandy  and  water 
then  and  there  in  his  sleep,  and  yet  at  one  and 
the  same  time  drinking  burned  sherry  at  the  Six 
Jolly  Fellowships,  and  lying  under  the  boat  on 
the  river  shore,  and  sitting  in  the  boat  that 
Riderhood  rowed,  and  listening  to  the  lecture 
recently  concluded,  and  having  to  dine  in  the 
Temple  with  an  unknown  man,  who  described 
himself  as  M.  R.  F.  Eugene  Gaffer  Harmon, 
and  said  he  lived  at  Hailstorm — as  he  passed 
through  these  curious  vicissitudes  of  fatigue  and 
slumber,  arranged  upon  the  scale  of  a  dozen 
hours  to  the  second,  he  became  aware  of  an- 
swering aloud  a  communication  of  pressing  im- 
portance that  had  never  been  made  to  him,  and 
then  turned  it  into  a  cough  on  beholding  Mr. 
Inspector.  For  he  felt,  with  some  natural  in- 
dignation, that  that  functionary  might  other- 
wise suspect  him  of  having  closed  his  eyes,  or 
wandered  in  his  attention. 

"Here  just  before  us,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  In- 
spector. 

"/see,"  said  Lightwood,  with  dignity. 

"And  had  hot  brandy  and  water  too,  you 
see,"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  "and  then  cut  oft* at  a 
great  rate." 

"Who?"  said  Lightwood. 

"Your  friend,  you  know." 

"/know,"  he  replied,  again  with  dignity. 

After  hearing,  in  a  mist  through  which  Mr. 
Inspector  loomed  vague  and  large,  that  the  offi- 
cer took  upon  himself  to  prepare  the  dead  man's 
daughter  for  what  had  befallen  in  the  night,  and 
generally  that  he  took  every  thing  upon  himself, 
Mortimer  Lightwood  stumbled  in  his  sleep  to  a 
cab-stand,  called  a  cab,  and  had  entered  the  army 
and  committed  a  capital  military  offense  and 
been  tried  by  court-martial  and  found  guilty 
and  had  arranged  his  affairs  and  been  marched 
out  to  be  shot,  before  the  door  banged. 

Hard  work  rowing  the  cab  through  the  City 
to  the  Temple,  for  a  cup  of  from  five  to  ten 
thousand  pounds  valueT  given  by  Mr.  Boffin; 
and  hard  work  holding  forth  at  that  immeasura- 
ble length  to  Eugene  (when  he  had  been  rescued 
with  a  rope  from  the  running  pavement)  for 
making  off  in  that  extraordinary  manner !  But 
he  offered  such  ample  apologies,  and  was  so  very 
penitent,  that  when  Lightwood  got  out  of  the 
cab,  he  gave  the  driver  a  particular  charge  to  be 
careful  of  him.      Which  the  driver  (knowing 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


89 


there  was  no  other  fare  left  inside)  stared  at 
prodigiously. 

In  short,  the  night's  work  had  so  exhausted 
and  worn  out  this  actor  in  it,  that  he  had  be- 
come a  mere  somnambulist.  He  was  too  tired 
to  rest  in  his  sleep,  until  he  was  even  tired  out 
of  being  too  tired,  and  dropped  into  oblivion. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  he  awoke,  and  in  some 
anxiety  sent  round  to  Eugene's  lodging  hard  by 
to  inquire  if  he  were  up  yet  ? 

Oh  yes,  he  was  up.  In  fact,  he  had  not  been 
to  bed.  He  had  just  come  home.  And  here  he 
was,  close  following  on  the  heels  of  the  message. 

"Why  what  bloodshot,  draggled,  disheveled 
spectacle  is  this  !"  cried  Mortimer. 

"Are  my  feathers  so  very  much  rumpled?" 
said  Eugene,  coolly  going  up  to  the  looking- 
glass.  "They  are  rather  out  of  sorts.  But 
consider.     Such  a  night  for  plumage !" 

"Such  a  night?"  repeated  Mortimer.  "What 
became  of  you  in  the  morning?" 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Eugene,  sitting  on 
his  bed,  "I  felt  that  we  had  bored  one  another 
so  long,  that  an  unbroken  continuance  of  those 
relations  must  inevitably  terminate  in  our  flying 
to  opposite  points  of  the  earth.  I  also  felt  that 
I  had  committed  every  crime  in  the  Newgate 
Calendar.  So,  for  mingled  considerations  of 
friendship  and  felony,  I  took  a  walk." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

TWO   NEW    SERVANTS. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  sat  after  breakfast,  in 
the  Bower,  a  prey  to  prosperity.  Mr.  Boffin's 
face  denoted  Care  and  Complication.  Many 
disordered  papers  were  before  him,  and  he  looked 
at  them  about  as  hopefully  as  an  innocent  civil- 
ian might  look  at  a  crowd  of  troops  whom  he 
was  required  at  five  minutes'  notice  to  manoeu- 
vre and  review.  He  had  been  engaged  in  some 
attempts  to  make  notes  of  these  papers ;  but  be- 
ing troubled  (as  men  of  his  stamp  often  are)  with 
an  exceedingly  distrustful  and  corrective  thumb, 
that  busy  member  had  so  often  interposed  to 
smear  his  notes,  that  they  were  little  more  legi- 
ble than  the  various  impressions  of  itself,  which 
blurred  his  nose  and  forehead.  It  is  curious  to 
consider,  in  such  a  case  was  Mr.  Boffin's,  what  a 
cheap  article  ink  is,  and  how  far  it  may  be  made 
to  go.  As  a  grain  of  musk  will  scent  a  drawer 
for  many  years,  and  still  lose  nothing  appreci- 
able of  its  original  weight,  so  a  halfpenny-worth 
of  ink  would  blot  Mr.  Boffin  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair  and  the  calves  of  his  legs,  without  inscrib- 
ing a  line  on  the  paper  before  him,  or  appearing 
to  diminish  in  the  inkstand. 

Mr.  Boffin  was  in  such  severe  literary  difficul- 
ties that  his  eyes  were  prominent  and  fixed,  and 
his  breathing  was  stertorous,  when,  to  the  great 
relief  of  Mrs.  Boffin,  who  observed  these  symp- 
toms with  alarm,  the  yard  bell  rang. 

"Who's  that,  I  wonder!"  said  Mrs.  Boffin. 

Mr.  Boffin  drew  a  long  breath,  laid  down  his 
pen,  looked  at  his  notes  as  doubting  whether  he 
had  the  pleasure  of  their  acquaintance,  and  ap- 
peared, on  a  second  perusal  of  their  counte- 
nances, to  be  confirmed  in  his  impression  that 
he  had  not,  when  there  was  announced  by  the 
hammer-headed  young  man : 


"Mr.  Rokesmith." 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "Ohindeed!  Our 
and  the  Wilfers'  Mutual  Friend,  my  dear.  Yes. 
Ask  him  to  come  in." 

Mr.  Rokesmith  appeared. 

"Sit  down,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  shaking 
hands  witfi  him.  "Mrs.  Boffin  you're  already 
acquainted  with.  Well,  Sir,  I  am  rather  unpre- 
pared to  see  you,  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I've 
been  so  busy  with  one  thing  and  another  that 
I've  not  had  time  to  turn  your  offer  over." 

"  That's  apology  for  both  of  us  :  for  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, and  for  me  as  well,"  said  the  smiling  Mrs. 
Boffin.  "But  Lor!  we  can  talk  it  over  now; 
can't  us?"' 

Mr.  Rokesmith  bowed,  thanked  her,  and  said 
he  hoped  so. 

"  Let  me  see  then,"  resumed  Mr.  Boffin,  with 
his  hand  to  his  chin.  "It  was  Secretary  that 
you  named  ;  wasn't  it?" 

"I  said  Secretary,"  assented  Mr.  Rokesmith. 

"It  rather  puzzled  me  at  the  time," said  Mr. 
Boffin,  "and  it  rather  puzzled  me  and  Mrs. 
Boffin  when  we  spoke  of  it  afterward,  because 
(not  to  make  a  mystery  of  our  belief)  we 
have  always  believed  a  Secretary  to  be  a  piece 
of  furniture,  mostly  of  mahogany,  lined  with 
green  baize  or  leather,  with  a  lot  of  little  draw- 
ers in  it.  Now,  you  won't  think  I  take  a  liberty 
when  I  mention  that  you  certainly  ain't  that." 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Rokesmith.  But 
he  had  used  the  word  in  the  sense  of  Steward. 

"Why,  as  to  Steward,  you  see,"  returned  Mr. 
Boffin,  with  his  hand  still  to  his  chin,  "the  odds 
are  that  Mrs.  Boffin  and  me  may  never  go  upon 
the  water.  Being  both  bad  sailors,  we  should 
want  a  Steward  if  we  did ;  but  there's  generally 
one  provided." 

Mr.  Rokesmith  again  explained ;  defining  the 
duties  he  sought  to  undertake,  as  those  of  gen- 
eral superintendent,  or  manager,  or  overlooker, 
or  man  of  business.        * 

"Now,  for  instance — come!"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
in  his  pouncing  way.  "  If  you  entered  my  em- 
ployment, what  would  you  do  ?" 

"I  would  keep  exact  accounts  of  all  the  ex- 
penditure you  sanctioned,  Mr.  Boffin.  I  would 
write  your  letters,  under  your  direction.  I  would 
transact  your  business  with  people  in  your  pay 
or  employment.  I  would,"  with  a  glance  and  a 
half-smile  at  the  table,  "  arrange  your  papers — " 

Mr.  Boffin  rubbed  his  inky  ear,  and  looked 
at  his  wife. 

"  —And  so  arrange  them  as  to  have  them  al- 
ways in  order  for  immediate  reference,  with  a 
note  of  the  contents  of  each  outside  it." 

"I  tell  you  what,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  slowly 
crumpling  his  own  blotted  note  in  his  hand ; 
"  if  you'll  turn  to  at  these  present  papers,  and 
see  what  you  can  make  of  'em,  I  shall  know  bet- 
ter what  I  can  make  of  you." 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  Relinquishing  his 
hat  and  gloves,  Mr.  Rokesmith  sat  down  quietly 
at  the  table,  arranged  the  open  papers  into  an 
orderly  heap,  cast  his  eyes  over  each  in  succes- 
sion, folded  it,  docketed  it  on  the  outside,  laid  it 
in  a  second  heap,  and  when  that  second  heap 
was  complete  and  the  first  gone,  took  from  his 
pocket  a  piece  of  string  and  tied  it  together  with 
a  remarkably  dextrous  hand  at  a  running  curve 
and  a  loop. 

"Good!"   said   Mr.  Boffin.      "Very  good! 


90 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Now  let  us  hear  what  they're  all  about;  will 
you  be  so  good  ?" 

John  Rokesmith  read  his  abstracts  aloud. 
They  were  all  about  the  new  house.  Decora- 
tor's estimate,  so  much.  Furniture  estimate, 
so  much.  Estimate  for  furniture  of  offices, 
so  much.  Coach-maker's  estimate,  so  much. 
Horse-dealer's  estimate,  so  much.  Harness- 
maker's  estimate,  so  much.  Goldsmith's  esti- 
mate, so  much.  Total,  so  very  much.  Then 
came  correspondence.  Acceptance  of  Mr.  Bof- 
fin's offer  of  such  a  date,  and  to  such  an  effect. 
Rejection  of  Mr.  Boffin's  proposal  of  such  a  date, 
and  to  such  an  effect.  Concerning  Mr.  Boffin's 
scheme  of  such  another  date  to  such  another  ef- 
fect.    All  compact  and  methodical. 

"Apple-pie  order!"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  after 
checking  off  each  inscription  with  his  hand,  like  a 
man  beating  time.  "And  whatever  you  do  with 
your  ink,  /  can't  think,  for  you're  as  clean  as  a 
whistle  after  it.  Now,  as  to  a  letter.  Let's, "  said 
Mr.  Boffin,  rubbing  his  hands  in  his  pleasantly 
childish  admiration,  "let's  try  a  letter  next." 

"To  whom  shall  it  be  addressed,  Mr.  Boffin?" 

' '  Any  one.     Yourself. " 

Mr.  Rokesmith  quickly  wrote,  and  then  read 
aloud  : 

"'Mr.  Boffin  presents  his  compliments  to 
Mr.  John  Rokesmith,  and  begs  to  say  that  he 
has  decided  on  giving  Mr.  John  Rokesmith  a 
trial  in  the  capacity  he  desires  to  fill.  Mr.  Bof- 
fin takes  Mr.  John  Rokesmith  at  his  word,  in 
postponing  to  some  indefinite  period  the  consid- 
eration of  salary.  It  is  quite  understood  that 
Mr.  Boffin  is  in  no  way  committed  on  that  point. 
Mr.  Boffin  has  merely  to  add,  that  he  relies  on 
Mr.  John  Rokesmith's  assurance  that  he  will  be 
faithful  and  serviceable.  Mr.  John  Rokesmith 
will  please  enter  on  his  duties  immediately.' " 

"Well!  Now,  Noddy!"  cried  Mrs.  Boffin, 
clapping  her  hands,  "  That  is  a  good  one !" 

Mr.  Boffin  was  no  less  delighted ;  indeed,  in 
his  own  bosom,  he  regarded  both  the  composition 
itself  and  the  device  that  had  given  birth  to  it, 
as  a  very  remarkable  monument  of  human  in- 
genuity. 

"  And  I  tell  you,  my  deary,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin, 
"  that  if  you  don't  close  with  Mr.  Rokesmith  now 
at  once,  and  if  you  ever  go  a  muddling  yourself 
again  with  things  never  meant  nor  made  for  you, 
you'll  have  an  apoplexy — besides  iron-moulding 
your  linen — and  you'll  break  my  heart." 

Mr.  Boffin  embraced  his  spouse  for  these  words 
of  wisdom,  and  then,  congratulating  John  Roke- 
smith on  the  brilliancy  of  his  achievements,  gave 
him  his  hand  in  pledge  of  their  new  relations. 
So  did  Mrs.  Boffin. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  who,  in  his  frank- 
ness, felt  that  it  did  not  become  him  to  have  a 
gentleman  in  his  employment  five  minutes  with- 
out reposing  some  confidence  in  him,  "you  must 
be  let  a  little  more  into  our  affairs,  Rokesmith. 
I  mentioned  to  you,  when  I  made  your  acquaint- 
ance, or  I  might  better  say  when  you  made  mine, 
that  Mrs.  Boffin's  inclinations  was  setting  in  the 
way  of  Fashion,  but  that  I  didn't  know  how 
fashionable  we  might  or  might  not  grow.  Well ! 
Mrs.  Boffin  has  carried  the  day,  and  we're  go- 
ing in  neck  and  crop  for  Fashion." 

"I  rather  inferred  that,  Sir,"  replied  John 
Rokesmith,  "from  the  scale  on  which  your  new 
establishment  is  to  be  maintained." 


"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "  it's  to  be  a  Spanker. 
The  fact  is,  my  literary  man  named  to  me  that 
a  house  with  which  he  is,  as  I  may  say,  connect- 
ed— in  which  he  has  an  interest — " 

"As  property?"  inquired  John  Rokesmith. 

"Why  no,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "not  exactly 
that ;  a  sort  of  a  family  tie." 

"Association?"  the  Secretary  suggested. 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "Perhaps.  Any- 
how, he  named  to  me  that  the  house  had  a 
board  up,  '  This  Eminently  Aristocratic  Mansion 
to  be  let  or  sold.'  Me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  went  to 
look  at  it,  and  finding  it  beyond  a  doubt  Emi- 
nently Aristocratic  (though  a  trifle  high  and 
dull,  which  after  all  may  be  part  of  the  same 
thing)  took  it.  My  literary  man  was  so  friendly 
as  to  drop  into  a  charming  piece  of  poetry  on  that 
occasion,  in  which  he  complimented  Mrs.  Boffin 
on  coming  into  possession  of — how  did  it  go,  my 
dear?" 

Mrs.  Boffin  replied : 

"'The  gay,  the  gay  and  festive  scene, 
The  halls,  the  halls  of  dazzling  light.'" 

"That's  it !  And  it  was  made  neater  by  there 
really  being  two  halls  in  the  house,  a  front  'un 
and  a  back  'un,  besides  the  servants'.  He  like- 
wise dropped  into  a  very  pretty  piece  of  poetry  to 
be  sure,  respecting  the  extent  to  which  he  would 
be  willing  to  put  himself  out  of  the  way  to  bring 
Mrs.  Boffin  round,  in  case  she  should  ever  get 
low  in  her  spirits  in  the  house.  Mrs.  Boffin  has  a 
wonderful  memory.  Will  you  repeat  it,  my  dear?" 

Mrs.  Boffin  complied,  by  reciting  the  verses  in 
which  this  obliging  offer  had  been  made,  exactly 
as  she  had  received  them. 

"  'I'll  tell  thee  how  the  maiden  wept,  Mrs.  Boffin, 

"When  her  true  love  was  slain  ma'am, 

"And  how  her  broken  spirit  slept,  Mrs.  Boffin, 

"And  never  woke  again  ma'am. 

"  I'll  tell  thee  (if  agreeable  to  Mr.  Boffin)  how  the  steed 

drew  nigh, 
"And  left  his  lord  afar; 
"  And  if  my  tale  (which  I  hope  Mr.  Boffin  might  excuse) 

should  make  you  sigh, 
"I'll  strike  the  light  guitar.'" 

"Correct  to  the  letter!",  said  Mr.  Boffin. 
"  And  I  consider  that  the  poetry  brings  us  both 
in,  in  a  beautiful  manner." 

The  effect  of  the  poem  on  the  Secretary  being 
evidently  to  astonish  him,  Mr.  Boffin  was  con- 
firmed in  his  high  opinion  of  it,  and  was  greatly 
pleased. 

"Now,  you  see,  Rokesmith,"  he  went  on,  "a 
literary  man — with  a  wooden  leg — is  liable  to 
jealousy.  I  shall  therefore  cast  about  for  com- 
fortable ways  and  means  of  not  calling  up  Wegg's 
jealousy,  but  of  keeping  you  in  your  department, 
and  keeping  him  in  his." 

"Lor !"  cried  Mrs.  Boffin.  "What  I  say  is, 
the  world's  wide  enough  for  all  of  us !" 

"  So  it  is,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "when 
not  literary.  But  when  so,  not  so.  And  I  am 
bound  to  bear  in  mind  that  I  took  Wegg  on  at  a 
time  when  I  had  no  thought  of  being  fashiona- 
ble or  of  leaving  the  Bower.  To  let  him  feel 
himself  any  ways  slighted  now  would  be  to  be 
guilty  of  a  meanness,  and  to  act  like  having 
one's  head  turned  by  the  halls  of  dazzling  light. 
Which  Lord  forbid  !  Rokesmith,  what  shall  we 
say  about  your  living  in  the  house?" 

"In  this  house?" 

"No,  no.  I  have  got  other  plans  for  this 
house.     In  the  new  house  ?" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


91 


"That  will  be  as  you  please,  Mr.  Boffin.  I 
hold  myself  quite  at  your  disposal.  You  know 
where  I  live  at  present." 

"Well!"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  after  considering 
the  point ;  "  suppose  you  keep  as  you  are  for  the 
present,  and  we'll  decide  by-and-by.  You'll  be- 
gin to  take  charge  at  once,  of  all  that's  going  on 
in  the  new  house,  will  you?" 

"Most  willingly.  I  will  begin  this  very  day. 
Will  you  give  me  the  address?" 

Mr.  Boffin  repeated  it,  and  the  Secretary  wrote 
it  down  in  his  pocket-book.  Mrs.  Boffin  took 
the  opportunity  of  his  being  so  engaged  to  get  a 
better  observation  of  his  face  than  she  had  yet 
taken.  It  impressed  her  in  his  favor,  for  she 
nodded  aside  to  Mr.  Boffin,  "  I  like  him." 

"  I  will  see  directly  that  every  thing  is  in 
train,  Mr.  Boffin." 

"  Thank'ee.  Being  here,  would  you  care  at 
all  to  look  round  the  Bower?" 

"I  should  greatly  like  it.  I  have  heard  so 
much  of  its  story." 

"  Come !"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  And  he  and  Mrs. 
Boffin  led  the  way. 

A  gloomy  house  the  Bower,  with  sordid  signs 
on  it  of  having  been,  through  its  long  existence 
as  Harmony  Jail,  in  miserly  holding.  Bare  of 
paint,  bare  of  paper  on  the  walls,  bare  of  furni- 
ture, bare  of  experience  of  human  life.  What- 
ever is  built  by  man  for  man's  occupation,  must, 
like  natural  creations,  fulfill  the  intention  of  its 
existence  or  soon  perish.  This  old  house  had 
wasted  more  from  desuetude  than  it  would  have 
wasted  from  use,  twenty  years  for  one. 

A  certain  leanness  falls  upon  houses  not  suffi- 
ciently imbued  with  life  (as  if  they  were  nour- 
ished upon  it),  which  was  very  noticeable  here. 
The  staircase,  balustrades,  and  rails  had  a  spare 
look — an  air  of  being  denuded  to  the  bone — 
which  the  panels  of  the  walls  and  the  jambs  of 
the  doors  and  windows  also  bore.  The  scanty 
movables  partook  of  it ;  save  for  the  cleanliness 
of  the  place,  the  dust  into  which  they  were  all 
resolving  would  have  lain  thick  on  the  floors ; 
and  those,  both  in  color  and  in  grain,  were  worn 
like  old  faces  that  had  kept  much  alone. 

The  bedroom  where  the  clutching  old  man 
had  lost  his  grip  on  life  was  left  as  he  had  left 
it.  There  was  the  old  grisly  four-post  bedstead, 
without  hangings,  and  with  a  jail-like  upper  rim 
of  iron  and  spikes ;  and  there  was  the  old  patch- 
work counterpane.  There  was  the  tight-clenched 
old  bureau,  receding  atop  like  a  bad  and  secret 
forehead ;  there  was  the  cumbersome  old  table 
with  twisted  legs  at  the  bedside ;  and  there  was 
the  box  upon  it,  in  which  the  will  had  lain.  A 
few  old  chairs  with  patch-work  covers,  under 
which  the  more  precious  stuff  to  be  preserved 
had  slowly  lost  its  quality  of  color  without  im- 
parting pleasure  to  any  eye,  stood  against  the 
wall.  A  hard  family  likeness  was  on  all  these 
things. 

"The  room  was  kept  like  this,  Rokesmith," 
said  Mr.  Boffin,  "against  the  son's  return.  In 
short,  every  thing  in  the  house  was  kept  exactly 
as  it  came  to  us  for  him  to  see  and  approve. 
Even  now,  nothing  is  changed  but  our  own 
room  below  stairs  that  you  have  just  left. 
7When  the  son  came  home  for  the  last  time  in 
his  life,  and  for  the  last  time  in  his  life  saw  his 
father,  it  was  most  likely  in  this  room  that  they 
met." 


As  the  Secretary  looked  all  round  it  his  eyes 
rested  on  a  side-door  in  a  corner. 

"Another  staircase,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  unlock- 
ing the  door,  "leading  down  into  the  yard. 
We'll  go  down  this  way,  as  you  may  like  to  see 
the  yard,  and  it's  all  in  the  road.  When  the 
son  was  a  little  child  it  was  up  and  down  these 
stairs  that  he  mostly  came  and  went  to  his  fa- 
ther. He  was  very  timid  of  his  father.  I've 
seen  him  sit  on  these  stairs,  in  his  shy  way,  poor 
child,  many  a  time.  Me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  have 
comforted  him,  sitting  with  his  little  book  on 
these  stairs,  often." 

"Ah!  And  his  poor  sister  too,"  said  Mrs. 
Boffin.  "And  here's  the  sunny  place  on  the 
white  wall  where  they  one  day  measured  one 
another.  Their  own  little  hands  wrote  up  their 
names  here  only  with  a  pencil ;  but  the  names 
are  here  still,  and  the  poor  dears  gone  forever." 

"We  must  take  care  of  the  names,  old  lady," 
said  Mr.  Boffin.  "  We  must  take  care  of  the 
names.  They  sha'n't  be  rubbed  out  in  our  time, 
nor  yet,  if  we  can  help  it,  in  the  time  after  us. 
Poor  little  children!" 

"Ah,  poor  little  children  !"  said  Mrs.  Boffin. 

They  had  opened  the  door  at  the  bottom  of 
the  staircase  giving  on  the  yard,  and  they  stood 
in  the  sunlight,  looking  at  the  scrawl  of  the  two 
unsteady  childish  hands  two  or  three  steps  up 
the  staircase.  There  was  something  in  this 
simple  memento  of  a  blighted  childhood,  and  in 
the  tenderness  of  Mrs.  Boffin,  that  touched  the 
Secretary. 

Mr.  Boffin  then  showed  his  new  man  of  busi- 
ness the  Mounds,  and  his  own  particular  Mound 
which  had  been  left  him  as  his  legacy  under  the 
will  before  he  acquired  the  whole  estate. 

"It  would  have  been  enough  for  us,"  said 
Mr.  BoffiM,  "in  case  it  had  pleased  God  to 
spare  the  last  of  those  two  young  lives  and  sor- 
rowful deaths.    We  didn't  want  the  rest." 

At  the  treasures  of  the  yard,  and  at  the  out- ' 
side  of  the  house,  and  at  the  detached  building 
which  Mr.  Boffin  pointed  out  as  the  residence 
of  himself  and  his  wife  during  the  many  years 
of  their  service,  the  Secretary  looked  with  in- 
terest. It  was  not  until  Mr.  Boffin  had  shown 
him  every  wonder  of  the  Bower  twice  over  that 
he  remembered  his  having  duties  to  discharge 
elsewhere. 

"You  have  no  instructions  to  give  me,  Mr. 
Boffin,  in  reference  to  this  place?" 

" Not  any,  Rokesmith.     No." 

"Might  I  ask,  without  seeming  impertinent, 
whether  you  have  any  intention  of  selling  it  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  In  remembrance  of  our  old 
master,  our  old  master's  children,  and  our  old 
service,  me  and  Mrs.  Boffin  mean  to  keep  it  up 
as  it  stands." 

The  Secretary's  eyes  glanced  with  so  much 
meaning  in  them  at  the  Mounds  that  Mr.  Boffin 
said,  as  if  in  answer  to  a  remark : 

"Ay,  ay,  that's  another  thing.  I  may  sell 
them,  though  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  the  neigh- 
borhood deprived  of  'em  too.  It'll  look  but  a 
poor  dead  flat  without  the  Mounds.  Still  I  don't 
say  that  I'm  going  to  keep  'em  always  there  for 
the  sake  of  the  beauty  of  the  landscape.  There's 
no  hurry  about  it;  that's  all  I  say  at  present. 
I  ain't  a  scholar  in  much,  Rokesmith,  but  I'm 
a  pretty  fair  scholar  in  dust.  I  can  price  the 
Mounds  to  a  fraction,  and  I  know  how  they  can 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


be  best  disposed  of,  and  likewise  that  they  take 
no  harm  by  standing  where  they  do.  You'll 
look  in  to-morrow,  will  you  be  so  kind?" 

"  Every  day.  And  the  sooner  I  can  get  you 
into  your  new  house,  complete,  the  better  you 
will  be  pleased,  Sir?" 

"Well,  it  ain't  that  I'm  in  a  mortal  hurry," 
said  Mr.  Boffin ;  "only  when  you  do  pay  people 
for  looking  alive,  it's  as  Avell  to  know  that  they 
are  looking  alive.     Ain't  that  your  opinion  ?" 

"  Quite !"  replied  the  Secretary ;  and  so  with- 
drew. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Boffin  to  himself,  subsiding 
into  his  regular  series  of  turns  in  the  yard,  "if 
I  can  make  it  comfortable  with  Wegg,  my  af- 
fairs will  be  going  smooth." 

The  man  of  low  cunning  had,  of  course,  ac- 
quired a  mastery  over  the  man  of  high  sim- 
plicity. The  mean  man  had,  of  course,  got  the 
better  of  the  generous  man.  How  long  such 
conquests  last  is  another  matter :  that  they  are 
achieved,  is  everyday  experience,  not  even  to 
be  flourished  away  by  Podsnappery  itself.  The 
undesigning  Boffin  had  become  so  far  immeshed 
by  the  wily  Wegg  that  his  mind  misgave  him  he 
was  a  very  designing  man  indeed  in  purposing 
to  do  more  for  Wegg.  It  seemed  to  him  (so 
skillful  was  Wegg)  that  he  was  plotting  darkly, 
when  he  was  contriving  to  do  the  very  thing  that 
Wegg  was  plotting  to  get  him  to  do.  And  thus, 
while  he  was  mentally  turning  the  kindest  of 
kind  faces  on  Wegg  this  morning,  he  was  not 
absolutely  sure  but  that  he  might  somehow  de- 
serve the  charge  of  turning  his  back  on  him. 

For  these  reasons  Mr.  Boffin  passed  but  anx- 
ious hours  until  evening  came,  and  with  it  Mr. 
Wegg,  stumping  leisurely  to  the  Roman  Empire. 
At  about  this  period  Mr.  Boffin  had  become  pro- 
foundly interested  in  the  fortunes  of  a  great 
military  leader  known  to  him  as  Bully  Sawyers, 
but  perhaps  better  known  to  fame  and  easier  of 
identification  by  the  classical  student,  under  the 
less  Britannic  name  of  Belisarius.  Even  this 
general's  career  paled  in  interest  for  Mr.  Boffin 
before  the  clearing  of  his  conscience  with  Wegg ; 
and  hence,  when  that  literary  gentleman  had 
according  to  custom  eaten  and  drunk  until  he 
was  all  a-glow,  and  when  he  took  up  his  book 
with  the  usual  chirping  introduction,  "  And  now, 
Mr.  Boffin,  Sir,  we'll  decline  and  we'll  fall!" 
Mr.  Boffin  stopped  him. 

"You  remember,  Wegg,  when  I  first  told 
you  that  I  wanted  to  make  a  sort  of  offer  to 
you?" 

"Let  me  get  on  my  considering  cap,  Sir," 
replied  that  gentleman,  turning  the  open  book 
face  downward.  "When  you  first  told  me  that 
you  wanted  to  make  a  sort  of  offer  to  me  ?  Now 
let  me  think"  (as  if  there  were  the  least  neces- 
sity). "Yes,  to  be  sure  I  do,  Mr.  Boffin.  It 
was  at  my  corner.  To  be  sure  it  was!  You 
had  first  asked  me  whether  I  liked  your  name, 
and  Candor  had  compelled  a  reply  in  the  nega- 
tive case.  I  little  thought  then,  Sir,  how  famil- 
iar that  name  would  come  to  be !" 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  more  familiar  still,  Wegg." 

"  Do  you,  Mr.  Boffin  ?  Much  obliged  to  you, 
I'm  sure.  Is  it  your  pleasure,  Sir,  that  we  de- 
cline and  we  fall?"  with  a  feint  of  taking  up  the 
book. 

"  Not  just  yet  a  while,  Wegg.  In  fact,  I  have 
got  another  offer  to  make  you." 


Mr.  Wegg  (who  had  had  nothing  else  in  his 
mind  for  several  nights)  took  off'  his  spectacles 
with  an  air  of  bland  surprise. 

"  And  I  hope  you'll  like  it,  Wegg." 

"Thank  you,  Sir,"  returned  that  reticent  in- 
dividual. "I  hope  it  may  prove  so.  On  all  ac- 
counts, I  am  sure."  (This,  as  a  philanthropic 
aspiration.) 

"What  do  you  think,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "of 
not  keeping  a  stall,  Wegg?" 

"I  think,  Sir,"  replied  Wegg,  "that  I  should 
like  to  be  shown  the  gentleman  prepared  to  make 
it  worth  my  while!" 

"  Here  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

Mr.  Wegg  was  going  to  say,  My  Benefactor, 
and  had  said  My  Bene,  when  a  grandiloquent 
change  came  over  him. 

"No,  Mr.  Boffin,  not  you,  Sir.  Any  body 
but  you.  Do  not  fear,  Mr.  Boffin,  that" I  shall 
contaminate  the  premises  which  your  gold  has 
bought  with  my  lowly  pursuits.  I  am  aware, 
Sir,  that  it  would  not  become  me  to  carry  on  my 
little  traffic  under  the  windows  of  your  mansion. 
I  have  already  thought  of  that,  and  taken  my 
measures.  No  need  to  be  bought  out,  Sir. 
Would  Stepney  Fields  be  considered  intrusive  ? 
If  not  remote  enough,  I  can  go  remoter.  In  the 
words  of  the  poet's  song,  which  I  do  not  quite 
remember : 

Thrown  on  the  wide  world,  doom'd  to  wander  and  roam, 
Bereft  of  my  parents,  bereft  of  a  home, 
A  stranger  to  something  and  what's  his  name  joy, 
Behold  little  Edmund  the  poor  Peasant  boy. 

— And  equally,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  repairing  the 
want  of  direct  application  in  the  last  line,  "be- 
hold myself  on  a  similar  footing!" 

"Now,  Wegg,  Wegg,  Wegg,"  remonstrated 
the  excellent  Boffin.     "You  are  too  sensitive." 

"I  know  I  am,  Sir,"  returned  Wegg,  with 
obstinate  magnanimity.  "  I  am  acquainted  with 
my  faults.  I  always  was,  from  a  child,  too  sens- 
itive." 

"But  listen,"  pursued  the  Golden  Dustman; 
"hear  me  out,  Wegg.  You  have  taken  it  into 
your  head  that  I  mean  to  pension  you  off." 

"True,  Sir,"  returned  Wegg,  still  with  an 
obstinate  magnanimity.  "I  am  acquainted 
with  my  faults.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  deny 
them.     I  have  taken  it  into  my  head." 

"But  I  don't  mean  it." 

The  assurance  seemed  hardly  as  comforting 
to  Mr.  Wegg  as  Mr.  Boffin  intended  it  to  be. 
Indeed,  an  appreciable  elongation  of  his  visage 
might  have  been  observed  as  he  replied : 

"Don't  you,  indeed,  Sir?" 

"No,"  pursued  Mr.  Boffin ;  "because  that 
would  express,  as  I  understand  it,  that  you  were 
not  going  to  do  any  thing  to  deserve  your  money. 
But  you  are;  you  are." 

"That,  Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Wegg,  cheering  up 
bravely,  "  is  quite  another  pair  of  shoes.  Now, 
my  independence  as  a  man  is  again  elevated. 
Now,  I  no  longer 

Weep  for  the  hour, 

When  to  Boffinses  bower, 

The  Lord  of  the  valley  with  offers  came; 

Neither  does  the  moon  hide  her  light 

From  the  heavens  to-night, 

And  weep  behind  her  clouds  o'er  any  individual  in  the 

present 
Company's  shame. 

— Please  to  proceed,  Mr.  Boffin." 

"Thank'ee,  Wegg,  both  for  your  confidence 


OUK  MUTUAL  FKIEND. 


in  me  and  for  your  frequent  dropping  into  poetry ; 
both  of  which  is  friendly.  Well,  then ;  my  idea 
is,  that  you  should  give*  up  your  stall,  and  that  I 
should  put  you  into  the  Bower  here,  to  keep  it 
for  us.  It's  a  pleasant  spot;  and  a  man  with 
coals  and  candles  and  a  pound  a  week  might  be 
in  clover  here." 

"  Hem !  Would  that  man,  Sir — we  will  say 
that  man,  for  the  purposes  of  argueyment ;"  Mr. 
Wegg  made  a  smiling  demonstration  of  great 
perspicuity  here;  "would  that  man,  Sir,  be  ex- 
pected to  throw  any  other  capacity  in,  or  would 
any  other  capacity  be  considered  extra?  Now 
let  us  (for  the  purposes  of  argueyment)  suppose 
that  man  to  be  engaged  as  a  reader :  say  (for 
the  purposes  of  argueyment)  in  the  evening. 
Would  that  man's  pay  as  a  reader  in  the  even- 
ing be  added  to  the  other  amount,  which,  adopt- 
ing your  language,  we  will  call  clover ;  or  would 
it  merge  into  that  amount,  or  clover  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "  I  suppose  it  would 
be  added." 

"  I  suppose  it  would,  Sir.  You  are  right,  Sir. 
Exactly  my  own  views,  Mr.  Boffin. "  Here  Wegg 
rose,  and  balancing  himself  on  his  wooden  leg, 
fluttered  over  his  prey  with  extended  hand. 
"Mr.  Boffin,  consider  it  done.  Say  no  more, 
Sir,  not  a  word  more.  My  stall  and.  I  are  for- 
ever parted.  The  collection  of  ballads  will  in 
future  be  reserved  for  private  study,  with  the 
object  of  making  poetry  tributary"* — Wegg  was 
so  proud  of  having  found  this  word  that  he  said 
it  again,  with  a  capital  letter — "Tributary,  to 
friendship.  Mr.  Boffin,  don't  allow  yourself  to 
be  made  uncomfortable  by  the  pang  it  gives  me 
to  part  from  my  stock  and  stall.  Similar  emo- 
tion was  undergone  by  my  own  father  when 
promoted  for  his  merits  from  his  occupation  as 
a  waterman  to  a  situation  under  Government. 
His  Christian  name  was  Thomas.  His  words 
at  the  time  (I  was  then  an  infant,  but  so  deep 
was  their  impression  on  me  that  I  committed 
them  to  memory)  were : 

Then  farewell  my  trim-built  wherry, 
Oars  and  coat  and  badge  farewell! 
Never  more  at  Chelsea  Feriy 
Shall  your  Thomas  take  a  spell! 

— My  father  got  over  it,  Mr.  Boffin,  and  so  shall 

While  delivering  these  valedictory  observa- 
tions, Wegg  continually  disappointed  Mr.  Boffin 
of  his  hand  by  flourishing  it  in  the  air.  He 
now  darted  it  at  his  patron,  who  took  it,  and 
felt  his  mind  relieved  of  a  great  weight:  ob- 
serving that  as  they  had  arranged  their  joint 
affairs  so  satisfactorily,  he  would  now  be  glad  to 
look  into  those  of  Bully  Sawyers.  Which,  in- 
deed, had  been  left  overnight  in  a  very  un- 
promising posture,  and  for  whose  impending  ex- 
pedition against  the  Persians  the  weather  had 
been  by  no  means  favorable  all  day. 

Mr.  Wegg  resumed  his  spectacles,  therefore. 
But  Sawyers  was  not  to  be  of  the  party  that 
night ;  for,  before  Wegg  had  found  his  place, 
Mrs.  Boffin's  tread  was  heard  upon  the  stairs, 
so  unusually  heavy  and  hurried,  that  Mr.  Bof- 
fin would  have  started  up  at  the  sound,  antici- 
pating some  occurrence  much  out  of  the  com- 
mon course,  even  though  she  had  not  also  called 
to  him  in  an  agitated  tone. 

Mr.  Boffin  hurried  out,  and  found  her  on  the 


dark  staircase,  panting,  with  a  lighted  candle  in 
her  hand. 

"What's  the  matter,  my  dear?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  don't  know;  but  I  wish 
you'd  come  up  stairs." 

Much  surprised,  Mr.  Boffin  went  up  stairs 
and  accompanied  Mrs.  Boffin  into  their  own 
room  :  a  second  large  room  on  the  same  floor  as 
the  room  in  which  the  late  proprietor  had  died. 
Mr.  Boffin  looked  all  round  him,  and  saw  no- 
thing more  unusual  than  various  articles  of  fold- 
ed linen  on-.a  large  chest,  which  Mrs.  Boffin  had 
been  sorting. 

"What  is  it, my  dear?  Why,  you're  fright- 
ened !     You  frightened  ?" 

"I  am  not  one  of  that  sort,  certainly,"  said 
Mrs.  Boffin,  as  she  sat  down  in  a  chair  to  re- 
cover herself,  and  took  her  husband's  arm;  "but 
it's  very  strange!" 

"What  is,  my  dear?" 

"Noddy,  the  faces  of  the  old  man  and  the  two 
children  are  all  over  the  house  to-night." 

"  My  dear  ?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Boffin.  But  not 
without  a  certain  uncomfortable  sensation  glid- 
ing down  his  back. 

"I  know  it  must  sound  foolish,  and  yet  it  is 
so." 

"Where  did  you  think  you  saw  them ?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  think  I  saw  them  any 
where.     I  felt  them." 

"Touched  them?" 

"No.  Felt  them  in  the  air.  I  was  sorting 
those  things  on  the  chest,  and  not  thinking  of 
the  old  man  or  the  children,  but  singing  to  my- 
self, when  all  in  a  moment  I  felt  there  was  a 
face  growing  out  of  the  dark." 

"What  face?"  asked  her  husband,  looking 
about  him. 

"For  a  moment  it  was  the  old  man's,  and 
then  it  got  younger.  For  a  moment  it  was  both 
the  children's,  and  then  it  got  older.  For  a 
moment  it  was  a  strange  face,  and  then  it  was 
all  the  faces." 

"And  then  it  was  gone?" 

"  Yes ;  and  then  it  was  gone." 

"Where  were  you  then,  old  lady?" 

"  Here,  at  the  chest.  Well ;  I  got  the  better 
of  it,  and  went  on  sorting,  and  went  on  singing 
to  myself.  'Lor!'  I  says,  'I'll  think  of  some- 
thing else — something  comfortable — and  put  it 
out  of  my  head.'  So  I  thought  of  the  new  house 
and  Miss  Bella  Wilfer,  and  was  thinking  at  a 
great  rate  with  that  sheet  there  in  my  hand, 
when,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  faces  seemed  to  be 
hidden  in  among  the  folds  of  it,  and  I  let  it 
drop." 

As  it  still  lay  on  the  floor  where  it  had  fallen, 
Mr.  Boffin  picked  it  up  and  laid  it  on  the  chest. 

"And  then  you  ran  down  stairs?" 

"No.  I  thought  I'd  try  another  room,  and 
shake  it  off.  I  says  to  myself,  'I'll  go  and  walk 
slowly  up  and  down  the  old  man's  room  three 
times,  from  end  to  end,  and  then  I  shall  have 
conquered  it.'  I  went  in  with  the  candle  in  my 
hand ;  but  the  moment  I  came  near  the  bed  the 
air  got  thick  with  them." 

"  With  the  faces  ?" 

"Yes,  and  I  even  felt  that  they  were  in  the 
dark  behind  the  side-door,  and  on  the  little  stair- 
case, floating  away  into  the  yard.  Then  I  call- 
ed you." 

Mr.  Boffin,  lost  in  amazement,  looked  at  Mrs. 


04 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Boffin.  Mrs.  Boffin,  lost  in  her  own  fluttered 
inability  to  make  this  out,  looked  at  Mr.  Boffin. 

"  I  think,  my  dear,"  said  the  Golden  Dust- 
man, "I'll  at  once  get  rid  of  Wegg  for  the 
night,  because  he's  coming  to  inhabit  the  Bow- 
er, and  it  might  be  put  into  his  head  or  some- 
body else's,  if  he  heard  this  and  it  got  about, 
that  the  house  is  haunted.  Whereas  we  know 
better.     Don't  we  ?" 

"I  never  had  the  feeling  in  the  house  be- 
fore," said  Mrs.  Boffin;  "and  I  have  been 
about  it  alone  at  all  hours  of  the  night.  I  have 
been  in  the  house  when  Death  was  in  it,  and  I 
have  been  in  the  house  when  Murder  was  a  new 
part  of  its  adventures,  and  I  never  had  a  fright 
in  it  yet." 

"And  won't  again,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Bof- 
fin. "Depend  upon  it,  it  comes  of  thinking  and 
dwelling  on  that  dark  spot." 

"Yes;  but  why  didn't  it  come  before?"  asked 
Mrs.  Boffin. 

This  draft  on  Mr.  Boffin's  philosophy  could 
only  be  met  by  that  gentleman  with  the  remark 
that  every  thing  that  is  at  all  must  begin  at 
some  time.  Then,  tucking  his  wife's  arm  under 
his  own,  that  she  might  not  be  left  by  herself  to 
be  troubled  again,  he  descended  to  release  Wegg. 
Who,  being  something  drowsy  after  his  plentiful 
repast,  and  constitutionally  of  a  shirking  tem- 
perament, was  well  enough  pleased  to  stump 
away,  without  doing  what  he  had  come  to  do, 
and  was  paid  for  doing. 

Mr.  Boffin  then  put  on  his  hat,  and  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin her  shawl ;  and  the  pair,  further  provided 
with  a  bunch  of  keys  and  a  lighted  lantern,  went 
all  over  the  dismal  house — dismal  every  where 
but  in  their  own  two  rooms — from  cellar  to 
cock-loft.  Not  resting  satisfied  with  giving  that 
much  chase  to  Mrs.  Boffin's  fancies,  they  pur- 
sued them  into  the  yard  and  outbuildings,  and 
under  the  Mounds.  And  setting  the  lantern, 
when  all  was  done,  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the 
Mounds,  they  comfortably  trotted  to  and  fro  for 
an  evening  walk,  to  the  end  that  the  murky 
cobwebs  in  Mrs.  Boffin's  brain  might  be  blown 
away. 

"  There,  my  dear !"  said  Mr.  Boffin  when  they 
came  in  to  supper.  "  That  was  the  treatment, 
you  see.  Completely  worked  round,  haven't 
you?" 

"Yes,  deary,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  laying  aside 
her  shawl.  "I'm  not  nervous  any  more.  I'm 
not  a  bit  troubled  now.  I'd  go  any  where  about 
the  house  the  same  as  ever.     But — " 

"Eh!"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"But  I've  only  to  shut  my  eyes." 

"And  what  then?" 

"Why  then,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  speaking  with 
her  eyes  closed,  and  her  left  hand  thoughtfully 
touching  her  brow,  "  then,  there  they  are  !  The 
old  man's  face,  and  it  gets  younger.  The  two 
children's  faces,  and  they  get  older.  A  face 
that  I  don't  know.     And  then  all  the  faces !" 

Opening  her  eyes  again,  and  seeing  her  hus- 
band's face  across  the  table,  she  leaned  for- 
ward to  give  it  a  pat  on  the  cheek,  and  sat 
down  to  supper,  declaring  it  to  be  the  best  face 
in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MINDERS   AND   RE-MINDERS. 

The  Secretary  lost  no  time  in  getting  to  work, 
and  his  vigilance  and  method  soon  set  their 
mark  on  the  Golden  Dustman's  affairs.  His 
earnestness  in  determining  to  understand  the 
length  and  breadth  and  depth  of  every  piece  of 
work  submitted  to  him  by  his  employer  was  as 
special  as  his  dispatch  in  transacting  it.  He  ac- 
cepted no  information  or  explanation  at  second- 
hand, but  made  himself  the  master  of  every 
thing  confided  to  him. 

One  part  of  the  Secretary's  conduct,  underly- 
ing all  the  rest,  might  have  been  mistrusted  by 
a  man  with  a  better  knowledge  of  men  than  the 
Golden  Dustman  had.  The  Secretary  was  as 
far  from  being  inquisitive  or  intrusive  as  Secre- 
tary could  be,  but  nothing  less  than  a  complete 
understanding  of  the  whole  of  the  affairs  would 
content  him.  It  soon  became  apparent  (from 
the  knowledge  with  which  he  set  out)  that  he 
must  have  been  to  the  office  where  the  Harmon 
will  was  registered,  and  must  have  read  the  will. 
He  anticipated  Mr.  Boffin's  consideration  wheth- 
er he  should  be  advised  with  on  this  or  that 
topic,  by  showing  that  he  already  knew  of  it  and 
understood  it.  He  did  this  with  no  attempt  at 
concealment,  seeming  to  be  satisfied  that  it  was 
part  of  his  duty  to  have  prepared  himself  at  all 
attainable  points  for  its  utmost  discharge. 

This  might — let  it  be  repeated — have  awak- 
ened some  little  vague  mistrust  in  a  man  more 
worldly-wise  than  the  Golden  Dustman.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Secretary  was  discerning, 
discreet,  and  silent,  though  as  zealous  as  if  the 
affairs  had  been  his  own.  He  showed  no  love 
of  patronage  or  the  command  of  money,  but  dis- 
tinctly preferred  resigning  both  to  Mr.  Boffin. 
If,  in  his  limited  sphere,  he  sought  power,  it  was 
the  power  of  knowledge ;  the  power  derivable 
from  a  perfect  comprehension  of  his  business. 

As  on  the  Secretary's  face  there  was  a  name- 
less cloud,  so  on  his  manner  there  was  a  shadow 
equally  indefinable.  It  was  not  that  he  was  em- 
barrassed, as  on  that  first  night  with  the  WiU 
fer  family ;  he  was  habitually  unembarrassed 
now,  and  yet  the  something  remained.  It  was 
not  that  his  manner  was  bad,  as  on  that  occa- 
sion ;  it  was  now  very  good,  as  being  modest, 
gracious,  and  ready.  Yet  the  something  never 
left  it.  It  has  been  written  of  men  who  have 
undergone  a  cruel  captivity,  or  who  have  passed 
through  a  terrible  strait,  or  who  in  self-pres- 
ervation have  killed  a  defenseless  fellow-creat- 
ure, that  the  record  thereof  has  never  faded  from 
their  countenances  until  they  died.  Was  there 
any  such  record  here  ? 

He  established  a  temporary  office  for  himself 
in  the  new  house,  and  all  went  well  under  his 
hand,  with  one  singular  exception.  He  mani- 
festly objected  to  communicate  with  Mr.  Bof- 
fin's solicitor.  Two  or  three  times,  when  there 
was  some  slight  occasion  for  his  doing  so,  he 
transferred  the  task  to  Mr.  Boffin  ;  and  his  eva- 
sion of  it  soon  became  so  curiously  apparent, 
that  Mr.  Boffin  spoke  to  him  on  the  subject  of 
his  reluctance. 

"It  is  so,"  the  Secretary  admitted.  "  I  would 
rather  not." 

Had  he  any  personal  objection  to  Mr.  Light- 
wood? 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


05 


"I  don't  know  him." 

Had  he  suffered  from  lawsuits  ? 
"Not  more  than  other  men,"  was  his  short 
answer. 

Was  he  prejudiced  against  the  race  of  law- 
yers? 

"No.  But  while  I  am  in  your  employment, 
Sir,  I  would  rather  be  excused  from  going  be- 
tween the  lawyer  and  the  client.  Of  course  if 
you  press  it,  Mr.  Boffin,  I  am  ready  to  comply. 
But  I  should  take  it  as  a  great  favor  if  you  would 
not  press  it  without  urgent  occasion." 

Now,  it  could  not  be  said  that  there  was  urg- 
ent occasion,  for  Lightwood  retained  no  other 
affairs  in  his  hands  than  such  as  still  lingered 
and  languished  about  the  undiscovered  criminal, 
and  such  as  arose  out  of  the  purchase  of  the 
house.  Many  other  matters  that  might  have 
traveled  to  him  now  stopped  short  at  the  Secre- 
tary, under  whose  administration  they  were  far 
more  expeditiously  and  satisfactorily  disposed  of 
than  they  would  have  been  if  they  had  got  into 
Young  Blight's  domain.  This  the  Golden  Dust- 
man quite  understood.  Even  the  matter  immedi- 
ately in  hand  was  of  very  little  moment  as  requir- 
ing personal  appearance  on  the  Secretary's  part, 
for  it  amounted  to  no  more  than  this : — The 
death  of  Hexam  rendering  the  sweat  of  the  hon- 
est man's  brow  unprofitable,  the  honest  man  had 
shufflingly  declined  to  moisten  his  brow  for  no- 
thing, with  that  severe  exertion  which  is  known 
in  legal  circles  as  swearing  your  way  through  a 
stone-wall.  Consequently,  that  new  light  had 
gone  sputtering  out.  But  the  airing  of  the  old 
facts  had  led  some  one  concerned  to  suggest  that 
it  would  be  well  before  they  were  reconsigned 
to  their  gloomy  shelf — now  probably  forever — 
to  induce  or  compel  that  Mr.  Julius  Handford 
to  reappear  and  be  questioned.  And  all  traces 
of  Mr.  Julius  Handford  being  lost,  Lightwood 
now  referred  to  his  client  for  authority  to  seek 
him  through  public  advertisement. 

"Does  your  objection  go  to  writing  to  Light- 
wood,  Rokesmith?" 

"Not  in  the  least,  Sir." 

"Then  perhaps  you'll  write  him  a  line,  and 
say  he  is  free  to  do  what  he  likes.  I  don't  think 
it  promises." 

"/  don't  think  it  promises,"  said  the  Secre- 
tary. 

"  Still,  he  may  do  what  he  likes." 

"I  will  write  immediately.  Let  me  thank 
you  for  so  considerately  yielding  to  my  disin- 
clination. It  may  seem  less  unreasonable  if  I 
avow  to  you  that  although  I  don't  know  Mr. 
Lightwood,  I  have  a  disagreeable  association 
connected  with  him.  It  is  not  his  fault ;  he  is 
not  at  all  to  blame  for  it,  and  does  not  even 
know  my  name." 

Mr.  Boffin  dismissed  the  matter  with  a  nod 
or  two.  The  letter  was  written,  and  next  day 
Mr.  Julius  Handford  was  advertised  for.  He 
was  requested  to  place  himself  in  communica- 
tion with  Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood,  as  a  possi- 
ble means  of  furthering  the  ends  of  justice,  and 
a  reward  was  offered  to  any  one  acquainted 
with  his  whereabout  who  would  communicate 
the  same  to  the  said  Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood 
at  his  office  in  the  Temple.  Every  day  for  six 
weeks  this  advertisement  appeared  at  the  head 
of  all  the  newspapers,  and  every  day  for  six 
weeks  the  Secretary,  when  he  saw  it,  said  to 


himself,  in  the  tone  in  which  he  had  said  to  his 
employer,  "/don't  think  it  promises  !" 

Among  his  first  occupations  the  pursuit  of 
that  orphan  wanted  by  Mrs.  Boffin  held  a  con- 
spicuous place.  From  the  earliest  moment  of 
his  engagement  he  showed  a  particular  desire 
to  please  her,  and,  knowing  her  to  have  this 
object  at  heart,  he  followed  it  up  with  unweary- 
ing alacrity  and  interest. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Milvey  had  found  their  search 
a  difficult  one.  Either  an  eligible  orphan  was 
of  the  wrong  sex  (which  almost  always  happen- 
ed), or  was  too  old,  or  too  young,  or  too  sickly, 
or  too  dirty,  or  too  much  accustomed  to  the 
streets,  or  too  likely  to  run  away ;  or  it  was 
found  impossible  to  complete  the  philanthropic 
transaction  without  buying  the  orphan.  For, 
the  instant  it  became  known  that  any  body 
wanted  the  orphan,  up  started  some  affection- 
ate relative  of  the  orphan  who  put  a  price  upon 
the  orphan's  head.  The  suddenness  of  an  or- 
phan's rise  in  the  market  was  not  to  be  paral- 
leled by  the  maddest  records  of  the  Stock  Ex- 
change. He  would  be  at  five  thousand  per 
cent,  discount  out  at  nurse  making  a  mud  pie 
at  nine  in  the  morning,  and  (being  inquired 
for)  would  go  up  to  five  thousand  per  cent,  pre- 
mium before  noon.  The  market  was  "rigged" 
in  various  artful  ways.  Counterfeit  stock  got 
into  circulation.  Parents  boldly  represented 
themselves  as  dead,  and  brought  their  orphans 
with  them.  Genuine  orphan  stock  was  surrep- 
titiously withdrawn  from  the  market.  It  being 
announced,  by  emissaries  posted  for  the  pur- 
pose, that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Milvey  were  coming 
down  the  court,  orphan  scrip  would  be  instant- 
ly concealed,  and  production  refused,  save  on  a 
condition  usually  stated  by  the  brokers  as  "a 
gallon  of  beer."  Likewise,  fluctuations  of  a 
wild  and  South-Sea  nature  were  occasioned  by 
orphan-holders  keeping  back,  and  then  rushing 
into  the  market  a  dozen  together.  But  the 
uniform  principle  at  the  root  of  all  these  vari- 
ous operations  was  bargain  and  sale ;  and  that 
principle  could  not  be  recognized  by  M$.  and 
Mrs.  Milvey. 

At  length  tidings  were  received  by  the  Rev- 
erend Frank  of  a  charming  orphan  to  be  found 
at  Brentford.  One  of  the  deceased  parents  (late 
his  parishioners)  had  a  poor  widowed  grandmo- 
ther in  that  agreeable  town,  and  she,  Mrs,  Betty 
Higden,  had  carried  off  the  orphan  with  mater- 
nal care,  but  could  not  afford  to  keep  him. 

The  Secretary  proposed  to  Mrs.  Boffin,  either 
to  go  down  himself  and  take  a  preliminary  sur- 
vey of  this  orphan,  or  to  drive  her  down,  that 
she  might  at  once  form  her  own  opinion.  Mrs. 
Boffin  preferring  the  latter  course,  they  set  oft* 
one  morning  in  a  hired  phaeton,  conveying  the 
hammer-headed  young  man  behind  them. 

The  abode  of  Mrs.  Betty  Higden  was  not  easy 
to  find,  lying  in  such  complicated  back  settle- 
ments of  muddy  Brentford  that  they  left  their 
equipage  at  the  sign  of  the  Three  Magpies,  and 
went  in  search  of  it  on  foot.  After  many  in- 
quiries and  defeats,  there  was  pointed  out  to 
them  in  a  lane,  a  very  small  cottage  residence, 
with  a  board  across  the  open  doorway,  hooked 
on  to  which  board  by  the  arm-pits  was  a  young 
gentleman  of  tender  years,  angling  for  mud  with 
a  headless  wooden  horse  and  line.  In  this  young 
sportsman,  distinguished  by  a  crisply  curling  au- 


96 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


MRS.  BOFFIN  DISCOVERS   AN   ORPHAN. 


burn  head  and  a  bluff  countenance,  the  Secre- 
tary descried  the  orphan. 

It  unfortunately  happened  as  they  quickened 
their  pace,  that  the  orphan,  lost  to  considera- 
tions of  personal  safety  in  the  ardor  of  the  mo- 
ment, overbalanced  himself  and  toppled  into  the 
street.  Being  an  orphan  of  a  chubby  conforma- 
tion, he  then  took  to  rolling,  and  had  rolled  into 
the  gutter  before  they  could  come  up.  From 
the  gutter  he  was  rescued  by  John  Rokesmith, 
and  thus  the  first  meeting  with  Mrs.  Higden  was 
inaugurated  by  the  awkward  circumstance  of 
their  being  in  possession — one  would  say  at  first 
sight  unlawful  possession — of  the  orphan,  upside 
down  and  purple  in  the  countenance.  The  board 
across  the  doorway  too,  acting  as  a  trap  equally 
for  the  feet  of  Mrs.  Higden  coming  out,  and  the 


feet  of  Mrs.  Boffin  and  John  Rokesmith  going 
in,  greatly  increased  the  difficulty  of  the  situa- 
tion :  to  which  the  cries  of  the  orphan  imparted 
a  lugubrious  and  inhuman  character. 

At  first,  it  was  impossible  to  explain,  on  ac- 
count of  the  orphan's  "holding  his  breath:"  a 
most  terrific  proceeding,  superinducing  in  the 
orphan  lead-color  rigidity  and  a  deadly  silence, 
compared  with  which  his  cries  were  music  yield- 
ing the  height  of  enjoyment.  But  as  he  grad- 
ually recovered,  Mrs.  Boffin  gradually  introduced 
herself,  and  smiling  peace  was  gradually  wooed 
back  to  Mrs.  Betty  Higden's  home. 

It  was  then  perceived  to  be  a  small  home  with 
a  large  mangle  in  it,  at  the  handle  of  which  ma- 
chine stood  a  very  long  boy,  with  a  very  little 
head,  and  an  open  mouth  of  disproportionate 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


97 


capacity  that  seemed  to  assist  his  eyes  in  staring 
at  the  visitors.  In  a  corner  below  the  mangle, 
on  a  couple  of  stools,  sat  two  very  little  children : 
a  boy  and  a  girl ;  and  when  the  very  long  boy, 
in  an  interval  of  staring,  took  a  turn  at  the  man- 
gle, it  was  alarming  to  see  how  it  lunged  itself 
at  those  two  innocents,  like  a  catapult  designed 
for  their  destruction,  harmlessly  retiring  when 
within  an  inch  of  their  heads.  The  room  was 
clean  and  neat.  It  had  a  brick  floor,  and  a 
window  of  diamond  panes,  and  a  flounce  hang- 
ing below  the  chimney-piece,  and  strings  nailed 
from  bottom  to  top  outside  the  window,  on  which 
scarlet  beans  were  to  grow  in  the  coming  season 
if  the  Fates  were  propitious.  However  propi- 
tious they  might  have  been  in  the  seasons  that 
were  gone  to  Betty  Higden  in  the  matter  of 
beans,  they  had  not  been  very  favorable  in  the 
matter  of  coins  ;  for  it  was  easy  to  see  that  she 
was  poor. 

She  was  one  of  those  old  women,  was  Mrs. 
Betty  Higden,  who  by  dint  of  an  indomitable 
purpose  and  a  strong  constitution  fight  out  many 
years,  though  each  year  has  come  with  its  new 
knock-down  blows  fresh  to  the  fight  against  her, 
wearied  by  it;  an  active  old  woman,  with  a 
bright  dark  eye  and  a  resolute  face,  yet  quite  a 
tender  creature  too;  not  a  logically-reasoning 
woman,  but  God  is  good,  and  hearts  may  count 
in  Heaven  as  high  as  heads. 

"Yes,  sure !"  said  she,  when  the  business  was" 
opened,  "Mrs.  Milvey  had  the  kindness  to  write 
to  me,  ma'am,  and  I  got  Sloppy  to  read  it.  It 
was  a  pretty  letter.     But  she's  an  affable  lady." 

The  visitors  glanced  at  the  long  boy,  who 
seemed  to  indicate  by  a  broader  stare  of  his 
mouth  and  eyes  that  in  him  Sloppy  stood  con- 
fessed. 

"For  I  ain't,  you  must  know,"  said  Betty, 
"much  of  a  hand  at  reading  writing-hand, 
though  I  can  read  my  Bible  and  most  print. 
And  I  do  love  a  newspaper.  You  mightn't  think 
it,  but  Sloppy  is  a  beautiful  reader  of  a  newspa- 
per.    He  do  the  Police  in  different  voices." 

The  visitors  again  considered  it  a  point  of 
politeness  to  look  at  Sloppy,  who,  looking  at 
them,  suddenly  threw  back  his  head,  extended 
his  mouth  to  its  utmost  width,  and  laughed  loud 
and  long.  At  this  the  two  innocents,  with  their 
brains  in  that  apparent  danger,  laughed,  and 
Mrs.  Higden  laughed,  and  the  orphan  laughed, 
and  then  the  visitors  laughed.  Which  was  more 
cheerful  than  intelligible. 

Then  Sloppy  seeming  to  be  seized  with  an  in- 
dustrious mania  or  fury,  turned  to  at  the  man- 
gle, and  impelled  it  at  the  heads  of  the  innocents 
with  such  a  creaking  and  rumbling  that  Mrs. 
Higden  stopped  him. 

"The  gentlefolks  can't  hear  themselves  speak, 
Sloppy.   .  Bide  a  bit,  bide  a  bit !" 

"Is  that  the  dear  child  in  your  lap?"  said 
Mrs.  Boffin. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  this  is  Johnny." 

"Johnny,  too!"  cried  Mrs.  Boffin,  turning  to 
the  Secretary ;  "  already  Johnny !  Only  one  of 
the  two  names  left  to  give  him  !  He's  a  pretty 
boy." 

With  his  chin  tucked  down  in  his  shy  child- 
ish manner,  he  was  looking  furtively  at  Mrs. 
Boffin  out  of  his  blue  eyes,  and  reaching  his  fat 
dimpled  hand  up  to  the  lips  of  the  old  woman, 
who  was  kissing  it  bv  times. 
G 


"Yes,  ma'am,  he's  a  pretty  boy,  he's  a  dear 
darling  boy,  he's  the  child  of  my  own  last  left 
daughter's  daughter.  But  she's  gone  the  way 
of  all  the  rest." 

"Those  are  not  his  brother  and  sister?"  said 
Mrs.  Boffin. 

"  Oh,  dear  no,  ma'am.    Those  are  Minders." 

"Minders?"  the  Secretary  repeated. 

"Left  to  be  Minded,  Sir.  I  keep  a  Minding- 
School.  I  can  take  only  three,  on  account  of 
the  Mangle.  But  I  love  children,  and  Four- 
pence  a  week  is  Four-pence.  Come  here,  Tod- 
dles and  Poddies." 

Toddles  was  the  pet-name  of  the  boy ;  Poddies 
of  the  girl.  At  their  little  unsteady  pace  they 
came  across  the  floor,  hand  in  hand,  as  if 'they 
were  traversing  an  extremely  difficult  road  inter- 
sected by  brooks,  and,  when  they  had  had  their 
heads  patted  by  Mrs.  Betty  Higden,  made  lunges 
at  the  orphan,  dramatically  representing  an  at- 
tempt to  bear  him,  crowing,  into  captivity  and 
slavery.  All  the  three  children  enjoyed  this  to 
a  delightful  extent,  and  the  sympathetic  Sloppy 
again  laughed  long  and  loud.  When  it  was  dis- 
creet to  stop  the  play,  Betty  Higden  said  "Go 
to  your  seats  Toddles  and  Poddies,"  and  they 
returned  hand  in  hand  across  country,  seeming 
to  find  the  brooks  rather  swollen  by  late  rains. 

"And  Master — or  Mister — Sloppy?"  said  the 
Secretary,  in  doubt  whether  he  was  man,  boy, 
or  what. 

"A  love-child,"  returned  Betty  Higden,  drop- 
ping her  voice;  "parents  never  known;  found 
in  the  street.  He  was  brought  up  in  the — " 
with  a  shiver  of  repugnance,  " — the  House." 

"The  Poor-house?"  said  the  Secretary. 

Mrs.  Higden  set  that  resolute  old  face  of  hers, 
and  darkly  nodded  yes. 

"You  dislike  the  mention  of  it." 

"Dislike  the  mention  of  it?"  answered  the 
old  woman.  "Kill  me  sooner  than  take  me 
there.  Throw  this  pretty  child  under  cart-horses' 
feet  and  a  loaded  wagon  sooner  than  take  him 
there.  Come  to  us  and  find  us  all  a-dying,  and 
set  a  light  to  us  all  where  we  lie,  and  let  us  all 
blaze  away  with  the  house  into  a  heap  of  cinders, 
sooner  than  move  a  corpse  of  us  there !" 

A  surprising  spirit  in  this  lonely  woman  after 
so  many  years  of  hard  working,  and  hard  living, 
my  Lords  and  Gentlemen  and  Honorable  Boards ! 
What  is  it  that  we  call  it  in  our  grandiose 
speeches?  British  independence,  rather  per- 
verted ?  Is  that,  or  something  like  it,  the  ring 
of  the  cant  ? 

"Do  I  never  read  in  the  newspapers,"  said 
the  dame,  fondling  the  child — "  God  help  me  and 
the  like  of  me ! — how  the  worn-out  people  that 
do  come  down  to  that,  get  driven  from  post  to 
pillar  and  pillar  to  post,  a-purpose  to  tire  them 
out !  Do  I  never  read  how  they  are  put  off,  put 
off,  put  off — how  they  are  grudged,  grudged, 
grudged,  the  shelter,  or  the  doctor,  or  the  drop 
of  physic,  or  the  bit  of  bread  ?  Do  I  never  read 
how  they  grow  heart-sick  of  it  and  give  it  up, 
after  having  let  themselves  drop  so  low,  and  how 
they  after  all  die  out  for  want  of  help  ?  Then  I 
say,.  I  hope  I  can  die  as  well  as  another,  and  I'll 
die  without  that  disgrace." 

Absolutely  impossible  my  Lords  and  Gentle- 
men and  Honorable  Boards,  by  any  stretch  of 
legislative  wisdom  to  set  these  perverse  people 
right  in  their  logic  ? 


98 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Johnny,  my  pretty,"  continued  old  Betty, 
caressing  the  child,  and  rather  mourning  over  it 
than  speaking  to  it,  "your  old  Granny  Betty  is 
nigher  fourscore  year  than  threescore  and  ten. 
She  never  begged  nor  had  a  penny  of  the  Union 
money  in  all  her  life.  She  paid  scot  and  she 
paid  lot  when  she  had  money  to  pay ;  she  work- 
ed when  she  could,  and  she  starved  when  she 
must.  You  pray  that  your  Granny  may  have 
strength  enough  left  her  at  the  last  (she's  strong 
for  an  old  one,  Johnny)  to  get  up  from  her  bed 
and  run  and  hide  herself,  and  swown  to  death  in 
a  hole,  sooner  than  fall  into  the  hands  of  those 
Cruel  Jacks  we  read  of,  that  dodge  and  drive, 
and  worry  and  weary,  and  scorn  and  shame,  the 
decent  poor." 

A  brilliant  success,  my  Lords  and  Gentlemen 
and  Honorable  Boards,  to  have  brought  it  to  this 
in  the  minds  of  the  best  of  the  poor !  Under  sub- 
mission, might  it  be  worth  thinking  of,  at  any 
odd  time  ? 

The  fright  and  abhorrence  that  Mrs.  Betty 
Higden  smoothed  out  of  her  strong  face  as  she 
ended  this  diversion  showed  how  seriously  she 
had  meant  it. 

"And  does  he  work  for  you  ?"  asked  the  Sec- 
retary, gently  bringing  the  discourse  back  to 
Master  or  Mister  Sloppy. 

"Yes,"  said  Betty,  with  a  good-humored  smile 
and  nod  of  the  head.     "And  well  too." 

"Does  he  live  here?" 

"He  lives  more  here  than  any  where.  JEIe 
was  thought  to  be  no  better  than  a  Natural,  and 
first  come  to  me  as  a  Minder.  I  made  interest 
with  Mr.  Blogg  the  Beadle  to  have  him  as  a 
Minder,  seeing  him  by  chance  up  at  church,  and 
thinking  I  might  do  something  with  him.  For 
he  was  a  weak  rickety  creetur  then." 

"Is  he  called  by  his  right  name?" 

"Why,  you  see,  speaking  quite  correctly,  he 
has  no  right  name.  I  always  understood  lie  took 
his  name  from  being  found  on  a  Sloppy  night." 

"  He  seems  an  amiable  fellow." 

"Bless  you,  Sir,  there's  not  a  bit  of  him,"  re- 
turned Betty,  "  that's  not  amiable.  So  you  may 
judge  how  amiable  he  is,  by  running  your  eye 
along  his  heighth." 

Of  an  ungainly  make  was  Sloppy.  Too  much 
of  him  longwise,  too  little  of  him  broadwise,  and 
too  many  sharp  angles  of  him  angle-wise.  One 
of  those  shambling  male  human  creatures,  born 
to  be  indiscreetly  candid  in  the  revelation  of 
buttons ;  every  button  he  had  about  him  glaring 
at  the  public  to  a  quite  preternatural  extent.  A 
considerable  capital  of  knee  and  elbow  and  wrist 
and  ankle  had  Sloppy,  and  he  didn't  know  how 
to  dispose  of  it  to  the  best  advantage,  but  was 
always  investing  it  in  wrong  securities,  and  so 
getting  himself  into  embarrassed  circumstances. 
Full-Private  Number  One  in  the  Awkward  Squad 
of  the  rank  and  file  of  life  was  Sloppy,  and  yet 
had  his  glimmering  notions  of  standing  true  to 
the  Colors. 

"And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  "concerning 
Johnny." 

As  Johnny,  with  his  chin  tucked  in  and  his 
lips  pouting,  reclined  in  Betty's  lap,  concentrating 
his  blue  eyes  on  the  visitors  and  shading  them 
from  observation  with  a  dimpled  arm,  old  Betty 
took  one  of  his  fresh  fat  hands  in  her  withered 
right,  and  fell  to  gently  beating  it  on  her  with- 
ered left. 


"Yes,  ma'am.     Concerning  Johnny." 

11  If  you  trust  the  dear  child  to  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Boffin,  with  a  face  inviting  trust,  "  he  shall  have 
the  best  of  homes,  the  best  of  care,  the  best  of 
education,  the  best  of  friends.  Please  God  I 
will  be  a  true  good  mother  to  him !" 

"  I  am  thankful  to  you,  ma'am,  and  the  dear 
child  would  be  thankful  if  he  was  old  enough  to 
understand."  Still  lightly  beating  the  little  hand 
upon  her  own.  "I  wouldn't  stand  in  the  dear 
child's  light,  not  if  I  had  all  my  life  before  me 
instead  of  a  very  little  of  it.  But  I  hope  you 
won't  take  it  ill  that  I  cleave  to  the  child  closer 
than  words  can  tell,  for  he's  the  last  living  thing 
left  me." 

"Take  it  ill,  my  dear  soul?  Is  it  likely? 
And  you  so  tender  of  him  as  to  bring  him  home 
here !" 

"  I  have  seen,"  said  Betty,  still  with  that  light 
beat  upon  her  hard  rough  hand,  "so  many  of 
them  on  my  lap.  And  they  are  all  gone  but  this 
one !  I  am  ashamed  to  seem  so  selfish,  but  I 
don't  really  mean  it.  It'll  be  the  making  of  his 
fortune,  and  he'll  be  a  gentleman  when  I  am 
dead.  I — I — don't  know  what  comes  over  me. 
I — try  against  it.  Don't  notice  me!"  The  light 
beat  stopped,  the  resolute  mouth  gave  way,  and 
the  fine  strong  old  face  broke  up  into  weakness 
and  tears. 

Now,  greatly  to  the  relief  of  the  visitors,  the 
emotional  Sloppy  no  sooner  beheld  his  patroness 
in  this  condition,  than,  throwing  back  his  head 
and  throwing  open  his  mouth,  he  lifted  up  his 
voice  and  bellowed.  This  alarming  note  of  some- 
thing wrong  instantly  terrified  Toddles  and  Pod- 
dies, who  were  no  sooner  heard  to  roar  surpris- 
ingly, than  Johnny,  curving  himself  the  wrong 
way  and  striking  out  at  Mrs.  Boffin  with  a  pair 
of  indifferent  shoes,  became  a  prey  to  despair. 
The  absurdity  of  the  situation  put  its  pathos  to 
the  rout.  Mrs.  Betty  Higden  was  herself  in  a 
moment,  and  brought  them  all  to  order  with 
that  speed,  that  Sloppy,  stopping  short  in  a  poly- 
syllabic bellow,  transferred  his  energy  to  the 
mangle,  and  had  taken  several  penitential  turns 
before  he  could  be  stopped. 

"There,  there,  there!"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  al- 
most regarding  her  kind  self  as  the  most  ruthless 
of  women.  "Nothing  is  going  to  be  done.  No- 
body need  be  frightened.  We're  till  comforta- 
ble; ain't  we,  Mrs.  Higden?" 

"  Sure  and  certain  we  are,"  returned  Betty. 

"And  there  really  is  no  hurry,  you  know," 
said  Mrs.  Boffin,  in  a  lower  voice.  "  Take  time 
to  think  of  it,  my  good  creature !" 

"Don't  you  fear  me  no  more,  ma'am,"  said 
Betty.  "  I  thought  of  it  for  good  yesterday.  I 
don't  know  what  come  over  me  just  now,  but 
it'll  never  come  again." 

"  Well,  then ;  Johnny  shall  have  more  time 
to  think  of  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Boffin  ;  "  the  pret- 
ty child  shall  have  time  to  get  used  to  it.  And 
you'll  get  him  more  used  to  it,  if  you  think  well 
of  it;  won't  you?" 

Betty  undertook  that,  cheerfully  and  readily. 

"Lor,"  cried  Mrs.  Boffin,  looking  radiantly 
about  her,  "we  want  to  make  every  body  hap- 
py, not  dismal ! — And  perhaps  you  wouldn't 
mind  letting  me  know  how  used  to  it  you  begin 
to  get,  and  how  it  all  goes  on  ?" 

"I'll  send  Sloppy,"  said  Mrs.  Higden. 

"And  this  gentleman  who  has  come  with  me 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


99 


will  pay  him  for  his  trouble,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin. 
"And  Mr.  Sloppy,  whenever  you  come  to  my 
house,  be  sure  you  never  go  away  without  hav- 
ing had  a  good  dinner  of  meat,  beer,  vegetables, 
and  pudding." 

This  still  further  brightened  the  face  of  affairs ; 
for,  the  highly  sympathetic  Sloppy,  first  broad- 
ly staring  and  grinning,  and  then  roaring  with 
laughter,  Toddles  and  Poddies  followed  suit,  and 
Johnny  trumped  the  trick.  T  and  P  considering 
these  favorable  circumstances  for  the  resumption 
of  that  dramatic  descent  upon  Johnny,  again 
came  across  country  hand  in  hand  upon  a  buc- 
caneering expedition ;  and  this  having  been 
fought  out  in  the  chimney-corner  behind  Mrs. 
Higden's  chair,  with  great  valor  on  both  sides, 
those  desperate  pirates  returned  hand  in  hand 
to  their  stools,  across  the  dry  bed  of  a  mountain 
torrent. 

"  You  must  tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you, 
Betty  my  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  confidential- 
ly, "if  not  to-day,  next  time." 

"  Thank  you  all  the  same,  ma'am,  but  I  want 
nothing  for  myself.  I  can  work.  I'm  strong. 
I  can  walk  twenty  mile  if  I'm  put  to  it."  Old 
Betty  was  proud,  and  said  it  with  a  sparkle  in 
her  bright  eyes. 

"Yes,  but  there  are  some  little  comforts  that 
you  wouldn't  be  the  worse  for,"  returned  Mrs. 
Boffin.  "  Bless  ye,  I  wasn't  born  a  lady  any 
more  than  you." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Betty,  smiling,  "that 
you  were  a  born  lady,  and  a  true  one,  or  there 
never  was  a  lady  born.  But  I  couldn't  take 
any  thing  from  you,  my  dear.  I  never  did  take 
any  thing  from  any  one.  It  ain't  that  I'm  not 
grateful,  but  1  love  to  earn  it  better." 

' '  Well,  well !"  returned  Mrs.  Boffin.  « '  I  only 
spoke  of  little  things,  or  I  wouldn't  have  taken 
the  liberty." 

Betty  put  her  visitor's  hand  to  her  lips,  in  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  delicate  answer.  Won- 
derfully upright  her  figure  was,  and  wonderful- 
ly self-reliant  her  look,  as,  standing  facing  her 
visitor,  she  explained  herself  further. 

"  If  I  could  have  kept  the  dear  child,  without 
the  dread  that's  always  upon  me  of  his  coming 
to  that  fate  I  have  -spoken  of,  I  could  never  have 
parted  with  him,  even  to  you.  For  I  love  him, 
I  love  him,  I  love  him !  I  love  my  husband 
long  dead  and  gone,  in  him ;  I  love  my  children 
dead  and  gone,  in  him ;  I  love  my  young  and 
hopeful  days  dead  and  gone,  in  him.  I  couldn't 
sell  that  love,  and  look  you  in  your  bright  kind 
face.  It's  a  free  gift.  I  am  in  want  of  nothing. 
When  my  strength  fails  me,  if  I  can  but  die  out 
quick  «and  quiet,  I  shall  be  quite  content.  I 
have  stood  between  my  dead  and  that  shame  I 
have  spoken  of,  and  it  has  been  kept  off  from 
every  one  of  them.  Sewed  into  my  gown,"  with 
her  hand  upon  her  breast,  "is  just  enough  to 
lay  me  in  the  grave.  Only  see  that  it's  rightly 
spent,  so  as  I  may  rest  free  to  the  last  from  that 
cruelty  and  disgrace,  and  you'll  have  done  much 
more  than  a  little  thing  for  me,  and  all  that  in 
this  present  world  my  heart  is  set  upon." 

Mrs.  Betty  Higden's  visitor  pressed  her  hand. 
There  was  no  more  breaking  up  of  the  strong 
old  face  into  weakness.  My  Lords  and  Gentle- 
men and  Honorable  Boards,,  it  really  was  as 
composed  as  our  own  faces,  and  almost  as  dig- 
nified. 


And  now,  Johnny  was  to  be  inveigled  into 
occupying  a  temporary  position  on  Mrs.  Boffin's 
lap.  It  was  not  until  he  had  been  piqued  into 
competition  with  the  two  diminutive  Minders, 
by  seeing  them  successively  raised  to  that  post 
and  retire  from  it  without  injury,  that  he  could 
be  by  any  means  induced  to  leave  Mrs.  Betty 
Higden's  skirts;  toward  which  he  exhibited, 
even  when  in  Mrs.  Boffin's  embrace,  strong 
yearnings,  spiritual  and  bodily ;  the  former  ex- 
pressed in  a  very  gloomy  visage,  the  latter  in 
extended  arms.  However,  a  general  descrip- 
tion of  the  toy-wonders  lurking  in  Mrs.  Boffin's 
house,  so  far  conciliated  this  worldly-minded 
orphan  as  to  induce  him  to  stare  at  her  frown- 
ingly,  with  a  fist  in  his  mouth,  and  even  at  length 
to  chuckle  when  a  richly-caparisoned  horse  on 
wheels,  with  a  miraculous  gift  of  cantering  to 
cake-shops,  was  mentioned.  This  sound  being 
taken  up  by  the  Minders,  swelled  into  a  raptur- 
ous trio  which  gave  general  satisfaction. 

So  the  interview  was  considered  very  success- 
ful, and  Mrs.  Boffin  was  pleased,  and  all  were 
satisfied.  Not  least  of  all,  Sloppy,  who  under- 
took to  conduct  the  visitors  back  by  the  best  way 
to  the  Three  Magpies,  and  whom  the  hammer- 
headed  young  man  much  despised. 

This  piece  of  business  thus  put  in  train,  the 
Secretary  drove  Mrs.  Boffin  back  to  the  Bower, 
and  found  employment  for  himself  at  the  new 
house  until  evening.  Whether,  when  evening 
came,  he  took  a  way  to  his  lodgings  that  led 
through  fields,  with  any  design  of  finding  Miss 
Bella  Wilfer  in  those  fields,  is  not  so  certain  as 
that  she  regularly  walked  there  at  that  hour. 

And,  moreover,  it  is  certain  that  there  she 
was. 

No  longer  in  mourning,  Miss  Bella  was  dress- 
ed in  as  pretty  colors  as  she  could  muster.  There 
is  no  denying  that  she  was  as  pretty  as  they,  and 
that  she  and  the  colors  went  very  prettily  to- 
gether. She  was  reading  as  she  walked,  and  of 
course  it  is  to  be  inferred,  from  her  showing  no 
knowledge  of  Mr.  Rokesmith's  approach,  that 
she  did  not  know  he  was  approaching. 

"  Eh  ?"  said  Miss  Bella,  raising  her  eyes  from 
her  book,  when  he  stopped  before  her.  "Oh! 
It's  you." 

"  Only  I.     A  fine  evening !" 

"Is  it?"  said  Bella,  looking  coldly  round. 
"I  suppose  it  is,  now  you  mention  it.  I  have 
not  been  thinking  of  the  evening." 

"So  intent  upon  your  book?" 

"Ye-e-es,"  replied  Bella,  with  a  drawl  of  in- 
difference. 

"A  love-story,  Miss  Wilfer?" 

"Oh  dear  no,  or  I  shouldn't  be  reading  it. 
It's  more  about  money  than  any  thing  else." 

"And  does  it  say  that  money  is  better  than 
anything?" 

"Upon  my  word,"  returned  Bella,  "I  forget 
what  it  says,  but  you  can  find  out  for  yourself, 
if  you  like,  Mr.  Rokesmith.  I  don't  want  it  any 
more." 

The  Secretary  took  the  book — she  had  flutter- 
ed the  leaves  as  if  it  were  a  fan — and  walked 
beside  her. 

"lam  charged  with  a  message  for  you,  Miss 
Wilfer." 

"Impossible,  I  think!"  said  Bella,  with  an- 
other drawl. 

"From  Mrs.  Boffin.     She  desired  me  to  as- 


100 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


sure  you  of  the  pleasure  she  has  in  finding  that 
she  will  be  ready  to  receive  you  in  another  week 
or  two  at  furthest." 

Bella  turned  her  head  toward  him,  with  her 
pretty  insolent  eyebrows  raised,  and  her  eyelids 
drooping.  As  much  as  to  say,  "How  did  you 
come  by  the  message,  pray  ?" 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  an  opportunity  of 
telling  you  that  I  am  Mr.  Boffin's  Secretary  ?" 

"I  am  as  wise  as  ever,"  said  Miss  Bella,  lofti- 
ly, "  for  I  don't  know  what  a  Secretary  is.  Not 
that  it  signifies." 

"Not  at  all." 

A  covert  glance  at  her  face,  as  he  walked  be- 
side her,  showed  him  that  she  had  not  expected 
his  ready  assent  to  that  proposition. 

"Then  are  you  going  to  be  always  there,  Mr. 
Rokesihith?"  she  inquired,  as  if  that  would  be  a 
drawback. 

"Always?  No.     Veiy  much  there?  Yes." 

"Dear  me!"  drawled  Bella,  in  a  tone  of  mor- 
tification. 

' '  But  my  position  there  as  Secretary  will  be 
very  different  from  yours  as  guest.  You  will 
know  little  or  nothing  about  me.  I  shall  trans- 
act the  business  :  you  will  transact  the  pleasure. 
I  shall  have  my  salary  to  earn ;  you  will  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  enjoy  and  attract." 

"Attract,  Sir?"  said  Bella,  again  with  her 
eyebrows  raised,  and  her  eyelids  drooping.  "I 
don't  understand  you." 

Without  replying  on  this  point,  Mr.  Rokesmith 
went  on. 

"Excuse  me;  when  I  first  saw  you  in  your 
black  dress — " 

("There!"  was  Miss  Bella's  mental  excla- 
mation. "What  did  I  say  to  them  at  home? 
Every  body  noticed  that  ridiculous  mourning.") 

"  When  I  first  saw  you  in  your  black  dress,  I 
was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  that  distinction  be- 
tween yourself  and  your  family.  I  hope  it  was 
not  impertinent  to  speculate  upon  it  ?" 

"I  hope  not,  I  am  sure,"  said  Miss  Bella, 
haughtily.  "But  you  ought  to  know  best  how 
you  speculated  upon  it." 

Mr.  Rokesmith  inclined  his  head  in  a  depre- 
catory^ manner,  and  went  on. 

"Since  I  have  been  intrusted  with  Mr.  Bof- 
fin's affairs,  I  have  necessarily  come  to  under- 
stand the  little  mystery.  I  venture  to  remark 
that  I  feel  persuaded  that  much  of  your  loss 
may  be  repaired.  I  speak,  of  course,  merely  of 
wealth,  Miss  Wilfer.  The  loss  of  a  perfect 
stranger,  whose  worth,  or  worthlessness,  I  can 
not  estimate  —  nor  you  either  —  is  beside  the 
question.  But  this  excellent  gentleman  and 
lady  are  so  full  of  simplicity,  so  full  of  gener- 
osity, so  inclined  toward  you,  and  so  desirous 
to — how  shall  I  express  it? — to  make  amends 
for  their  good  fortune,  that  you  have  only  to  re- 
spond." 

As  he  watched  her  with  another  covert  look, 
he  saw  a  certain  ambitious  triumph  in  her  face 
which  no  assumed  coldness  could  conceal. 

"As  we  have  been  brought  under  one  roof 
by  an  accidental  combination  of  circumstances, 
which  oddly  extends  itself  to  the  new  relations 
before  us,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  saying 
these  few  words.  You  don't  consider  them  in- 
trusive I  hope  ?"  said  the  Secretary,  with  defer- 
ence. 

"Really,  Mr.  Rokesmith,  I  can't  say  what 


I  consider  them,"  returned  the  young  lady. 
"They  are  perfectly  new  to  me,  and  may  be 
founded  altogether  on  your  own  imagination." 

"You  will  see." 

These  same  fields  were  opposite  the  Wilfer 
premises.  The  discreet  Mrs.  Wilfer  now  look- 
ing out  of  window  and  beholding  her  daughter 
in  conference  with  her  lodger,  instantly  tied  up 
her  head  and  came  out  for  a  casual  walk. 

"  I  have  been  telling  Miss  Wilfer,"  said  John 
Rokesmith,  as  the  majestic  lady  came  stalking 
up,  "  that  I  have  become,  by  a  curious  chance, 
Mr.  Boffin's  Secretary  or  man  of  business." 

"I  have  not,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilfer,  waving 
her  gloves  in  her  chronic  state  of  dignity,  and 
vague  ill-usage,  "the  honor  of  any  intimate 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Boffin,  and  it  is  not  for 
me  to  congratulate  that  gentleman  on  the  ac- 
quisition he  has  made." 

"A  poor  one  enough,"  said  Rokesmith. 

"Pardon  me,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilfer,  "the 
merits  of  Mr.  Boffin  may  be  highly  distinguished 
— may  be  more  distinguished  than  the  counte- 
nance of  Mrs.  Boffin  would  imply — but  it  were 
the  insanity  of  humility  to  deem  him  worthy  of 
a  better  assistant." 

"You  are  very  good.  I  have  also  been  telling 
Miss  Wilfer  that  she  is  expected  very  shortly  at 
the  new  residence  in  town." 

"Having  tacitly  consented,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
with  a  grand  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  and  an- 
other wave  of  her  gloves,  "  to  my  child's  accept- 
ance of  the  proffered  attentions  of  Mrs.  Boffin, 
I  interpose  no  objection." 

Here  Miss  Bella  offered  the  remonstrance : 
"Don't  talk  nonsense,  ma,  please." 

"  Peace  !"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer. 

"No,  ma,  I  am  not  going  to  be  made  so  ab- 
surd.    Interposing  objections !" 

"I  say,"  repeated  Mrs.  Wilfer,  with  a  vast 
access  of  grandeur,  "  that  I  am  not  going  to  in- 
terpose objections.  If  Mrs.  Boffin  (to  whose 
countenance  no  disciple  of  Lavater  could  pos- 
sibly for  a  single  moment  subscribe),"  with  a 
shiver,  "seeks  to  illuminate  her  new  residence 
in  town  with  the  attractions  of  a  child  of  mine, 
I  am  content  that  she  should  be  favored  by  the 
company  of  a  child  of  mine." 

"You  use  the  word,  ma'am,  I  have  myself 
used,"  said  Rokesmith,  with  a  glance  at  Bella, 
"when  you  speak  of  Miss  Wilfer's  attractions 
there." 

"Pardon  me,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilfer,  with 
dreadful  solemnity,  "but  I  had  not  finished." 

"Pray  excuse  me." 

"I  was  about  to  say,"  pursued  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
who  clearly  had  not  had  the  faintest  idea  of  say- 
ing any  thing  more  :  "  that  when  I  use  the  term 
attractions,  I  do  so  with  the  qualification  that  I 
do  not  mean  it  in  any  way  whatever." 

The  excellent  lady  delivered  this  luminous 
elucidation  of  her  views  with  an  air  of  greatly 
obliging  her  hearers  and  greatly  distinguishing 
herself.  Whereat  Miss  Bella  laughed  a  scorn- 
ful little  laugh,  and  said  : 

"  Quite  enough  about  this,  I  am  sure,  on  all 
sides.  Have  the  goodness,  Mr.  Rokesmith,  to 
give  my  love  to  Mrs.  Boffin — " 

"Pardon  me!"  cried  Mrs.  Wilfer.  "Com- 
pliments." 

"Love!"  repeated  Bella,  with  a  Tittle  stamp 
of  her  foot. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


101 


"No!"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  monotonously. 
"Compliments." 

("Say  Miss  Wilfer's  love,  and  Mrs.  "Wilfer 's 
compliments,"  the  Secretary  proposed,  as  a  com- 
promise.) 

"And  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  come  when  she 
is  ready  for  me.     The  sooner  the  better." 

"One  last  word,  Bella,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
"before  descending  to  the  family  apartment. 
I  trust  that  as  a  child  of  mine  you  will  ever  be 
sensible  that  it  will  be  graceful  in  you,  when  as- 
sociating with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  upon  equal 
terms,  to  remember  that  the  Secretary,  Mr. 
Rokesmith,  as  your  father's  lodger,  has  a  claim 
on  your  good  word." 

The  condescension  with  which  Mrs.  Wilfer  de- 
livered this  proclamation  of  patronage  was  as 
wonderful  as  the  swiftness  with  which  the  lodger 
had' lost  caste  in  the  Secretary.  He  smiled  as 
the  mother  retired  down  stairs ;  but  his  face  fell 
as  the  daughter  followed. 

"So  insolent,  so  trivial,  so  capricious,  so  mer- 
cenary, so  careless,  so  hard  to  touch,  so  hard  to 
turn !"  he  said,  bitterly. 

And  added  as  he  went  up  stairs.  "And  yet 
so  pretty,  so  pretty!" 

And  added  presently,  as  he  walked  to  and  fro 
in  his  room.     "And  if  she  knew !" 

She  knew  that  he  was  shaking  the  house  by 
his  walking  to  and  fro ;  and  she  declared  it  an- 
other of  the  miseries  of  being  poor,  that  you 
couldn't  get  rid  of  a  haunting  Secretary,  stump 
— stump — stumping  overhead  in  the  dark,  like 
a  Ghost. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


A    DISMAL    SWAMP. 


And  now,  in  the  blooming  summer  days,  be- 
hold Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  established  in  the  em- 
inently aristocratic  family  mansion,  and  behold 
all  manner  of  crawling,  creeping,  fluttering,  and 
buzzing  creatures,  attracted  by  the  gold  dust  of 
the  Golden  Dustman ! 

Foremost  among  those  leaving  cards  at  the 
eminently  aristocratic  door  before  it  is  quite 
painted  are  the  Veneerings :  out  of  breath,  one 
might  imagine,  from  the  impetuosity  of  their 
rush  to  the  eminently  aristocratic  steps.  One 
copper-plate  Mrs.  Veneering,  two  copper-plate 
Mr.  Veneerings,  and  a  connubial  copper-plate 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Veneering,  requesting  the  honor 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin's  company  at  dinner 
with  the  utmost  Analytical  solemnities.  The 
enchanting  Lady  Tippins  leaves  a  card.  Twem- 
low  leaves  cards.  A  tall  custard-colored  phaeton 
tooling  up  in  a  solemn  manner  leaves  four  cards; 
to  wit,  a  couple  of  Mr.  Podsnaps,  a  Mrs.  Pod- 
snap,  and  a  Miss  Podsnap.  All  the  world  and 
his  wife  and  daughter  leave  cards.  Sometimes 
the  world's  wife  has  so  many  daughters  that  her 
card  reads  rather  like  a  Miscellaneous  Lot  at  an 
Auction ;  comprising  Mrs.  Tapkins,  Miss  Tap- 
kins,  Miss  Frederica  Tapkins,  Miss  Antonina 
Tapkins,  Miss  Malvina  Tapkins,  and  Miss  Eu- 
phemia  Tapkins;  at  the  same  time,  the  same 
lady  leaves  the  card  of  Mrs.  Henry  George  Al- 
fred Swoshle,  nie  Tapkins:  also,  a  card,  Mrs. 
Tapkins  at  Home,  Wednesdays,  Music,  Portland 
Place. 

Miss  Bella  Wilfer  becomes  an  inmate,  for  an 


indefinite  period,  of  the  eminently  aristocratic 
dwelling.  Mrs.  Boffin  bears  Miss  Bella  away 
to  her  Milliner's  and  Dress-maker's,  and  she  gets 
beautifully  dressed.  The  Veneerings  find  with 
swift  remorse  that  they  have  omitted  to  invite 
Miss  Bella  Wilfer.  One  Mrs.  Veneering  and 
one  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Veneering  requesting  that  ad- 
ditional honor,  instantly  do  penance  in  white 
cardboard  on  the  hall  table.  Mrs.  Tapkins  like- 
wise discovers  her  omission,  and  with  prompti- 
tude repairs  it;  for  herself,  for  Miss  Tapkins, 
for  Miss  Frederica  Tapkins,  for  Miss  Antonina 
Tapkins,  for  Miss  Malvina  Tapkins,  and  for  Miss 
Euphemia  Tapkins.  Likewise,  for  Mrs.  Henry 
George  Alfred  Swoshle,  n€e  Tapkins.  Likewise, 
for  Mrs.  Tapkins  at  Home,  Wednesdays,  Music, 
Portland  Place. 

Tradesmen's  books  hunger,  and  tradesmen's 
mouths  water,  for  the  gold  dust  of  the  Golden 
Dustman.  As  Mrs.  Boffin  and  Miss  Wilfer  drive 
out,  or  as  Mr.  Boffin  walks  out  at  his  jog-trot 
pace,  the  fishmonger  pulls  off  his  hat  with  an 
air  of  reverence  founded  on  conviction.  His 
men  cleanse  their  fingers  on  their  woolen  aprons 
before  presuming  to  touch  their  foreheads  to  Mr. 
Boffin  or  Lady.  The  gaping  salmon  and  the 
golden  mullet  lying  on  the  slab  seem  to  turn  up 
their  eyes  sidewise,  as  they  would  turn  up  their 
hands,  if  they  had  any,  in  worshiping  admira- 
tion. The  butcher,  though  a  portly  and  a  pros- 
perous man,  doesn't  know  what  to  do  with  him- 
self, so  anxious  is  he  to  express  humility  when 
discovered  by  the  passing  Boffins  taking  the  air 
in  a  mutton  grove.  Presents  are  made  to  the 
Boffin  servants,  and  bland  strangers  with  busi- 
ness-cards meeting  said  servants  in  the  street, 
offer  hypothetical  corruption.  As,  "  Supposing 
I  was  to  be  favored  with  an  order  from  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, my  dear  friend,  it  would  be  worth  my  while" 
— to  do  a  certain  thing  that  I  hope  might  not 
prove  wholly  disagreeable  to  your  feelings. 

But  no  one  knows  so  well  as  the  Secretary, 
who  opens  and  reads  the  letters,  what  a  set  is 
made  at  the  man  marked  by  a  stroke  of  notori- 
ety. Oh  the  varieties  of  dust  for  ocular  use  of- 
fered in  exchange  for  the  gold  dust  of  the  Golden 
Dustman !  Fifty-seven  churches  to  be  erected 
with  half-crowns,  forty-two  parsonage  houses  to 
be  repaired  with  shillings,  seven-and-twenty  or- 
gans to  be  built  with  half-pence,  twelve  hundred 
children  to  be  brought  up  on  postage  stamps. 
Not  that  a  half-crown,  shilling,  half-penny,  or 
postage  stamp  would  be  particularly  acceptable 
from  Mr.  Boffin,  but  that  it  is  so  obvious  he  is 
the  man  to  make  up  the  deficiency.  And  then 
the  charities,  my  Christian  brother !  And  most- 
ly in  difficulties,  yet  mostly  lavish,  too,  in  the 
expensive  articles  of  print  and  paper.  Large  fat 
private  double  letter,  sealed  with  ducal  coronet. 
"  Nicodemus  Boffin,  Esquire.  My  Dear  Sir, — 
Having  consented  to  preside  at  the  forthcoming 
Annual  Dinner  of  the  Family  Party  Fund,  and 
feeling  deeply  impressed  with  the  immense  use- 
fulness of  that  noble  Institution  and  the  great 
importance  of  its  being  supported  by  a  List  of 
Stewards  that  shall  prove  to  the  public  the  in- 
terest taken  in  it  by  popular  and  distinguished 
men,  I  have  undertaken  to  ask  you  to  become 
a  Steward  on  that  occasion.  Soliciting  your 
favorable  reply  before  the  14th  instant,  I  am, 
My  Dear  Sir,  Your  faithful  Servant,  Linseed. 
P.S.  The  Steward's  fee  is  limited  to  three  Guin- 


102 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


eas."  Friendly  this,  on  the  part  of  the  Duke  of 
Linseed  (and  thoughtful  in  the  postscript),  only 
lithographed  by  the  hundred  and  presenting  but 
a  pale  individuality  of  address  to  Nicodemus 
Boffin,  Esquire,  in  quite  another  hand.  It  takes 
two  noble  Earls  and  a  Viscount,  combined,  to 
inform  Nicodemus  Boffin,  Esquire,  in  an  equally 
flattering  manner,  that  an  estimable  lady  in  the 
West  of  England  has  offered  to  present  a  purse 
containing  twenty  pounds,  to  the  Society  for 
Granting  Annuities  to  Unassuming  Members  of 
the  Middle  Classes,  if  twenty  individuals  will 
previously  present  purses  of  one  hundred  pounds 
each.  And  those  benevolent  noblemen  very  kind- 
ly point  out  that  if  Nicodemus  Boffin,  Esquire, 
should  wish  to  present  two  or  more  purses,  it 
will  not  be  inconsistent  with  the  design  of  the 
estimable  lady  in  the  West  of  England,  provided 
each  purse  be  coupled  with  the  name  of  some 
member  of  his  honored  and  respected  family. 

These  are  the  corporate  beggars.  But  there 
are,  besides,  the  individual  beggars;  and  how 
does  the  heart  of  the  Secretary  fail  him  when  he 
has  to  cope  with  them  !  And  they  must  be  coped 
with  to  some  extent,  because  they  all  inclose 
documents  (they  call  their  scraps  documents; 
but  they  are,  as  to  papers  deserving  the  name, 
what  minced  veal  is  to  a  calf),  the  non-return 
of  which  would  be  their  ruin.  That  is  to  say, 
they  are  utterly  ruined  now,  but  they  would  be 
more  utterly  ruined  then.  Among  these  corre- 
spondents are  several  daughters  of  general  of- 
ficers, long  accustomed  to  every  luxury  of  life 
(except  spelling),  who  little  thought,  when  their 
gallant  fathers  waged  war  in  the  Peninsula,  that 
they  would  ever  have  to  appeal  to  those  whom 
Providence,  in  its  inscrutable  wisdom,  has  bless- 
ed with  untold  gold,  and  from  among  whom  they 
select  the  name  of  Nicodemus  Boffin,  Esquire, 
for  a  maiden  effort  in  this  wise,  understanding 
that  he  has  such  a  heart  as  never  was.  The 
Secretary  learns,  too,  that  confidence  between 
man  and  wife  would  seem  to  obtain  but  rarely 
when  virtue  is  in  distress,  so  numerous  are  the 
wives  who  take  up  their  pens  to  ask  Mr.  Boffin 
for  money  without  the  knowledge  of  their  de- 
voted husbands,  who  would  never  permit  it; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  so  numerous  are  the 
husbands  who  take  up  their  pens  to  ask  Mr. 
Boffin  for  money  without  the  knowledge  of  their 
devoted  wives,  who  would  instantly  go  out  of 
their  senses  if  they  had  the  least  suspicion  of  the 
circumstance.  There  are  the  inspired  beggars, 
too.  These  were  sitting,  only  yesterday  evening, 
musing  over  a  fragment  of  candle  which  must 
soon  go  out  and  leave  them  in  the  dark  for  the 
rest  of  their  nights,  when  surely  some  Angel 
whispered  the  name  of  Nicodemus  Boffin,  Es- 
quire, to  their  souls,  imparting  rays  of  hope,  nay 
confidence,  to  which  they  had  long  been  stran- 
gers! Akin  to  these  are  the  suggestively-be- 
friended beggars.  They  were  partaking  of  a 
cold  potato  and  water  by  the  flickering  and 
gloomy  light  of  a  lucifer-match,  in  their  lodg- 
ings (rent  considerably  in  arrear,  and  heartless 
landlady  threatening  expulsion  "  like  a  dog"  into 
the  streets),  when  a  gifted  friend  happening  to 


look  in,  said,  "Write  immediately  to  Nicodemus 
Boffin,  Esquire,"  and  would  take  no  denial. 
There  are  the  nobly  independent  beggars  too. 
These,  in  the  days  of  their  abundance,  ever  re- 
garded gold  as  dross,  and  have  not  yet  got  over 
that  only  impediment  in  the  way  of  their  amass- 
ing wealth,  but  they  want  no  dross  from  Nico- 
demus Boffin,  Esquire;  No,  Mr.  Boffin;  the 
world  may  term  it  pride,  paltry  pride  if  you 
will,  but  they  wouldn't  take  it  if  you  offered  it  ; 
a  loan,  Sir — for  fourteen  weeks  to  the  day,  in- 
terest calculated  at  the  rate  of  five  per  cent,  per 
annum,  to  be  bestowed  upon  any  charitable  in- 
stitution you  may  name — is  all  they  want  of 
you,  and  if  you  have  the  meanness  to  refuse  it, 
count  on  being  despised  by  these  great  spirits. 
There  are  the  beggars  of  punctual  business-hab- 
its too.  These  will  make  an  end  of  themselves 
at  a  quarter  to  one  p.m.  on  Tuesday,  if  no  Post- 
office  order  is  in  the  interim  received  from  Nic- 
odemus Boffin,  Esquire ;  arriving  after  a  quarter 
to  one  p.m.  on  Tuesday,  it  need  not  be  sent,  as 
they  will  then  (having  made  an  exact  memoran- 
dum of  the  heartless  circumstances)  be  "cold  in 
death."  There  are  the  beggars  on  horseback 
too,  in  another  sense  from  the  sense  of  the  prov- 
erb. These  are  mounted  and  ready  to  start  on 
the  highway  to  affluence.  The  goal  is  before 
them,  the  road  is  in  the  best  condition,  their 
spurs  are  on,  the  steed  is  willing,  but,  at  the 
last  moment,  for  want  of  some  special  thing — a 
clock,  a  violin,  an  astronomical  telescope,  an 
electrifying  machine — they  must  dismount  for- 
ever, unless  they  receive  its  equivalent  in  money 
from  Nicodemus  Boffin,  Esquire.  Less  given  to 
detail  are  the  beggars  who  make  sporting  ven- 
tures. These,  usually  to  be  addressed  in  reply 
under  initials  at  a  country  post-office,  inquire  in 
feminine  hands,  Dare  one  who  can  not  disclose 
herself  to  Nicodemus  Boffin,  Esquire,  but  whose 
name  might  startle  him  were  it  revealed,  solicit 
the  immediate  advance  of  two  hundred  pounds 
from  unexpected  riches  exercising  their  no- 
blest privilege  in  the  trust  of  a  common  human- 
ity? 

In  such  a  Dismal  Swamp  does  the  new  house 
stand,  and  through  it  does  the  Secretary  daily 
struggle  breast-high.  Not  to  mention  all  the 
people  alive  who  have  made  inventions  that  won't 
act,  and  all  the  jobbers  who  job  in  all  the  job- 
beries jobbed ;  though  these  may  be  regarded  as 
the  Alligators  of  the  Dismal  Swamp,  and  are  al- 
ways lying  by  to  drag  the  Golden  Dustman  un- 
der. 

But  the  old  house.  There  are  no  designs 
against  the  Golden  Dustman  there  ?  There  are 
no  fish  of  the  shark  tribe  in  the  Bower  waters  ? 
Perhaps  not.  Still,  Wegg  is  established  there, 
and  would  seem,  judged  by  his  secret  proceed- 
ings, to  cherish  a  notion  of  making  a  discovery. 
For,  when  a  man  with  a  wooden  leg  lies  prone 
on  his  stomach  to  peep  under  bedsteads;  and 
hops  up  ladders,  like  some  extinct  bird,  to  sur- 
vey the  tops  of  presses  and  cupboards ;  and  pro- 
vides himself  an  iron  rod  which  he  is  always 
poking  and  prodding  into  dust-mounds;  the 
probability  is  that  he  expects  to  find  something. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


103 


BOOK  II.— BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER, 


CHAPTER  I. 

OF  AN  EDUCATIONAL  CHARACTER. 

The  school  at  which  young  Charley  Hexam 
had  first  learned  from  a  book — the  streets  be- 
ing, for  pupils  of  his  degree,  the  great  Prepara- 
tory Establishment  in  which  very  much  that  is 
never  unlearned  is  learned  without  and  before 
book — was  a  miserable  loft  in  an  unsavory  yard. 
Its  atmosphere  was  oppressive  and  disagreeable ; 
it  was  crowded,  noisy,  and  confusing ;  half  the 
pupils  dropped  asleep,  or  fell  into  a  state  of 
waking  stupefaction ;  the  other  half  kept  them 
in  either,  condition  by  maintaining  a  monoto- 
nous droning  noise,  as  if  they  were  performing 
out  of  time  and  tune,  on  a  ruder  sort  of  bag- 
pipe. The  teachers,  animated  solely  by  good 
intentions,  had  no  idea  of  execution,  and  a  lam- 
entable jumble  was  the  upshot  of  their  kind  en- 
deavors. 

It  was  a  school  for  all  ages,  and  for  both  sex- 
es. The  latter  were  kept  apart,  and  the  former 
were  partitioned  off  into  square  assortments. 
But  all  the  place  was  pervaded  by  a  grimly  lu- 
dicrous pretense  that  every  pupil  was  childish 
and  innocent.  This  pretense,  much  favored  by 
the  lady-visitors,  led  to  the  ghastliest  absurdi- 
ties. Young  women  old  in  the  vices  of  the 
commonest  and  worst  life,  were  expected  to  pro- 
fess themselves  enthralled  by  the  good  child's 
book,  the  Adventures  of  Little  Margery,  who 
resided  in  the  village  cottage  by  the  mill ;  se- 
verely reproved  and  morally  squashed  the  mil- 
ler, when  she  was  five  and  he  was  fifty ;  divided 
her  porridge  with  singing  birds ;  denied  herself 
a  new  nankeen  bonnet,  on  the  ground  that  the 
turnips  did  not  wear  nankeen  bonnets,  neither 
did  the  sheep  who  ate  them  ;  who  plaited  straw 
and  delivered  the  dreariest  orations  to  all  com- 
ers, at  all  sorts  of  unseasonable  times.  So,  un- 
wieldy young  dredgers  and  hulking  mud-larks 
were  referred  to  the  experiences  of  Thomas 
Twopence,  who,  having  resolved  not  to  rob  (un- 
der circumstances  of  uncommon  atrocity)  his 
particular  friend  and  benefactor,  of  eighteen- 
pence,  presently  came  into  supernatural  posses- 
sion of  three  and  sixpence,  and  lived  a  shining 
light  ever  afterward.  (Note,  that  the  benefac- 
tor came  to  no  good.)  Several  swaggering  sin- 
ners had  written  their  own  biographies  in  the 
same  strain ;  it  always  appearing  from  the  les- 
sons of  those  very  boastful  persons,  that  you 
were  to  do  good,  not  because  it  was  good,  but 
because  you  were  to  make  a  good  thing  of  it. 
Contrariwise,  the  adult  pupils  were  taught  to 
read  (if  they  could  learn)  out  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment ;  and  by  dint  of  stumbling  over  the  sylla- 
bles and  keeping  their  bewildered  eyes  on  the 
particular  syllables  coming  round  to  their  turn, 
were  as  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  sublime  his- 
tory, as  if  they  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  it. 
An  exceedingly  and  confoundingly  perplexing 
jumble  of  a  school,  in  fact,  where  black  spirits 
aud  gray,  red  spirits  and  white,  jumbled  jum- 


bled jumbled  jumbled,  jumbled  every  night. 
And  particularly  every  Sunday  night.  For  then, 
an  inclined  plane  of  unfortunate  infants  would 
be  handed  over  to  the  prosiest  and  worst  of  all 
the  teachers  with  good  intentions,  whom  nobody 
older  would  endure.  Who,  taking  his  stand  on 
the  floor  before  them  as  chief  executioner,  would 
be  attended  by  a  conventional  volunteer  boy  as 
executioner's  assistant.  When  and  where  it  first 
became  the  conventional  system  that  a  weary  or 
inattentive  infant  in  a  class  must  have  its  face 
smoothed  downward  with  a  hot  hand,  or  when 
and  where  the  conventional  volunteer  boy  first 
beheld  such  system  in  operation,  and  became  in- 
flamed with  a  sacred  zeal  to  administer  it,  mat- 
ters not.  It  was  the  function  of  the  chief  exe- 
cutioner to  hold  forth,  and  it  was  the  function 
of  the  acolyte  to  dart  at  sleeping  infants,  yawn- 
ing infants,  restless  infants,  whimpering  infants, 
and  smooth  their  wretched  faces;  sometimes 
with  one  hand,  as  if  he  were  anointing  them  for 
a  whisker  ;  sometimes  with  both  hands,  applied 
after  the  fashion  of  blinkers.  And  so  the  jum- 
ble would  be  in  action  in  this  department  for  a 
mortal  hour;  the  exponent  drawling  on  to  My 
Dearerr  Childerrenerr,  let  us  say,  for  example, 
about  the  beautiful  coming  to  the  Sepulchre ; 
and  repeating  the  woi'd  Sepulchre  (commonly 
used  among  infants)  five  hundred  times,  and 
never  once  hinting  what  it  meant ;  the  conven- 
tional boy  smoothing  away  right  and  left,  as  an 
infallible  commentary;  the  whole  hot-bed  of 
flushed  and  exhausted  infants  exchanging  mea- 
sles, rashes,  whooping-cough,  fever,  and  stomach 
disorders,  as  if  they  were  assembled  in  High 
Market  for  the  purpose. 

Even  in  this  temple  of  good  intentions,  an  ex- 
ceptionally sharp  boy  exceptionally  determined 
to  learn,  could  learn  something,  and,  having 
learned  it,  could  impart  it  much  better  than  the 
teachers ;  as  being  more  knowing  than  they,  and 
not  at  the  disadvantage  in  which  they  stood  to- 
ward the  shrewder  pupils.  In  this  way  it  had 
come  about  that  Charley  Hexam  had  risen  in 
the  jumble,  taught  in  the  jumble,  and  been  re- 
ceived from  the  jumble  into  a  better  school. 

"  So  you  want  to  go  and  see  your  sister,  Hex- 
am?" 

"If  you  please,  Mr.  Headstone." 

"  I  have  half  a  mind  to  go  with  you.  Where 
does  your  sister  live  ?" 

"  Why,  she  is  not  settled  yet,  Mr.  Headstone. 
I'd  rather  you  didn't  see  her  till  she  is  settled, 
if  it  was  all  the  same  to  you." 

"Look  here,  Hexam."  Mr.  Bradley  Head- 
stone, highly  certificated  stipendiary  schoolmas- 
ter, drew  his  right  forefinger  through  one  of  the 
button-holes  of  the  boy's  coat,  and  looked  at  it 
attentively.  "I  hope  your  sister  may  be  good 
company  for  you  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  doubt  it,  Mr.  Headstone?" 

"I  did  not  say  I  doubted  it." 

"  No,  Sir ;  you  didn't  say  so." 

Bradley  Headstone  looked  at  his  finger  again, 


104 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


took  it  out  of  the  button-hole  and  looked  at  it 
closer,  bit  the  side  of  it  and  looked  at  it  again. 

"  You  see,  Hexam,  you  will  be  one  of  us.  In 
good  time  you  are  sure  to  pass  a  creditable  ex- 
amination and  become  one  of  us.  Then  the 
question  is — " 

The  boy  waited  so  long  for  the  question,  while 
the  schoolmaster  looked  at  a  new  side  of  his  fin- 
ger, and  bit  it,  and  looked  at  it  again,  that  at 
length  the  boy  repeated  : 

"The  question  is,  Sir — ?" 

"Whether  you  had  not  better  leave  well 
alone." 

"Is  it  well  to  leave  my  sister  alone,  Mr. 
Headstone  ?" 

"I  do  not  say  so,  because  I  do  not  know.  I 
put  it  to  you.  I  ask  you  to  think  of  it.  I  want 
you  to  consider.  You  know  how  well  you  are 
doing  here." 

"After  all,  she  got  me  here,"  said  the  boy, 
with  a  struggle. 

"Perceiving  the  necessity  of  it,"  acquiesced 
the  schoolmaster,  "and  making  up  her  mind 
fully  to  the  separation.     Yes." 

The  boy,  with  a  return  of  that  former  reluct- 
ance or  struggle  or  whatever  it  was,  seemed  to 
debate  with  himself.  At  length  he  said,  raising 
his  eyes  to  the  master's  face : 

"I  wish  you'd  come  with  me  and  see  her, 
Mr.  Headstone,  though  she  is  not  settled.  I 
wish  you'd  come  with  me,  and  take  her  in  the 
rough,  and  judge  her  for  yourself." 

"You  are  sure  you  would  not  like,"  asked 
the  schoolmaster,  "to  prepare  her?" 

"My  sister  Lizzie,"  said  the  boy,  proudly, 
"wants  no  preparing,  Mr.  Headstone.  What 
she  is,  she  is,  and  shows  herself  to  be.  There's 
no  pretending  about  my  sister." 

His  confidence  in  her  sat  more  easily  upon 
him  than  the  indecision  with  which  he  had 
twice  contended.  It  was  his  better  nature  to 
be  true  to  her,  if  it  were  his  worse  nature  to  be 
wholly  selfish.  And  as  yet  the  better  nature 
had  the  stronger  hold. 

"Well,  I  can  spare  the  evening,"  said  the 
schoolmaster.    "  I  am  ready  to  walk  with  you." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Headstone.  And  I  am 
ready  to  go." 

Bradley  Headstone,  in  his  decent  black  coat 
and  waistcoat,  and  decent  white  shirt,  and  de- 
cent formal  black  tie,  and  decent  pantaloons  of 
pepper  and  salt,  with  his  decent  silver  watch  in 
his  pocket  and  its  decent  hair-guard  round  his 
neck,  looked  a  thoroughly  decent  young  man 
of  six-and-twenty.  He  was  never  seen  in  any 
other  dress,  and  yet  there  was  a  certain  stiffness 
in  his  manner  of  wearing  this,  as  if  there  were  a 
want  of  adaptation  between  him  and  it,  recall- 
ing some  mechanics  in  their  holiday  clothes. 
He  had  acquired  mechanically  a  great  store  of 
teacher's  knowledge.  He  could  do  mental  arith- 
metic mechanically,  sing  at  sight  mechanical- 
ly, blow  various  wind  instruments  mechanical- 
ly, even  play  the  great  church  organ  mechanic- 
ally. From  his  early  childhood  up,  his  mind 
had  been  a  place  of  mechanical  stowage.  The 
arrangement  of  his  wholesale  warehouse,  so  that 
it  might  be  always  ready  to  meet  the  demands 
of  retail  dealers — history  here,  geography  there, 
astronomy  to  the  right,  political  economy  to  the 
left — natural  history,  the  physical  sciences,  fig- 
ures, music,  the  lower  mathematics,  and  what 


not,  all  in  their  several  places — this  care  had 
imparted  to  his  countenance  a  look  of  care ; 
while  the  habit  of  questioning  and  being  ques- 
tioned had  given  him  a  suspicious  manner,  or  a 
manner  that  would  be  better  described  as  one 
of  lying  in  wait.  There  was  a  kind  of  settled 
trouble  in  the  face.  It  was  the  face  belonging 
to  a  naturally  slow  or  inattentive  intellect  that 
had  toiled  hard  to  get  what  it  had  won,  and 
that  had  to  hold  it  now  that  it  was  gotten.  He 
always  seemed  to  be  uneasy  lest  any  thing  should 
be  missing  from  his  mental  warehouse,  and  tak- 
ing stock  to  assure  himself. 

Suppression  of  so  much  to  make  room  for  so 
much  had  given  him  a  constrained  manner, 
over  and  above.  Yet  there  was  enough  of  what 
was  animal,  and  of  what  was  fiery  (though 
smouldering),  still  visible  in  him,  to  suggest  that 
if  young  Bradley  Headstone,  when  a  pauper  lad, 
had  chanced  to  be  told  off  for  the  sea,  he  would 
not  have  been  the  last  man  in  a  ship's  crew. 
Regarding  that  origin  of  his,  he  was  proud, 
moody,  and  sullen,  desiring  it  to  be  forgotten. 
And  few  people  knew  of  it. 

In  some  visits  to  the  Jumble  his  attention  had 
been  attracted  to  this  boy  Hexam.  An  undeni- 
able boy  for  a  pupil-teacher  ;  an  undeniable  boy 
to  do  credit  to  the  master  who  should  bring  him 
on.  Combined  with  this  consideration,  there 
may  have  been  some  thought  of  the  pauper  lad 
now  never  to  be  mentioned.  Be  that  how  it 
might,  he  had  with  pains  gradually  worked  the 
boy  into  his  own  school,  and  procured  him  some 
offices  to  discharge  there,  which  were  repaid 
with  food  and  lodging.  Such  were  the  circum- 
stances that  had  brought  together  Bradley  Head- 
stone and  young  Charley  Hexam  that  autumn 
evening.  Autumn,  because  full  half  a  year  had 
come  and  gone  since  the  bird  of  prey  lay  dead 
upon  the  river-shore. 

The  schools — for  they  were  twofold,  as  the 
sexes — were  down  in  that  district  of  the  flat 
country  tending  to  the  Thames,  where  Kent 
and  Surrey  meet,  and  where  the  railways  still 
bestride  the  market-gardens  that  will  soon  die 
under  them.  The  schools  were  newly  built,  and 
there  were 'so  many  like  them  all  over  the  coun- 
try that  one  might  have  thought  the  whole  were 
but  one  restless  edifice  with  the  locomotive  gift 
of  Aladdin's  palace.  They  were  in  a  neighbor- 
hood which  looked  like  a  toy  neighborhood  taken 
in  blocks  out  of  a  box  by  a  child  of  particularly 
incoherent  mind,  and  set  up  any  how ;  here,  one 
side  of  a  new  street ;  there,  a  large  solitary  pub- 
lic house  facing  nowhere ;  here,  another  unfin- 
ished street  already  in  ruins ;  there,  a  church ; 
here,  an  immense  new  warehouse ;  there,  a  di- 
lapidated old  country  villa;  then,  a  medley  of 
black  ditch,  sparkling  cucumber -frame,  rank 
field,  richly  cultivated  kitchen  -  garden,  brick 
viaduct,  arch-spanned  canal,  and  disorder  of 
frowziness  and  fog.  As  if  the  child  had  given 
the  table  a  kick,  and  gone  to  sleep. 

But,  even  among  school  -  buildings,  school- 
teachers, and  school-pupils,  all  according  to  pat- 
tern and  all  engendered  in  the  light  of  the  latest 
Gospel  according  to  Monotony,  the  older  pattern 
into  which  so  many  fortunes  have  been  shaped 
for  good  and  evil,  comes  out.  It  came  out  in 
Miss  Peecher  the  schoolmistress,  watering  her 
flowers,  as  Mr.  Bradley  Headstone  walked  forth. 
It  came  out  in  Miss  Peecher  the  schoolmistress, 


OUK  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


105 


watering  the  flowers  in  the  little  dusty  bit  of 
garden  attached  to  her  small  official  residence, 
with  little  windows  like  the  eyes  in  needles,  and 
little  doors  like  the  covers  of  school  books. 

Small,  shining,  neat,  methodical,  and  buxom 
was  Miss  Peecher :  cherry-cheeked  and  tuneful 
of  voice.  A  little  pin-cushion,  a  little  housewife, 
a  little  book,  a  little  work-box,  a  little  set  of  ta- 
bles and  weights  and  measures,  and  a  little  wo- 
man, all  in  one.  She  could  write  a  little  essay 
on  any  subject,  exactly  a  slate  long,  beginning 
at  the  left-hand  top  of  one  side  and  ending  at 
the  right-hand  bottom  of  the  other,  and  the  es- 
say should  be  strictly  according  to  rule.  If  Mr. 
Bradley  Headstone  had  addressed  a  written  pro- 
posal of  marriage  to  her,  she  would  probably 
have  replied  in  a  complete  little  essay  on  the 
theme  exactly  a  slate  long,  but  would  certainly 
have  replied  Yes.  For  she  loved  him.  The  de- 
cent hair-guard  that  went  round  his  neck  and 
took  care  of  his  decent  silver  watch  was  an  ob- 
ject of  envy  to  her.  So  would  Miss  Peecher 
have  gone  round  his  neck  and  taken  care  of 
him.  Of  him,  insensible.  Because  he  did  not 
love  Miss  Peecher. 

Miss  Peecher's  favorite  pupil,  who  assisted 
her  in  her  little  household,  was  in  attendance 
with  a  can  of  water  to  replenish  her  little  wa- 
tering-pot, and  sufficiently  divined  the  state  of 
Miss  Peecher's  affections  to  feel  it  necessary 
that  she  herself  should  love  young  Charley  Hex- 
am.  So  there  was  a  double  palpitation  among 
the  double  stocks  and  double  wall -flowers  when 
the  master  and  the  boy  looked  over  the  little 
gate. 

"A  fine  evening,  Miss  Peecher,"  said  the 
Master. 

"A  ver-y  fine  evening,  Mr.  Headstone,"  said 
Miss  Peecher.     "  Are  you  taking  a  walk?" 

"  Hexam  and  I  are  going  to  take  a  long  walk." 

"Charming  weather,"  remarked  Miss  Peech- 
er, "for  a  long  walk." 

"  Ours  is  rather  on  business  than  mere  pleas- 
ure," said  the  Master. 

Miss  Peecher  inverting  her  watering-pot,  and 
very  carefully  shaking  out  the  few  last  drops  over 
a  flower,  as  if  there  were  some  special  virtue  in 
them  which  would  make  it  a  Jack's  bean-stalk 
before  morning,  called  for  replenishment  to  her 
pupil,  who  had  been  speaking  to  the  boy. 

"Good-night,  Miss  Peecher,"  said  the  Master, 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Headstone,"  said  the  Mis- 
tress. 

The  pupil  had  been,  in  her  state  of  pupilage, 
so  imbued  with  the  class-custom  of  stretching 
out  an  arm,  as  if  to  hail  a  cab  or  omnibus,  when- 
ever she  found  she  had  an  observation  on  hand 
to  offer  to  Miss  Peecher,  that  she  often  did  it  in 
their  domestic  relations ;  and  she  did  it  now. 

"Well,  Mary  Anne?"  said  Miss  Peecher. 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  Hexam  said  they  were 
going  to  see  his  sister." 

"But  that  can't  be,  I  think,"  returned  Miss 
Peecher  :  "  because  Mr.  Headstone  can  have  no 
business  with  her." 

Mary  Anne  again  hailed. 

"Well,  Mary  Anne?" 

"If  you  please,  ma'am,  perhaps  it's  Hexam's 
business  ?" 

"That  may  be,"  said  Miss  Peecher.  "I 
didn't  think  of  that.  Not  that  it  matters  at 
all." 


Mary  Anne  again  hailed. 

"Well,  Mary  Anne?" 

"They  say  she's  very  handsome." 

"Oh,  Mary  Anne,  Mary  Anne!"  returned 
Miss  Peecher,  slightly  coloring  and  shaking  her 
head,  a  little  out  of  humor;  "how  often  have  I 
told  you  not  to  use  that  vague  expression,  not 
to  speak  in  that  general  way?  When  you  say 
they  say,  what  do  you  mean?  Part  of  speech 
They?" 

Mary  Anne  hooked  her  right  arm  behind  her 
in  her  left  hand,  as  being  under  examination, 
and  replied : 

"Personal  pronoun." 

"Person,  They?" 

"Third  person." 

"Number,  They?" 

"P.lural  number." 

"Then  how  many  do  you  mean,  Mary  Anne? 
Two?     Or  more?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  Mary 
Anne,  disconcerted  now  she  came  to  think  of 
it;  "but  I  don't  know  that  I  mean  more  than 
her  brother  himself."  As  she  said  it,  she  un- 
hooked her  arm. 

"I felt  convinced  of  it,"  returned  Miss  Peech- 
er, smiling  again.  "  Now  pray,  Mary  Anne,  be 
careful  another  time.  He  says  is  very  different 
from  they  say,  remember.  Difference  between 
he  says  and  they  say  ?     Give  it  me." 

Mary  Anne  immediately  hooked  her  right  arm 
behind  her  in  her  left  hand — an  attitude  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  the  situation — and  replied: 
"One  is  indicative  mood,  present  tense,  third 
person  singular,  verb  active  to  say.  Other  is 
indicative  mood,  present  tense,  third  person 
plural,  verb  active  to  say." 

"Why  verb  active,  Mary  Anne?" 

"Because  it  takes  a  pronoun  after  it  in  the 
objective  case,  Miss  Peecher." 

"  Very  good  indeed,"  remarked  Miss  Peecher, 
with  encouragement.  "In  fact,  could  not  be 
better.  Don't  forget  to  apply  it,  another  time, 
Mary  Anne. "  This  said,  Miss  Peecher  finished 
the  watering  of  her  flowers,  and  went  into  her 
little  official  residence,  and  took  a  refresher  of 
the  principal  rivers  and  mountains  of  the  world, 
their  breadths,  depths,  and  heights,  before  set- 
tling the  measurements  of  the  body  of  a  dress 
for  her  own  personal  occupation. 

Bradley  Headstone  and  Charley  Hexam  duly 
got  to  the  Surrey  side  of  Westminster  Bridge, 
and  crossed  the  bridge,  and  made  along  the 
Middlesex  shore  toward  Millbanb  In  this  re- 
gion are  a  certain  little  street  called  Church 
Street,  and  a  certain  little  blind  square,  called 
Smith  Square,  in  the  centre  of  which  last  re- 
treat is  a  very  hideous  church  with  four  towers 
at  the  four  corners,  generally  resembling  some 
petrified  monster,  frightful  and  gigantic,  on  its 
back,  with  its  legs  in  the  air.  They  found  a  tree 
near  by  in  a  corner,  and  a  blacksmith's  forge, 
and  a  timber-yard,  and  a  dealer's  in  old  iron. 
What  a  rusty  portion  of  a  boiler  and  a  great 
iron  wheel  or  so  meant  by  lying  half  buried  in 
the  dealer's  fore-court,  nobody  seemed  to  know 
or  to  want  to  know.  Like  the  Miller  of  ques- 
tionable jollity  in  the  song,  They  cared  for  No- 
body, no  not  they,  and  Nobody  cared  for  them. 
After  making  the  round  of  this  place,  and  not- 
ing that  there  was  a  deadly  kind  of  repose  on  it, 
more  as  though  it  had  taken  laudanum  than 


106 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


fallen  into  a  natural  rest,  they  stopped  at  the 
point  where  the  street  and  the  square  joined, 
and  where  there  were  some  little  quiet  houses  in 
a  row.  To  these  Charley  Hexam  finally  led  the 
way,  and  at  one  of  these  stopped. 

"This  must  be  where  my  sister  lives,  Sir. 
This  is  where  she  came  for  a  temporary  lodging 
soon  after  father's  death." 

"  How  often  have  you  seen  her  since  ?" 

"Why,  only  twice,  Sir,"  returned  the  boy, 
with  his  former  reluctance ;  "  but  that's  as  much 
her  doing  as  mine." 

"  How  does  she  support  herself?" 

"She  was  always  a  fair  needle-woman,  and 
she  keeps  the  stock-room  of  a  seaman's  out- 
fitter." 

"Does  she  ever  work  at  her  own  lodging 
here?" 

"  Sometimes ;  but  her  regular  hours  and  reg- 
ular occupation  are  at  their  place  of  business,  I 
believe,  Sir.     This  is  the  number." 

The  boy  knocked  at  a  door,  and  the  door 
promptly  opened  with  a  spring  and  a  click.  A 
parlor  door  within  a  small  entry  stood  open,  and 
disclosed  a  child — a  dwarf — a  girl — a  something 
— sitting  on  a  little  low  old-fashioned  arm-chair, 
which  had  a  kind  of  little  working-bench  be- 
fore it. 

"  I  can't  get  up,"  said  the  child,  "because  my 
back's  bad,  and  my  legs  are  queer.  But  I'm  the 
person  of  the  house." 

"Who  else  is  at  home  ?"  asked  Charley  Hex- 
am,  staring. 

"Nobody's  at  home  at  present,"  returned  the 
child,  with  a  glib  assertion  of  her  dignity,  ' '  ex- 
cept the  person  of  the  house.  What  did  you 
want,  young  man  ?" 

"  I  wanted  to  see  my  sister." 

"Many  young  men  have  sisters,"  returned  the 
child.     "  Give  me  your  name,  young  man." 

The  queer  little  figure,  and  the  queer  but  not 
ugly  little  face,  with  its  bright  gray  eyes,  were 
so  sharp,  that  the  sharpness  of  the  manner  seem- 
ed unavoidable.  As  if,  being  turned  out  of  that 
mould,  it  must  be  sharp. 

"Hexam  is  my  name." 

"Ah,  indeed  ?"'  said  the  person  of  the  house. 
"  I  thought  it  might  be.  Your  sister  will  be  in 
in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  I  am  very  fond 
of  your  sister.  She's  my  particular  friend. 
Take  a  seat.     And  this  gentleman's  name  ?" 

"Mr.  Headstone,  my  schoolmaster." 

"  Take  a  seat.  And  would  .you  please  to  shut 
the  street  door  first?  I  can't  very  well  do  it 
myself,  because  my  back's  so  bad,  and  my  legs 
are  so  queer." 

They  complied  in  silence,  and  the  little  figure 
went  on  with  its  work  of  gumming  or  gluing  to- 
gether with  a  camel's-hair  brush  certain  pieces 
of  card-board  and  thin  wood,  previously  cut  into 
various  shapes.  The  scissors  and  knives  upon 
the  bench  showed  that  the  child  herself  had  cut 
them ;  and  the  bright  scraps  of  velvet  and  silk 
and  ribbon  also  strewn  upon  the  bench  showed 
that  when  duly  stuffed  (and  stuffing  too  was 
there),  she  was  to  cover  them  smartly.  The 
dexterity  of  her  nimble  fingers  was  remarkable, 
and,  as  she  brought  two  thin  edges  accurately 
together  by  giving  them  a  little  bite,  she  would 
glance  at  the  visitors  out  of  the  corners  of  her 
gray  eyes  with  a  look  that  out-sharpened  all  her 
other  sharpness. 


"You  can't  tell  me  the  name  of  my  trade,  I'll 
"be  bound,"  she  said,  after  taking  several  of  these 
observations. 

"You  make  pin -cushions,"  said  Charley. 

"What  else  do  I  make?" 

"Pen-wipers,"  said  Bradley  Headstone. 

"Ha!  ha!  What  else  do  I  make?  You're 
a  schoolmaster,  but  you  can't  tell  me." 

"You  do  something,"  he  returned,  pointing 
to  a  corner  of  the  little  bench,  "with  straw ;  but 
I  don't  know  what." 

"Well  done  you!"  cried  the  person  of  the 
house.  "I  only  make  pin-cushions  and  pen- 
wipers to  use  up  my  waste.  But  my  straw  really 
does  belong  to  my  business.  Try  again.  What 
do  I  make  with  my  straw  ?" 

"Dinner-mats?" 

"  A  schoolmaster,  and  says  dinner-mats  !  I'll 
give  you  a  clew  to  my  trade  in  a  game  of  for- 
feits. I  love  my  love  with  a  B  because  she's 
Beautiful ;  I  hate  my  love  with  a  B  because  she 
is  Brazen ;  I  took  her  to  the  sign  of  the  Blue 
Boar,  and  I  treated  her  with  Bonnets ;  her 
name's  Bouncer,  and  she  lives  in  Bedlam. — 
Now,  what  do  I  make  with  my  straw  ?" 

"Ladies'  bonnets?" 

"Fine  ladies',"  said  the  person  of  the  house, 
nodding  assent.  "Dolls'.  I'm  a  Doll's  Dress- 
maker." 

"I  hope  it's  a  good  business?" 

The  person  of  the  house  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders and  shook  her  head.  "No.  Poorly  paid. 
And  I'm  often  so  pressed  for  time !  I  had  a 
doll  married,  last  week,  and  was  obliged  to  work 
all  night.  And  it's  not  good  for  me,  on  account 
of  my  back  being  so  bad  and  my  legs  so  queer." 

They  looked  at  the  little  creature  with  a  won- 
der that  did  not  diminish,  and  the  schoolmaster 
said :  "I  am  sorry  your  fine  ladies  are  so  incon- 
siderate." 

"It's  the  way  with  them,"  said  the  person 
of  the  house,  shrugging  her  shoulders  again. 
"And  they  take  no  care  of  their  clothes,  and 
they  never  keep  to  the  same  fashions  a  month. 
I  work  for  a  doll  with  three  daughters.  Bless 
you,  she's  enough  to  ruin  her  husband !" 

The  person  of  the  house  gave  a  weird  little 
laugh  here,  and  gave  them  another  look  out  of 
the  corners  of  her  eyes.  She  had  an  elfin  chin 
that  was  capable  of  great  expression ;  and  when- 
ever she  gave  this  look  she  hitched  this  chin  up. 
As  if  her  eyes  and  her  chin  worked  together  on 
the  same  wires. 

11  Are  you  always  as  busy  as  you  are  now  ?" 

"Busier.  I'm  slack  just  now.  I  finished  a 
large  mourning  order  the  day  before  yesterday. 
Doll  I  work  for  lost  a  canary-bird."  The  per- 
son of  the  house  gave  another  little  laugh,  and 
then  nodded  her  head  several  times,  as  who 
should  moralize,  "Oh  this  world,  this  world!" 

"Are  you  alone  all  day?"  asked  Bradley 
Headstone.  "Don't  any  of  the  neighboring 
children — ?" 

"Ah,  lud!"  cried  the  person  of  the  house, 
with  a  little  scream,  as  if  the  word  had  pricked 
her.  "Don't  talk  of  children.  I  can't  beat- 
children.  I  know  their  tricks  and  their  man- 
ners." She  said  this  with  an  angry  little  shake 
of  her  right  fist  close  before  her  eyes. 

Perhaps  it  scarcely  required  the  teaeher-habit 
to  perceive  that  the  doll's  dress-maker  was  in- 
clined to  be  bitter  on  the  difference  between  her- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


107 


self  and  other  children.  But  both  master  and 
pupil  understood  it  so. 

"Always  running  about  and  screeching,  al- 
ways playing  and  fighting,  always  skip-skip-skip- 
ping on  the  pavement  and  chalking  it  for  their 
games  !  Oh !  /  know  their  tricks  and  their  man- 
ners !"  Shaking  the  little  fist  as  before.  "And 
that's  not  all.  Ever  so  often  calling  names  in 
through  a  person's  keyhole,  and  imitating  a  per- 
son's back  and  legs.  Oh!  /  know  their  tricks 
and  their  manners.  And  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd 
do  to  punish  'em.  There's  doors  under  the 
church  in  the  Square — black  doors,  leading  into 
black  vaults.  Well !  I'd  open  one  of  those  doors, 
and  I'd  cram  'em  all  in,  and  then  I'd  lock  the 
door  and  through  the  keyhole  I'd  blow  in  pep- 
per." 

"What  would  be  the  good  of  blowing  in  pep- 
per?" asked  Charley  Hexam. 

"  To  set  'em  sneezing,"  said  the  person  of  the 
house,  "  and  make  their  eyes  water.  And  when 
they  were  all  sneezing  and  inflamed,  I'd  mock 
'em  through  the  keyhole.  Just  as  they,  with 
their  tricks  and  their  manners,  mock  a  person 
through  a  person's  keyhole !" 

An  uncommonly  emphatic  shake  of  her  little 
fist  close  before  her  eyes  seemed  to  ease  the  mind 
of  the  person  of  the  house  ;  for  she  added  with 
recovered  composure,  "No,  no,  no.  No  chil- 
dren for  me.     Give  me  grown-ups." 

It  was  difficult  to  guess  the  age  of  this  strange 
creature,  for  her  poor  figure  furnished  no  clew 
to  it,  and  her  face  was  at  once  so  young  and  so 
old.  Twelve,  or  at  the  most  thirteen,  might  be 
near  the  mark. 

"I  always  did  like  grown-ups,"  she  went  on, 
"and  always  kept  company  with  them.  So 
sensible.  Sit  so  quiet.  Don't  go  prancing  and 
capering  about!  And  I  mean  always  to  keep 
among  none  but  grown-ups  till  I  marry.  I  sup- 
pose I  must  make  up  my  mind  to  marry  one  of 
these  days." 

She  listened  to  a  step  outside  that  caught  her 
ear,  and  there  was  a  soft  knock  at  the  door. 
Pulling  at  a  handle  within  her  reach,  she  said, 
with  a  pleased  laugh :  "  Now  here,  for  instance, 
is  a  grown-up  that's  my  particular  friend !"  and 
Lizzie  Hexam  in  a  black  dress  entered  the 
room. 

"Charley!    You!" 

Taking  him  to  her  arms  in  the  old  way — of 
which  he  seemed  a  little  ashamed — she  saw  no 
one  else. 

"There,  there,  there,  Liz,  all  right  my  dear. 
See!     Here's  Mr.  Headstone  come  with  me." 

Her  eyes  met  those  of  the  schoolmaster,  who 
had  evidently  expected  to  see  a  very  different 
sort  of  person,  and  a  murmured  word  or  two  of 
salutation  passed  between  them.  She  was  a 
little  flurried  by  the  unexpected  visit,  and  the 
schoolmaster  was  not  at  his  ease.  But  he  never 
was,  quite. 

"I  told  Mr.  Headstone  you  were  not  settled, 
Liz,  but  he  was  so  kind  as  to  take  an  interest  in 
coming,  and  so  I  brought  him.  How  well  you 
look!" 

Bradley  seemed  to  think  so. 

"Ah !  Don't  she,  don't  she  ?"  cried  the  per- 
son of  the  house,  resuming  her  occupation, 
though  the  twilight  was  falling  fast.  "I  believe 
you  she  does!  But  go  on  with  your  chat,  one 
and  all : 


You  one  two  three, 
My  com-pa-nie, 
And  don't  mind  me.' 


— pointing  this  impromptu  rhyme  with  three 
points  of  her  thin  forefinger. 

"I  didn't  expect  a  visit  from  you,  Charley," 
said  his  sister,  "I  supposed  that  if  you  wanted 
to  see  me  you  would  have  sent  to  me,  appoint- 
ing me  to  come  somewhere  near  the  school,  as 
I  did  last  time.  I  saw  my  brother  near  the 
school,  Sir, "  to  Bradley  Headstone,  "because it's 
easier  for  me  to  go  there  than  for  him  to  come 
here.  I  work  about  midway  between  the  two 
places." 

"You  don't  see  much  of  one  another,"  said 
Bradley,  not  improving  in  respect  of  ease. 

"No."  With  a  rather  sad  shake  of  her 
head.  "Charley  always  does  well,  Mr.  Head- 
stone ?" 

"He  could  not  do  better.  I  regard  his  course 
as  quite  plain  before  him." 

"I  hoped  so.  I  am  so  thankful.  So  well 
done  of  you,  Charley  dear !  It  is  better  for  me 
not  to  come  (except  when  he  wants  me)  between 
him  and  his  prospects.  You  think  so,  Mr.  Head- 
stone?" 

Conscious  that  his  pupil-teacher  was  looking 
for  his  answer,  and  that  he  himself  had  suggested 
the  boy's  keeping  aloof  from  this  sister,  now  &een 
for  the  first  time  face  to  face,  Bradley  Head- 
stone stammered : 

"  Your  'brother  is  very  much  occupied,  you 
know.  He  has  to  work  hard.  One  can  not  but 
say  that  the  less  his  attention  is  diverted  from 
his  work  the  better  for  his  future.  When  he 
shall  have  established  himself,  why  then — it  will 
be  another  thing  then." 

Lizzie  shook  her  head  again,  and  returned 
with  a  quiet  smile:  "I  always  advised  him  as 
you  advise  him.     Did  I  not,  Charley  ?"' 

"Well,  never  mind  that  now,"  said  the  boy. 
"How  are  you  getting  on?" 

"  Very  well,  Charley.     I  want  for  nothing." 

"  You  have  your  own  room  here  ?" 

"Oh  yes.  Up  stairs.  And  it's  quiet,  and 
pleasant,  and  airy." 

"  And  she  always  has  the  use  of  this  room  for 
visitors,"  said  the  person  of  the  house,  screwing 
up  one  of  her  little  bony  fists,  like  an  opera-glass, 
and  looking  through  it,  with  her  eyes  and  her 
chin  in  that  quaint  accordance.  "Always  this 
room  for  visitors  ;  haven't  you,  Lizzie  dear  ?" 

It  happened  that  Bradley  Headstone  noticed 
a  very  slight  action  of  Lizzie  Hexam's  hand,  as 
though  it  checked  the  doll's  dress-maker.  And 
it  happened  that  the  latter  noticed  him  in  the 
same  instant ;  for  she  made  a  double  eye-glass 
of  her  two  hands,  looked  at  him  through  it,  and 
cried,  with  a  waggish  shake  of  her  head :  "Aha ! 
Caught  you^spying,  did  I?" 

It  might  have  fallen  out  so,  any  way;  but 
Bradley  Headstone  also  noticed  that  immediate- 
ly after  this,  Lizzie,  who  had  not  taken  off  her 
bonnet,  rather  hurriedly  proposed  that  as  the 
room  was  getting  dark  they  should  go  out  into 
the  air.  They  went  out;  the  visitors  saying 
good-night  to  the  doll's  dress-maker,  whom  they 
left  leaning  back  in  her  chair  with  her  arms 
crossed,  singing  to  herself  in  a  sweet  thoughtful 
little  voice. 

"I'll  saunter  on  by  the  river,"  said  Bradley. 
"You  will  be  glad  to  talk  together." 


108 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


As  his  uneasy  figure  went  on  before  them 
among  the  evening  shadows  the  boy  said  to  his 
sister,  petulantly : 

"When  are  you  going  to  settle  yourself  in 
some  Christian  sort  of  place,  Liz  ?  I  thought 
you  were  going  to  do  it  before  now." 

"I  am  very  well  where  I  am,  Charley." 

"Very  well  where  you  are!  I  am  ashamed 
to  have  brought  Mr.  Headstone  with  me.  How 
came  you  to  get  into  such  company  as  that  little 
witch's?" 

"By  chance  at  first,  as  it  seemed,  Charley. 
But  I  think  it  must  have  been  by  something  more 
than  chance,  for  that  child —  You  remember 
the  bills  upon  the- walls  at  home?" 

"  Confound  the  bills  upon  the  walls  at  home ! 
I  want  to  forget  the  bills  upon  the  walls  at  home, 
and  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  do  the  same," 
grumbled  the  boy.     "Well;  what  of  them?" 

"This  child  is  the  grandchild  of  the  old  man." 
.     "What  old  man?" 

"The  terrible  drunken  old  man  in  the  list 
slippers  and  the  night-cap." 

The  boy  asked,  rubbing  his  nose  in  a  manner 
that  half  expressed  vexation  at  hearing  so  much, 
and  half  curiosity  to  hear  more:  "How  came 
you  to  make  that  out  ?     What  a  girl  you  are !" 

"The  child's  father  is  employed  by  the  house 
that  employs  me ;  that's  how  I  came  to  kno-\v  it, 
Charley.  The  father  is  like  his  own  father,  a 
weak  wretched  trembling  creature,  falling  to 
pieces,  never  sober.  But  a  good  workman  too, 
at  the  work  he  does.  The  mother  is  dead. 
This  poor  ailing  little  creature  has  come  to  be 
what  she  is,  surrounded  by  drunken  people  from 
her  cradle — if  she  ever  had  one,  Charley." 

'"  I  don't  see  what  you  have  to  do  with  her,  for 
all  that,"  said  the  boy. 

"Don't  you,  Charley?" 

The  boy  looked  doggedly  at  the  river.  They 
were  at  Millbank,  and  the  river  rolled  on  their 
left.  His  sister  gently  touched  him  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  pointed  to  it. 

"  Any  compensation — restitution — never  mind 
the  word,  you  know  my  meaning.  Father's 
grave." 

But  he  did  not  respond  with  any  tenderness. 
After  a  moody  silence  he  broke  out  in  an  ill- 
used  tone : 

"It'll  be  a  very  hard  thing,  Liz,  if,  when  I 
am  trying  my  best  to  get  up  in  the  world,  you 
pull  me  back." 

"I,  Charley?" 

"  Yes,  you,  Liz.  Why  can't  you  let  by-gones 
be  by-gones  ?  Why  can't  you,  as  Mr.  Headstone 
said  to  me  this  very  evening  about  another  mat- 
ter, leave  well  alone  ?  What  we  have  got  to  do, 
is,  to  turn  our  faces  full  in  our  new  direction, 
and  keep  straight  on." 

"And  never  look  back?  Not  even  to  try  to 
make  some  amends  ?" 

"You  are  such  a  dreamer,"  said  the  boy,  with 
his  former  petulance.  "It  was  all  very  well 
when  we  sat  before  the  fire — when  we  looked 
into  the  hollow  down  by  the  flare — but  we  are 
looking  into  the  real  world  now." 

"Ah,  we  were  looking  into  the  real  world 
then,  Charley!" 

"I  understand  what  you  mean  by  that,  but 
you  are  not  justified  in  it.  I  don't  want,  as  I 
raise  myself,  to  shake  you  off,  Liz.  I  want  to 
carry  you  up  with  me.     That's  what  I  want  to 


do,  and  mean  to  do.  I  know  what  I  owe  you. 
I  said  to  Mr.  Headstone  this  very  evening,  '  After 
all,  my  sister  got  me  here.'  Well,  then.  Don't 
pull  me  back,  and  hold  me  down.  That's  all  I 
ask,  and  surely  that's  not  unconscionable." 

She  had  kept  a  steadfast  look  upon  him,  and 
she  answered  with  composure : 

"lam  not  here  selfishly,  Charley.  To  please 
myself,  I  could  not  be  too  far  from  that  river." 

"Nor  could  you  be  too  far  from  it  to  please 
me.  Let  us  get  quit  of  it  equally.  Why  should 
you  linger  about  it  any  more  than  I  ?  I  give  it  a 
wide  berth." 

"I  can't  get  away  from  it,  I  think,"  said 
Lizzie^  passing  her  hand  across  her-  forehead. 
"  It's  no  purpose  of  mine  that  I  live  by  it  still." 

" There  you  go,  Liz !  Dreaming  again!  You 
lodge  yourself  of  your  own  accord  in  a  house 
with  a  drunken — tailor,  I  suppose — or  something 
of  the  sort,  and  a  little  crooked  antic  of  a  child, 
or  old  person,  or  whatever  it  is,  and  then  you 
talk  as  if  you  were  drawn  or  driven  there.  Now 
do  be  more  practical." 

She  had  been  practical  enough  with  him,  in 
suffering  and  striving  for  him ;  but  she  only  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  shoulder — not  reproachfully 
— and  tapped  it  twice  or  thrice.  She  had  been 
used  to  do  so,  to  soothe  him  when  she  carried 
him  about,  a  child  as  heavy  as  herself.  Tears 
started  to  his  eyes. 

"Upon  my  word,  Liz,"  drawing  the  back  of 
his  hand  across  them,  "I  mean  to  be  a  good 
brother  to  you,  and  to  prove  that  I  know  what 
I  owe  you.  All  I  say  is,  that  I  hope  you'll  con- 
trol your  fancies  a  Kttle,  on  my  account.  I'll 
get  a  school,  and  then  you  must  come  and  live 
with  me,  and  you'll  have  to  control  your  fancies 
then,  so  why  not  now?  Now,  say  I  haven't 
vexed  you." 

"You  haven't,  Charley,  you  haven't." 

"And  say  I  haven't  hurt  you." 

"You  haven't,  Charley."  But  this  answer 
was  less  ready. 

"  Say  you  are  sure  I  didn't  mean  to.  Come ! 
There's  Mr.  Headstone  stopping,  and  looking 
over  the  wall  at  the  tide,  to  hint  that  it's  time  to 
go.  Kiss  me,  and  tell  me  that  you  know  I  didn't 
mean  to  hurt  you." 

She  told  him  so,  and  they  embraced,  and 
walked  on  and  came  up  with  the'  schoolmaster. 

"But  we  go  your  sister's  way,"  he  remarked, 
when  the  boy  told  him  he  was  ready.  And 
with  his  cumbrous  and  uneasy  action  he  stiffly 
offered  her  his  arm.  Her  hand  was  just  within 
it  when  she  drew  it  back.  He  looked  round 
with  a  start,  as  if  he  thought  she  had  detected 
something  that  repelled  her  in  the  momentary 
touch. 

"I  will  not  go  in  just  yet,"  said  Lizzie.  "And 
you  have  a  distance  before  you,  and  will  walk 
faster  without  me." 

Being  by  this  time  close  to  Vauxhall  Bridge, 
they  resolved,  in  consequence,  to  take  that  way 
over  the  Thames,  and  they  left  her;  Bradley 
Headstone  giving  her  his  hand  at  parting,  and 
she  thanking  him  for  his  care  of  her  brother. 

The  master  and  the  pupil  walked  on  rapid- 
ly and  silently.  They  had  nearly  crossed  the 
bridge  when  a  gentleman  came  coolly  saunter- 
ing toward  them,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth, 
his  coat  thrown  back,  and  his  hands  behind 
him.     Something  in  the  careless  manner  of  this 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


109 


person,  and  in  a  certain  lazily  arrogant  air  with 
which  he  approached,  holding  possession  of  twice 
as  touch  pavement  as  another  would  have  claim- 
ed, instantly  caught  the  boy's  attention.  As 
the  gentleman  passed,  the  boy  looked  at  him 
narrowly,  and  then  stood  still,  looking  after  him. 

"  Who  is  it  that  you  stare  after  ?"  asked  Brad- 
ley. 

"Why!"  said  the  boy,  with  a  confused  and 
pondering  frown  upon  his  face,  "It  is  that 
Wrayburn  one  !" 

Bradley  Headstone  scrutinized  the  boy  as 
closely  as  the  boy  had  scrutinized  the  gentle- 
man. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Headstone,  but  I 
couldn't  help  wondering  what  in  the  world 
brought  Mm  here !" 

Though  he  said  it  as  if  his  wonder  were  past 
— at  the  same  time  resuming  the  walk — it  was 
not  lost  upon  the  master  that  he  looked  over  his 
shoulder  after  speaking,  and  that  the  same  per- 
plexed and  pondering  frown  was  heavy  on  his 
face. 

"  You  don't  appear  to  like  your  friend,  Hex- 
am  ?" 

"I  don't  like  him,"  said  the  boy. 

"Why  not?" 

"  He  took  hold  of  me  by  the  chin  in  a  precious 
impertinent  way  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him," 
said  the  boy. 

"Again,  why?" 

"  For  nothing.  Or — it's  much  the  same — be- 
cause something  I  happened  to  say  about  my  sis- 
ter didn't  happen  to  please  him." 

"Then  he  knows  your  sister?" 

"He  didn't  at  that  time,"  said  the  boy,  still 
moodily  pondering. 

"Does  now?" 

The  boy  had  so  lost  himself  that  he  looked  at 
Mr.  Bradley  Headstone  as  they  walked  on  side 
by  side,  without  attempting  to  reply  until  the 
question  had  been  repeated ;  then  he  nodded 
and  answered,  "Yes,  Sir." 

"Going  to  see  her,  I  dare  say." 

"It  can't  be  !"  said  the  boy,  quickly.  "  He 
doesn't  know  her  well  enough.  I  should  like  to 
catch  him  at  it!" 

When  they  had  walked  on  for  a  time,  more 
rapidly  than  before,  the  master  said,  clasping 
the  pupil's  arm  between  the  elbow  and  the  shoul- 
der with  his  hand  : 

"You  were  going  to  tell  me  something  about 
that  person.    What  did  you  say  his  name  was?" 

"Wrayburn.  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn.  He 
is  what  they  call  a  barrister,  with  nothing  to  do. 
The  first  time  he  came  to  our  old  place  was 
when  my  father  was  alive.  *  He  came  on  busi- 
ness ;  not  that  it  was  his  business — he  never 
had  any  business — he  was  brought  bv  a  friend 
of  his." 

"And  the  other  times?" 

"  There  was  only  one  other  time  that  I  know 
of.  When  my  father  was  killed  by  accident,  he 
chanced  to  be  one  of  the  finders.  He  was  moon- 
ing about,  I  suppose,  taking  liberties  with  peo- 
ple's chins ;  but  there  he  was,  somehow.  He 
brought  the  news  home  to  my  sister  early  in  the 
morning,  and  brought  Miss  Abbey  Potterson,  a 
neighbor,  to  help  break  it  to  her.  He  was  moon- 
ing about  the  house  when  I  was  fetched  home 
in  the  afternoon — they  didn't  know  where  to 
find  me  till  my  sister  could  be  brought  round 


sufficiently  to  tell  them — and  then  he  mooned 
away." 

"And  is  that  all?" 

"That's  all,  Sir." 

Bradley  Headstone  gradually  released  the  boy's 
arm,  as  if  he  were  thoughtful,  and  they  walked 
on  side  by  side  as  before.  After  a  long  silence 
between  them,  Bradley  resumed  the  talk. 

"I  suppose — your  sister — "  with  a  curious 
break  both  before  and  after  the  words,  "has  re- 
ceived hardlv  any  teaching,  Hexam  ?" 

"Hardly  any,  Sir." 

"Sacrificed,  no  doubt,  to  her  father's  objec- 
tions. I  remember  them  in  your  case.  Yet — 
your  sister — scarcely  looks  or  speaks  like  an  ig- 
norant person." 

"  Lizzie  has  as  much  thought  as  the  best,  Mr. 
Headstone.  Too  much,  perhaps,  without  teach- 
ing. I  used  to  call  the  fire  at  home  her  books, 
for  she  was  always  full  of  fancies — sometimes 
quite  wise  fancies,  considering — when  she  sat 
looking  at  it." 

"  I  don't  like  that,"  said  Bradley  Headstone. 

His  pupil  was  a  little  surprised  by  this  strik- 
ing in  with  so  sudden  and  decided  and  emo- 
tional an  objection,  but  took  it  as  a  proof  of  the 
master's  interest  in  himself.  It  emboldened  him 
to  say : 

"  I  have  never  brought  myself  to  mention  it 
openly  to  you,  Mr.  Headstone,  and  you're  my 
witness  that  I  couldn't  even  make  up  my  mind 
to  take  it  from  you  before  we  came  out  to-night ; 
but  it's  a  painful  thing  to  think  that  if  I  get  on 
as  well  as  you  hope,  I  shall  be — I  won't  say  dis- 
graced, because  I  don't  mean  disgraced — but — 
rather  put  to  the  blush  if  it  was  known — by  a 
sister  who  has  been  very  good  to  me." 

"Yes,"  said  Bradley  Headstone  in  a  slurring 
way,  for  his  mind  scarcely  seemed  to  touch  that 
point,  so  smoothly  did  it  glide  to  another,  "  and 
there  is  this  possibility  to  consider.  Some  man 
who  had  worked  his  way  might  come  to  admire 
— your  sister — and  might  even  in  time  bring 
himself  to  think  of  marrying — your  sister — and 
it  would  be  a  sad  drawback  and  a  heavy  pen- 
alty upon  him,  if,  overcoming  in  his  mind  oth- 
er inequalities  of  condition  and  other  considera- 
tions against  it,  this  inequality  and  this  consid- 
eration remained  in  full  force." 

"That's  much  my  own  meaning,  Sir." 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Bradley  Headstone,  "but  you 
spoke  of  a  mere  brother.  Now  the  case  I  have 
supposed  would  be  a  much  stronger  case;  be- 
cause an  admirer,  a  husband,  would  form  the 
connection  voluntarily,  besides  being  obliged  to 
proclaim  it :  which  a  brother  is  not.  After  all, 
you  know,  it  must  be  said  of  you  that  you 
couldn't  help  yourself:  while  it  would  be  said  of 
him,  with  equal  reason,  that  he  could." 

"That's  true,  Sir.  Sometimes  since  Lizzie 
was  left  free  by  father's  death,  I  have  thought 
that  such  a  young  woman  might  soon  acquire 
more  than  enough  to  pass  muster.  And  some- 
times I  have  even  thought  that  perhaps  Miss 
Peecher — " 

"  For  the  purpose,  I  would  advise  Not  Miss 
Peecher*,"  Bradley  Headstone  struck  in  with  a 
recurrence  of  his  late  decision  of  manner. 

"Would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  think  of  it  for 
me,  Mr.  Headstone?" 

"Yes,  Hexam,  yes.  I'll  think  of  it.  I'll 
think  maturely  of  it.     I'll  think  well  of  it." 


110 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Their  walk  was  almost  a  silent  one  afterward 
until  it  ended  at  the  school-house.  There  one 
of  neat  Miss  Peecher's  little  windows,  like  the 
eyes  in  needles,  was  illuminated,  and  in  a  corner 
near  it  sat  Mary  Anne  watching,  while  Miss 
Peecher  at  the  table  stitched  at  the  neat  little 
body  she  was  making  up  by  brown  paper  pattern 
for  her  own  wearing. — N.B.  Miss  Peecher  and 
Miss  Peecher's  pupils  were  not  much  encouraged 
in  the  unscholastic  art  of  needle- work  by  Gov- 
ernment. 

Mary  Anne  with  her  face  to  the  window  held 
her  arm  up. 

"Well,  Mary  Anne?" 

"Mr.  Headstone  coming  home,  ma'am." 

In  about  a  minute,  Mary  Anne  again  hailed. 

"Yes,  Mary  Anne?" 

"Gone  in  and  locked  his  door,  ma'am." 

Miss  Peecher  repressed  a  sigh  as  she  gathered 
her  work  together  for  bed,  and  transfixed  that 
part  of  her  dress  where  her  heart  would  have 
been  if  she  had  had  the  dress  on  with  a  sharp, 
sharp  needle. 


CHAPTER  II. 


STILL   EDUCATIONAL. 


The  person  of  the  house,  doll's  dress-maker 
and  manufacturer  of  ornamental  pin-cushions 
and  pen-wipers,  sat  in  her  quaint  little  low  arm- 
chair, singing  in  the  dark,  until  Lizzie  came 
back.  The  person  of  the  house  had  attained 
that  dignity  while  yet  of  very  tender  years  in- 
deed through  being  the  only  trust-worthy  person 
in  the  house. 

"  Well  Lizzie-Mizzie-Wizzie,"  said  she,  break- 
ing off  in  her  song.  ' '  What's  the  news  out  of 
doors?" 

"What's  the  news  in  doors  ?"  returned  Lizzie, 
playfully  smoothing  the  bright  long  fair  hair 
which  grew  very  luxuriant  and  beautiful  on  the 
head  of  the  doll's  dress-maker. 

"  Let  me  see,  said  the  blind  man.  Why  the 
last  news  is,  that  I  don't  mean  to  marry  your 
brother." 

"No?" 

"No-o,"  shaking  her  head  and  her  chin. 
"Don't  like  the  boy-" 

"What  do  you  say  to  his  master?" 

"I  say  that  I  think  he's  bespoke." 

Lizzie  finished  putting  the  hair  carefully  back 
over  the  misshapen  shoulders,  and  then  light- 
ed a  candle.  It  showed  the  little  parlor  to  be 
dingy,  but  orderly  and  clean.  She  stood  it  on 
the  mantle-shelf,  remote  from  the  dress-maker's 
eyes,  and  then  put  the  room  door  open,  and  the 
house  door  open,  and  turned  the  little  low  chair 
and  its  occupant  toward  the  outer  air.  It  was 
a  sultry  night,  and  this  was  a  fine-weather  ar- 
rangement when  the  day's  work  was  done.  To 
complete  it,  she  seated  herself  in  a  chair  by  the 
side  of  the  little  chair,  and  protectingly  drew  un- 
der her  arm  the  spare  hand  that  crept  up  to  her. 

"  This  is  what  your  loving  Jenny  Wren  calls 
the  best  time  in  the  day  and  night,"  said  the 
person  of  the  house.  Her  real  name  was  Fan- 
ny Cleaver ;  but  she  had  long  ago  chosen  to  be- 
stow upon  herself  the  appellation  of  Miss  Jenny 
Wren. 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  Jenny  went  on,  "as 


I  sat  at  work  to-day,  what  a  thing  it  would  be 
if  I  should  be  able  to  have  your  company  till  I 
am  married,  or  at  least  courted.  Because  when 
I  am  courted,  I  shall  make  Him  do  some  of  the 
things  that  you  do  for  me.  He  couldn't  brush 
my  hair  like  you  do,  or  help  me  up  and  down 
stairs  like  you  do,  and  he  couldn't  do  any  thing 
like  you  do ;  but  he  could  take  my  work  home, 
and  he  could  call  for  orders  in  his  clumsy  way. 
And  he  shall  too.  Til  trot  him  about,  I  can 
tell  him!" 

Jenny  Wren  had  her  personal  vanities — hap- 
pily for  her — and  no  intentions  were  stronger  in 
her  breast  than  the  various  trials  and  torments 
that  were,  in  the  fullness  of  time,  to  be  inflicted 
upon  "him." 

"Wherever  he  may  happen  to  be  just  at  pres- 
ent, or  whoever  he  may  happen  to  be,"  said  Miss 
Wren,  "/know  his  tricks  and  his  manners,  and 
I  give  him  warning  to  look  out." 

"Don't  you  think  you  are  rather  hard  upon 
him  ?"  asked  her  friend,  smiling,  and  smoothing 
her  hair. 

"Not  a  bit,"  replied  the  sage  Miss  Wren, 
with  an  air  of  vast  experience.  "My  dear, 
they  don't  care  for  you,  those  fellows,  if  you're 
not  hard  upon  'em.  But  I  was  saying  If  I  should 
be  able  to  have  your  company.  Ah !  What  a 
large  If!  Ain't  it?" 

"I  have  no  intention  of  parting  company, 
Jenny." 

"Don't  say  that,  or  you'll  go  directly." 

"Am  I  so  little  to  be  relied  upon?" 

"You're  more  to  be  relied  upon  than  silver 
and  gold."  As  she  said  it  Miss  Wren  suddenly 
broke  off,  screwed  up  her  eyes  and  her  chin,  and 
looked  prodigiously  knowing.     "Aha! 

"Who  comes  here? 
**  A  Grenadier. 
u  What  does  he  want? 
"  A  pot  of  beer. 

And  nothing  else  in  the  world,  my  dear!" 

A  man's  figure  paused  on  the  pavement  at  the 
outer  door.  "Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn,  ain't  it  ?" 
said  Miss  Wren. 

"  So  I  am  told,"  was  the  answer. 

"You  may  come  in,  if  you're  good." 

"I  am  not  good,"  said  Eugene,  "but  I'll 
come  in." 

He  gave  his  hand  to  Jenny  Wren,  and  he 
gave  his  hand  to  Lizzie,  and  he  stood  leaning 
by  the  door  at  Lizzie's  side.  He  had  been  stroll- 
ing with  his  cigar,  he  said  (it  was  smoked  out 
and  gone  by  this  time),  and  he  had  strolled 
round  to  return  in  that  direction  that  he  might 
look  in  as  he  passed.  Had  she  not  seen  her 
brother  to-night? 

"Yes,"  said  Lizzie,  whose  mannen  was  a  lit- 
tle troubled. 

Gracious  condescension  on  our  brother's  part ! 
Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn  thought  he  had  passed 
my  young  gentleman  on  the  bridge  yonder. 
Who  was  his  friend  with  him  ? 

"The  schoolmaster." 

"To  be  sure.     Looked  like  it." 

Lizzie  sat  so  still  that  one  could  not  have  said 
wherein  the  fact  of  her  manner  being  troubled 
was  expressed ;  and  yet  one  could  not  have 
doubted  it.  Eugene  was  as  easy  as  ever;  but 
perhaps,  as  she  sat  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  it 
might  have  been  rather  more  perceptible  that 
his  attention  was  concentrated  upon  her  for  cer- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Ill 


tain  moments,  than  its  concentration  upon  any- 
subject  for  any  short  time  ever  was  elsewhere. 

"I  have  nothing  to  report,  Lizzie,"  said  Eu- 
gene. "But,  having  promised  you  that  an  eye 
should  be  always  kept  on  Mr.  Riderhood  through 
my  friend  Lightwood,  I  like  occasionally  to  re- 
new my  assurance  that  I  keep  my  promise,  and 
keep  my  friend  up  to  the  mark." 

"I  should  not  have  doubted  it,  Sir." 

"Generally,  I  confess  myself  a  man  to  be 
doubted,"  returned  Eugene,  coolly,  "for  all 
that." 

"  Why  are  you  ?"  asked  the  sharp  Miss  Wren. 

"Because,  my  dear,"  said  the  airy  Eugene, 
"I  am  a  bad  idle  dog." 

"Then  why  don't  you  reform  and  be  a  good 
dog  ?"  inquired  Miss  Wren. 

"Because,  my  dear,"  returned  Eugene, 
"  there's  nobody  who  makes  it  worth  my  while. 
Have  you  considered  my  suggestion,  Lizzie?" 
This  in  a  lower  voice,  but  only  as  if  it  were  a 
graver  matter;  not  at  all  to  the  exclusion  of 
the  person  of  the  house. 

"I  have  thought  of  it,  Mr.  Wrayburn,  but  I 
have  not  been  able  to  make  up  my  mind  to  ac- 
cept it." 

"False  pride!"  said  Eugene. 

"I  think  not,  Mr.  Wrayburn.     I  hope  not." 

"False  pride!"  repeated  Eugene.  "Why, 
what  else  is  it  ?  The  thing  is  worth  nothing  in 
itself.  The  thing  is  worth  nothing  to  me. 
What  can  it  be  worth  to  me?  You  know  the 
most  I  make  of  it.  I  propose  to  be  of  some  use 
to  somebody — which  I  never  was  in  this  world, 
and  never  shall  be  on  any  other  occasion — by 
paying  some  qualified  person  of  your  own  sex 
and  age  so  many  (or  rather  so  few)  contempti- 
ble shillings  to  come  here  certain  nights  in  the 
week,  and  give  you  certain  instructions  which 
you  wouldn't  want  if  you  hadn't  been  a  self-de- 
nying daughter  and  sister.  You  know  that  it's 
good  to  have  it,  or  you  would  never  have  so  de- 
voted yourself  to  your  brother's  having  it.  Then 
why  not  have  it :  especially  when  our  friend  Miss 
Jenny  here  would  profit  by  it  too  ?  If  I  pro- 
posed to  be  the  teacher,  or  to  attend  the  lessons 
—  obviously  incongruous !  —  but  as  to  that,  I 
might  as  well  be  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe, 
or  not  on  the  globe  at  all.  False  pride,  Lizzie. 
Because  true  pride  wouldn't  shame,  or  be  shamed 
by,  your  thankless  brother.  .True  pride  wouldn't 
have  schoolmasters  brought  here,  like  doctors, 
to  look  at  a  bad  case.  True  pride  would  go  to 
work  and  do  it.  You  know  that  well  enough, 
for  you  know  that  your  own  true  pride  would  do 
it  to-morrow  if  you  had  the  ways  and  means, 
which  false  pride  won't  let  me  supply.  Very 
well.  I  add  no  more  than  this.  Your  false 
pride  does  wrong  to  yourself,  and  does  wrong  to 
your  dead  father." 

"How  to  my  father,  Mr.  Wrayburn?"  she 
asked,  with  an  anxious  face. 

"  How  to  your  father?  Can  you  ask!  By 
perpetuating  the  consequences  of  his  ignorant 
and  blind  obstinacy.  By  resolving  not  to  set 
right  the  wrong  he  did  you.  By  determining 
that  the  deprivation  to  which  he  condemned 
you,  and  which  he  forced  upon  you,  shall  al- 
ways rest  upon  his  head." 

It  chanced  to  be  a  subtle  string  to  sound,  in 
her  who  had  so  spoken  to  her  brother  within  the 
hour.     It  sounded  far  more  forcibly,  because  of 


the  change  in  the  speaker  for  the  moment ;  the 
passing  appearance  of  earnestness,  complete  con- 
viction, injured  resentment  of  suspicion,  gener- 
ous and  unselfish  interest.  All  these  qualities, 
in  him  usually  so  light  and  careless,  she  felt  to 
be  inseparable  from  some  touch  of  their  oppo- 
sites  in  her  own  breast.  She  thought,  had  she, 
so  far  below  him  and  so  different,  rejected  this 
disinterestedness  because  of  some  vain  misgiv- 
ing that  he  sought  her  out,  or  heeded  any  per- 
sonal attractions  that  he  might  descry  in  her? 
The  poor  girl,  pure  of  heart  and  purpose,  could 
not  bear  to  think  it.  Sinking  before  her  own 
eyes  as  she  suspected  herself  of  it,  she  drooped 
her  head  as  though  she  had  done  him  some 
wicked  and  grievous  injury,  and  broke  into  si- 
lent tears. 

"Don't  be  distressed,"  said  Eugene,  very, 
very  kindly.  "  I  hope  it  is  not  I  who  have  dis- 
tressed you.  I  meant  no  more  than  to  put  the 
matter  in  its  true  light  before  you ;  though  I 
acknowledge  I  did  it  selfishly  enough,  for  I  am 
disappointed." 

Disappointed  of  doing  her  a  service.  How 
else  could  he  be  disappointed  ? 

"It  won't  break  my  heart,"  laughed  Eugene ; 
"it  won't  stay  by  me  eight-and-forty  hours; 
but  I  am  genuinely  disappointed.  I  had  set  my 
fancy  on  doing  this  little  thing  for  you  and  for 
our  friend  Miss  Jenny.  The  novelty  of  my  do- 
ing any  thing  in  the  least  useful  had  its  charms. 
I  see  now  that  I  might  have  managed  it  better. 
I  might  have  affected  to  do  it  wholly  for  our 
friend  Miss  J.  I  might  have  got  myself  up, 
morally,  as  Sir  Eugene  Bountiful.  But  upon 
my  soul  I  can't  make  flourishes,  and  I  would 
rather  be  disappointed  than  try." 

If  he  meant  to  follow  home  what  was  in  Liz- 
zie's thoughts,  it  was  skillfully  done.  If  he  fol- 
lowed it  by  mere  fortuitous  coincidence,  it  was 
done  by  an  evil  chance. 

"It  opened  out  so  naturally  before  me,"  said 
Eugene.  "The  ball  seemed  so  thrown  into  my 
hands  by  accident!  I  happen  to  be  originally 
brought  into  contact  with  you,  Lizzie,  on  those 
two  occasions  that  you  know  of.  I  happen  to 
be  able  to  promise  you  that  a  watch  shall  be 
kept  upon  that  false  accuser,  Riderhood.  I  hap- 
pen to  be  able  to  give  you  some  little  consolation 
in  the  darkest  hour  of  your  distress,  by  assuring 
you  that  I  don't  believe  him.  On  the  same  oc- 
casion I  tell  you  that  I  am  the  idlest  and  least 
of  lawyers,  but  that  I  am  better  than  none,  in  a 
case  I  have  noted  down  with  my  own  hand,  and 
that  you  may  be  always  sure  of  my  best  help, 
and  incidentally  of  Lightwood's  too,  in  your  ef- 
forts to  clear  your  father.  So  it  gradually  takes 
my  fancy  that  I  may  help  you — so  easily  ! — to 
clear  your  father  of  that  other  blame  which  I 
mentioned  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  which  is  a 
just  and  real  one.  I  hope  I  have  explained 
myself,  for  I  am  heartily  sorry  to  have  distressed 
you.  I  hate  to  claim  to  mean  well,  but  I  really 
did  mean  honestly  and  simply  well,  and  I  want 
you  to  know  it." 

"I  have  never  doubted  that,  Mr.  Wrayburn," 
said  Lizzie;  the  more  repentant  the  less  he 
claimed. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it.  Though  if  you 
had  quite  understood  my  whole  meaning  at  first, 
I  think  you  would  not  have  refused.  Do  you 
think  you  would?" 


.112 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"I— I  don't  know  that  I  should,  Mr.  Wray- 
burn." 

' '  Well !  Then  why  refuse  now  you  do  under- 
stand it  ?" 

"  It's  not  easy  for  me  to  talk  to  you,"  returned 
Lizzie,  in  some  confusion,  "  for  you  see  all  the 
consequences  of  what  I  say  as  soon  as  I  say  it." 

"Take  all  the  consequences,"  laughed  Eu- 
gene, "and  take  away  my  disappointment. 
Lizzie  Hexam,  as  I  truly  respect  you,  and  as  I 
am  your  friend  and  a  poor  devil  of  a  gentleman, 
I  protest  I  don't  even  now  understand  why  you 
hesitate." 

There  was  an  appearance  of  openness,  trust- 
fulness, unsuspecting  generosity,  in  his  words 
and  manner,  that  won  the  poor  girl  over ;  and 
not  only  won  her  over,  but  again  caused  her  to 
feel  as  though  she  had  been  influenced  by  the 
opposite  qualities,  with  vanity  at  their  head. 

"I  will  .not  hesitate  any  longer,  Mr.  Wray- 
burn.  I  hope  you  will  not  think  the  worse  of 
me  for  having  hesitated  at  all.  For  myself  and 
for  Jenny — you  let  me  answer  for  you,  Jenny 
dear?" 

The  little  creature  had  been  leaning  back,  at- 
tentive, with  her  elbows  resting  on  the  elbows  of 
her  chair,  and  her  chin  upon  her  hands.  With- 
out changing  her  attitude,  she  answered,  "Yes !" 
so  suddenly  that  it  rather  seemed  as  if  she  had 
chopped  the  monosyllable  than  spoken  it. 

"For  myself  and  for  Jenny,  I  thankfully  ac- 
cept your  kind  offer." 

"Agreed!  Dismissed!"  said  Eugene,  giving 
Lizzie  his  hand  before  lightly  waving  it,  as  if  he 
waved  the  whole  subject  away.  "  I  hope  it  may 
not  be  often  that  so  much  is  made  of  so  little." 

Then  he  fell  to  talking  playfully  with  Jenny 
Wren.  "  I  think  of  setting  up  a  doll,  Miss  Jen- 
ny," he  said. 

"You  had  better  not,  "replied  the  dress-maker. 

"Why  not?" 

"You  are  sure  to  break  it.  All  you  children 
do." 

"But  that  makes  good  for  trade,  you  know, 
Miss  Wren,"  returned  Eugene.  "Much  as 
people's  breaking  promises  and  contracts  and 
bargains  of  all  sorts  makes  good  for  my  trade." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  Miss  Wren  re- 
torted; "but  you  had  better  by  half  set  up  a 
pen-wiper,  and  turn  industrious,  and  use  it." 

"  Why,  if  we  were  all  as  industrious  as  you, 
little  Busy-Body,  we  should  begin  to  work  as 
soon  as  we  could  crawl,  and  there  would  be  a 
bad  thing !" 

"Do  you  mean,"  returned  the  little  creature, 
with  a  flush  suffusing  her  face,  "bad  for  your 
backs  and  your  legs  ?" 

"No,  no,  no,"  said  Eugene;  shocked — to  do 
him  justice — at  the  thought  of  trifling  with  her 
infirmity.  "Bad  for  business,  bad  for  business. 
If  we  all  set  to  work  as  soon  as  we  could  use  our 
hands,  it  would  be  all  over  with  the  dolls'  dress- 
makers." 

"  There's  something  in  that,"  replied  Miss 
Wren ;  *  you  have  a  sort  of  an  idea  in  your 
noddle  sometimes."  Then,  in  a  changed  tone, 
"  Talking  of  ideas,  my  Lizzie,"  they  were  sitting 
side  by  side  as  they  had  sat  at  first,  "  I  wonder 
how  it  happens  that  when  I  am  work,  work, 
working  here,  all  alone  in  the  summer-time,  I 
smell  flowers." 
,    "  As  a  commonplace  individual,  I  should  say, " 


Eugene  suggested  languidly — for  he  was  growing 
weary  of  the  person  of  the  house — "that  you 
smell  flowers  because  you  do  smell  flowers." 

"No  I  don't,"  said  the  little  creature,  resting 
one  arm  upon  the  elbow  of  her  chair,  resting  her 
chin  upon  that  hand,  and  looking  vacantly  be- 
fore her;  "this  is  not  a  flowery  neighborhood. 
It's  any  thing  but  that.  And  yet  as  I  sit  at 
work  I  smell  miles  of  flowers.  I  smell  roses 
till  I  think  I  see  the  rose-leaves  lying  in  heaps, 
bushels,  on  the  floor.  I  smell  fallen  leaves  till 
I  put  down  my  hand — so — and  expect  to  make 
them  rustle.  I  smell  the  white  and  the  pink 
May  in  the  hedges,  and  all  sorts  of  flowers  that 
I  never  was  among.  For  I  have  seen  very  few 
flowers  indeed  in  my  life." 

"  Pleasant  fancies  to  have,  Jenny  dear  !"  said 
her  friend :  with  a  glance  toward  Eugene  as  if 
she  would  have  asked  him  whether  they  were 
given  the  child  in  compensation  for  her  losses. 

"  So  I  think,  Lizzie,  when  they  come  to  me. 
And  the  birds  I  hear!  Oh!"  cried  the  little 
creature,  holding  out  her  hand  and  looking  up- 
ward, * '  how  they  sing !" 

There  was  something  in  the  face  and  action  for 
the  moment  quite  inspired  and  beautiful.  Then 
the  chin  dropped  musingly  upon  the  hand  again. 

"I  dare  say  my  birds  sing  better  than  other 
birds,  and  my  flowers  smell  better  than  other 
flowers.  For  when  I  was  a  little  child,"  in  a 
tone  as  though  it  were  ages  ago,  "the  children 
that  I  used  to  see  early  in  the  morning  were  very 
different  from  any  others  that  I  ever  saw.  They 
were  not  like  me ;  they  were  not  chilled,  anx- 
ious, ragged,  or  beaten ;  they  were  never  in 
pain.  They  were  not  like  the  children  of  the 
neighbors ;  they  never  made  me  tremble  all  over 
by  setting  up  shrill  noises,  and  they  never  mock- 
ed me.  Such  numbers  of  them  too  !  All  in 
white  dresses,  and  with  something  shining  on 
the  borders,  and  on  their  heads,  that  I  have 
never  been  able  to  imitate  with  my  work,  though 
I  know  it  so  well.  They  used  to  come  down  in 
long  bright  slanting  rows,  and  say  all,  together, 
'Who  is  this  in  pain!  Who  is  this  in  pain!' 
When  I  told  them  who  it  was,  they  answered, 
'  Come  and  play  with  us  !'  When  I  said  '  I  nev- 
er play  !  I  can't  play !'  they  swept  about  me 
and  took  me  up,  and  made  me  light.  Then  it 
was  all  delicious  ease  and  rest  till  they  laid  me 
down,  and  said,  all  together,  'Have  patience, 
and  we  will  come  again.'  Whenever  they  came 
back,  I  used  to  know  they  were  coming  before 
I  saw  the  long  bright  rows,  by  hearing  them 
ask,  all  together  a  long  way  off,  'Who  is  this 
in  pain !  who  is  this  in  pain  !'  And  I  used  to 
cry  out,  'O  my  blessed  children,  it's  poor  me. 
Have  pity  on  me.  Take  me  up  and  make  me 
light!'" 

By  degrees,  as  she  progressed  in  this  remem- 
brance, the  hand  was  raised,  the  late  ecstatic 
look  returned,  and  she  became  quite  beautiful. 
Having  so  paused  for  a  moment,  silent,  with  a 
listening  smile  upon  her  face,  she  looked  round 
and  recalled  herself. 

"What  poor  fun  you  think  me  ;  don't  you, 
Mr.  Wrayburn  ?  You  may  well  look  tired  of 
me.  But  it's  Saturday  night,  and  I  won't  de- 
tain you." 

"That  is  to  say,  Miss  Wren,"  observed  Eu- 
gene, quite  ready  to  profit  by  the  hint,  "you 
wish  me  to  go  ?" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


113 


"Well,  it's  Saturday  night,"  she  returned, 
"and  my  child's  coming  home.  And  my  child 
is  a  troublesome  bad  child,  and  costs  me  a  world 
of  scolding.  I  would  rather  you  didn't  see  my 
child." 

•    "  A  doll  ?"  said  Eugene,  not  understanding, 
and  looking  for  an  explanation. 

But  Lizzie,  with  her  lips  only,  shaping  the 
two  words,  "Her  father,"  he  delayed  no  lon- 
ger. He  took  his  leave  immediately.  At  the 
corner  of  the  street  he  stopped  to  light  another 
cigar,  and  possibly  to  ask  himself  what  he  was 
doing  otherwise.  If  so,  the  answer  was  indefin- 
ite and  vague.  Who  knows  what  he  is  doing 
who  is  careless  what  he  does  ! 

A  man  stumbled  against  him  as  he  turned 
away,  who  mumbled  some  maudlin  apology. 
Looking  after  this  man,  Eugene  saw  him  go  in 
at  the  door  by  which  he  himself  had  just  come 
out. 

On  the  man's  stumbling  into  the  room  Lizzie 
rose  to  leave  it. 

"Don't  go  away,  Miss  Hexam,"  he  said  in  a 
submissive  manner,  speaking  thickly  and  with 
difficulty.  "Don't  fly  from  unfortunate  man  in 
shattered  state  of  health.  Give  poor  invalid 
honor  of  your  company.  It  ain't — ain't  catch- 
ing." 

Lizzie  murmured  that  she  had  something  to 
do  in  her  own  room,  and  went  away  up  stairs. 

"How's  my  Jenny?"  said  the  man,  timidly. 
"How's  my  Jenny  Wren,  best  of  children,  ob- 
ject dearest  affections  broken-hearted  invalid  ?" 

To  which  the  person  of  the  house,  stretching 
out  her  arm  in  an  attitude  of  command,  replied 
with  irresponsive  asperity :  "Go  along  with  you ! 
Go  along  into  your  corner !  Get  into  your  cor- 
ner directly!" 

The  wretched  spectacle  made  as  if  he  would 
have  offered  some  remonstrance ;  but  not  ven- 
turing to  resist  the  person  of  the  house,  thought 
better  of  it,  and  went  and  sat  down  on  a  partic- 
ular chair  of  disgrace. 

"Oh-h-h!"  cried  the  person  of  the  house, 
pointing  her  little  finger.  "You  bad  old  boy! 
Oh-h-h  you  naughty,  wicked  creature!  What 
do  you  mean  by  it  ?" 

The  shaking  figure,  unnerved  and  disjointed 
from  head  to  foot,  put  out  its  two  hands  a  little 
way,  as  making  overtures  of  peace  and  recon- 
ciliation. Abject  tears  stood  in  its  eyes,  and 
stained  the  blotched  red  of  its  cheeks.  The 
swollen  lead-colored  under  lip  trembled  with  a 
shameful  whine.  The  whole  indecorous  thread- 
bare ruin,  from  the  broken  shoes  to  the  prema- 
turely-gray scanty  hair,  groveled.  Not  with 
any  sense  worthy  to  be  called  a  sense,  of  this 
dire  reversal  of  the  places  of  parent  and  child, 
but  in  a  pitiful  expostulation  to  be  let  off  from 
a  scolding. 

"/know  your  tricks  and  your  manners,"  cried 
Miss  Wren,  "/know  where  you've  been  to!" 
(which  indeed  it  did  not  require  discernment  to 
discover).     "  Oh,  you  disgraceful  old  chap !" 

The  very  breathing  of  the  figure  was  contempt- 
ible, as  it  labored  and  rattled  in  that  operation, 
like  a  blundering  clock. 

"Slave,  slave,  slave,  from  morning  to  night," 
pursued  the  person  of  the  house,  "and  all  for 
this !     What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?" 

There   was    something   in   that   emphasized 
"What,"   which  absurdlv  frightened  the  fig- 
H* 


ure.  As  often  as  the  person  of  the  house  work- 
ed her  way  round  to  it — even  as  soon  as  he  saw 
that  it  was  coming — he  collapsed  in  an  extra 
degree. 

"I  wish  you  had  been  tiken  up,  and  locked 
up,"  said  the  person  of  the  house.  "  I  wish  you 
had  been  poked  into  cells  and  black  holes,  and 
run  over  by  rats  and  spiders  and  beetles,  /know 
their  tricks  and  their  manners,  and  they'd  have 
tickled  you  nicely.  Ain't  you  ashamed  of  your- 
self?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  stammered  the  father. 

"Then,"  said  the  person  of  the  house,  terrify- 
ing him  by  a  grand  muster  of  her  spirits  and 
forces  before  recurring  to  the  emphatic  word, 
'■'■What  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

"Circumstances  over  which  had  no  control," 
was  the  miserable  creature's  plea  in  extenuation. 

"  /'ll  circumstance  you  and  control  you  too," 
retorted  the  person  of  the  house,  speaking  with 
vehement  sharpness,  "if  you  talk  in  that  way. 
I'll  give  you  in  charge  to  the  police,  and  have 
you  fined  five  shillings  when  you  can't  pay,  and 
then  I  won't  pay  the  money  for  you,  and  you'll 
be  transported  for  life.  How  should  you  like  to 
be  transported  for  life  ?" 

"Shouldn't  like  it.  Poor  shattered  invalid. 
Trouble  nobody  long,"  cried  the  wretched  figure. 

"Come,  come !"  said  the  person  of  the  house, 
tapping  the  table  near  her  in  a  business-like 
manner,  and  shaking  her  head  and  her  chin; 
"you  know  what  you've  got  to  do.  Put  down 
your  money  this  instant." 

The  obedient  figure  began  to  rummage  in  its 
pockets. 

"Spent  a  fortune  out  of  your  wages,  I'll  be 
bound !"  said  the  person  of  the  house.  "Put  it 
here !     All  you've  got  left !     Every  farthing !" 

Such  a  business  as  he  made  of  collecting  it 
from  his  dogs'-eared  pockets ;  of  expecting  it  in 
this  pocket,  and  not  finding  it ;  of  not  expecting 
it  in  that  pocket,  and  passing  it  over ;  of  finding 
no  pocket  where  that  other  pocket  ought  to  be  ! 

"Is  this  all?"  demanded  the  person  of  the 
house,  when  a  confused  heap  of  pence  and  shil- 
lings lay  on  the  table. 

"Got  no  more,"  was  the  rueful  answer,  with 
an  accordant  shake  of  the  head. 

"Let  me  make  sure.  You  know  what  you've 
got  to  do.  Turn  all  your  pockets  inside  out, 
and  leave  'em  so  !"  cried  the  person  of  the  house. 

He  obeyed.  And  if  any  thing  could  have 
made  him  look  more  abject  or  more  dismally 
ridiculous  than  before,  it  would  have  been  his 
so  displaying  himself. 

"  Here's  but  seven  and  eight-pence  half-pen- 
ny!" exclaimed  Miss  Wren,  after  reducing  the 
heap  to  order.  "Oh,  you  pi*odigal  old  son! 
Now  you  shall  be  starved." 

"No,  don't  starve  me,"  he  urged,  whimper- 
ing. 

"If  you  were  treated  as  you  ought  to  be," 
said  Miss  Wren,  "you'd  be  fed  upon  the  skew- 
ers of  cats'  meat ; — only  the  skewers,  after  the 
cats  had  had  the  meat.     As  it  is,  go  to  bed." 

When  he  stumbled  out  of  the  corner  to  com- 
ply, he  again  put  out  both  his  hands,  and  plead- 
ed :  "  Circumstances  over  which  no  control — " 

"Get  along  with  you  to  bed!"  cried  Miss 
Wren,  snapping  him  up.  "Don't  speak  to  me. 
I'm  not  going  to  forgive  you.  Go  to  bed  this 
moment !" 


1U 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


THE  PERSON  OF  THE  HOUSE  AND  THE  BAD  CHILD. 


Seeing  another  emphatic  "What"  upon  its 
way,  he  evaded  it  by  complying,  and  was  heard 
to  shuffle  heavily  up  stairs,  and  shut  his  door, 
and  throw  himself  on  his  bed.  Within  a  little 
while  afterward  Lizzie  came  down. 

"Shall  we  have  our  supper,  Jenny  dear?" 

"Ah!  bless  us  and  save  us,  we  need  have 
something  to  keep  us  going,"  returned  Miss  Jen- 
ny, shrugging  her  shoulokers. 

Lizzie  laid  a  cloth  upon  the  little  bench  (more 
handy  for  the  person  of  the  house  than  an  ordi- 
nary table),  and  put  upon  it  such  plain  fare  as 
they  were  accustomed  to  have,  and  drew  up  a 
stool  for  herself. 

"Now  for  supper!  What  are  you  thinking 
of,  Jenny  darling?" 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  returned,  coming  out 
of  a  deep  study,  "what  I  would  do  to  Him  if 
he  should  turn  out  a  drunkard." 


"Oh,  but  he  won't,"  said  Lizzie.  "You'll 
take  care  of  that,  beforehand." 

"I  shall  try  to  take  care  of  it  beforehand,  but 
he  might  deceive  me.  Oh,  my  dear,  all  those 
fellows  with  their  tricks  and  their  manners  do 
deceive!"  With  the  little  fist  in  full  action. 
"And  if  so,  I  tell  you  what  I  think  I'd  do. 
When  he  was  asleep,  I'd  make  a  spoon  red-hot, 
and  I'd  have  some  boiling  liquor  bubbling  in  a 
sauce-pan,  and  I'd  take  it  out  hissing,  and  I'd 
open  his  mouth  with  the  other  hand — or  perhaps 
he'd  sleep  with  his  mouth  ready  open — and  I'd 
pour  it  down  his  throat,  and  blister  it  and  choke 
him." 

"I  am  sure  you  would  do  no  such  horrible 
thing,"  said  Lizzie. 

"Shouldn't  I?  Well;  perhaps  I  shouldn't. 
But  I  should  like  to !" 

"  I  am  equally  sure  you  would  not." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


115 


"Not  even  like  to?  Well,  you  generally 
know  best.  Only  you  haven't  always  lived 
among  it  as  I  have  lived — and  your  back  isn't 
bad  and  your  legs  are  not  queer." 

As  they  went  on  with  their  supper  Lizzie 
tried  to  bring  her  round  to  that  prettier  and 
better  state.  But  the  charm  was  broken.  The 
person  of  the  house  was  the  person  of  a  house 
full  of  sordid  shames  and  cares,  with  an  upper 
room  in  which  that  abased  figure  was  infecting 
even  innocent  sleep  with  sensual  brutality  and 
degradation.  The  doll's  dress-maker  had  be- 
come a  little  quaint  shrew ;  of  the  world,  world- 
ly ;  of  the  earth,  earthy. 

Poor  doll's  dress-maker !  How  often  so  dragged 
down  by  hands  that  should  have  raised  her  up ; 
how  often  so  misdirected  when  losing  her  way 
on  the  eternal  road,  and  asking  guidance.  Poor, 
poor  little  doll's  dress-maker !" 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    PIECE    OP    WORK. 

Britannia,  pitting  meditating  one  fine  day 
(perhaps  in  the  attitude  in  which  she  is  present- 
ed on  the  copper  coinage),  discovers  all  of  a 
sudden  that  she  wants  Veneering  in  Parliament. 
It  occurs  to  her  that  Veneering  is  "  a  represent- 
ative man" — which  can  not  in  these  times  be 
doubted — and  that  Her  Majesty's  faithful  Com- 
mons are  incomplete  without  him.  So,  Britan- 
nia mentions  to  a  legal  gentleman  of  her  ac- 
quaintance that  if  Veneering  will  "put  down" 
five  thousand  pounds,  he  may  write  a  couple  of 
initial  letters  after  his  name  at  the  extremely 
cheap  rate  of  two  thousand  five  hundred  per 
letter.  It  is  clearly  understood  between  Britan- 
nia and  the  legal  gentleman  that  nobody  is  to 
take  up  the  five  thousand  pounds,  but  that  be- 
ing put  down  they  will  disappear  by  magical 
conjuration  and  enchantment. 

The  legal  gentleman  in  Britannia's  confidence 
going  straight  from  that  lady  to  Veneering,  thus 
commissioned,  Veneering  declares  himself  high- 
ly flattered,  but  requires  breathing-time  to  as- 
certain "whether  his  friends  will  rally  round 
him."  Above  all  things,  he  says,  it  behooves 
him  to  be  clear,  at  a  crisis  of  his  importance, 
"whether  his  friends  will  rally  round  him." 
The  legal  gentleman,  in  the  interests  of  his  cli- 
ent can  not  allow  much  time  for  this  purpose, 
as  the  lady  rather  thinks  she  knows  somebody 
prepared  to  put  down  six  thousand  pounds ;  but 
he  says  he  will  give  Veneering  four  hours. 

Veneering  then  says  to  Mrs. Veneering,  "We 
must  work,"  and  throws  himself  into  a  Hansom 
cab.  Mrs.  Veneering  in  the  same  moment  re- 
linquishes baby  to  Nurse;  presses  her  aquiline 
hands  upon  her  brow,  to  arrange  the  throbbing 
intellect  within ;  orders  out  the  carriage ;  and 
repeats  in  a  distracted  and  devoted  manner, 
compounded  of  Ophelia  and  any  self-immolat- 
ing female  of  antiquity  you  may  prefer,  "We 
must  work." 

Veneering  having  instructed  his  driver  to 
charge  at  the  Public  in  the  streets,  like  the 
Life-Guards  at  Waterloo,  is  driven  furiously  to 
Duke  Street,  Saint  James's.  There,  he  finds 
Twemlow  in  his  lodgings,  fresh  from  the  hands 
of  a  secret  artist  who  has  been  doing  something 


to  his  hair  with  yolks  of  eggs.  The  process  re- 
quiring that  Twemlow  shall,  for  two  hours  after 
the  application,  allow  his  hair  to  stick  upright 
and  dry  gradually,  he  is  in  an  appropriate  state 
for  the  receipt  of  startling  intelligence ;  looking 
equally  like  the  Monument  on  Fish  Street  Hill, 
and  King  Priam  on  a  certain  incendiary  occa- 
sion not  wholly  unknown  as  a  neat  point  from 
the  classics. 

"My  dear  Twemlow,"  says  Veneering,  grasp- 
ing both  his  hands,  "as  the  dearest  and  oldest 
of  my  friends — " 

("Then  there  can  be  no  more  doubt  about  it 
in  future,"  thinks  Twemlow,  "and  I  am!") 

"  — Are  you  of  opinion  that  your  cousin,  Lord 
Snigsworth,  would  give  his  name  as  a  Member 
of  my  Committee  ?  I  don't  go  so  far  as  to  ask 
for  his  lordship ;  I  only  ask  for  his  name.  Do 
you  think  he  would  give  me  his  name  ?" 

In  sudden  low  spirits,  Twemlow  replies,  "I 
don't  think  he  would." 

"My  political  opinions,"  says  Veneering,  not 
previously  aware  of  having  any,  "are  identical 
with  those  of  Lord  Snigsworth,  and  perhaps  as 
a  matter  of  public  feeling  and  public  principle 
Lord  Snigsworth  would  give  me  his  name." 

"It  might  be  so,"  says  Twemlow;  "but — " 
And  perplexedly  scratching  his  head,  forgetful 
of  the  yolks  of  eggs,  is  the  more  discomfited  by 
being  reminded  how  sticky  he  is. 

"Between  such  old  and  intimate  friends  as 
ourselves,"  pursues  Veneering,  "there  should 
in  such  a  case  be  no  reserve.  Promise  me  that 
if  I  ask  you  to  do  any  thing  for  me  which  you 
don't  like  to  do,  or  feel  the  slightest  difficulty 
in  doing,  you  will  freely  tell  me  so." 

This  Twemlow  is  so  kind  as  to  promise,  with 
every  appearance  of  most  heartily  intending  to 
keep  his  word. 

"  Would  you  have  any  objection  to  write  down 
to  Snigsworthy  Park,  and  ask  this  favor  of  Lord 
Snigsworth?  Of  course  if  it  were  granted  I 
should  know  that  I  owed  it  solely  to  you  ;  while 
at  the  same  time  you  would  put  it  to  Lord  Snigs- 
worth entirely  upon  public  grounds.  Would  you 
have  any  objection?" 

Says  Twemlow,  with  his  hand  to  his  forehead, 
"You  have  exacted  a  promise  from  me." 

"I  have,  my  dear  Twemlow." 

"And  you  expect  me  to  keep  it  honorably." 

"I  do,  my  dear  Twemlow." 

11  On  the  whole,  then; — observe  me,"  urges 
Twemlow,  with  great  nicety,  as  if,  in  the  case 
of  its  having  been  off  the  whole,  he  would  have 
done  it  directly — "on  the  whole,  I  must  beg 
you  to  excuse  me  from  addressing  any  com- 
munication to  Lord  Snigsworth." 

"  Bless  you,  bless  you !"  says  Veneering ;  hor- 
ribly disappointed,  but  grasping  him  by  both 
hands  again,  in  a  particularly  fervent  manner. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  poor  Twem- 
low should  decline  to  inflict  a  letter  on  his  no- 
ble cousin  (who  has  gout  in  the  temper),  inas- 
much as  his  noble  cousin,  who  allows  him  a 
small  annuity  on  which  he  Hves,  takes  it  out  of 
him,  as  the  phrase  goes,  in  extreme  severity ; 
putting  him,  when  he  visits  at  Snigsworthy  Park, 
under  a  kind  of  martial  law ;  ordaining  that  he 
shall  hang  his  hat  on  a  particular  peg,  sit  on  a 
particular  chair,  talk  on  particular  subjects  to 
particular  people,  and  perform  particular  exer- 
cises: such  as  sounding  the  praises  of  the  Fam- 


116 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


ily  Varnish  (not  to  say  Pictures),  and  abstain- 
ing from  the  choicest  of  the  Family  Wines  un- 
less expressly  invited  to  partake. 

"  One  thing,  however,  I  can  do  for  you,"  says 
Twemlow ;  "  and  that  is,  work  for  you." 

Veneering  blesses  him  again. 

"I'll  go,"  says  Twemlow,  in  a  rising  hurry 
of  spirits,  "to  the  club; — let  us  see  now;  what 
o'clock  is  it?" 

"Twenty  minutes  to  eleven." 

" I'll  be," says  Twemlow,  "at  the  club  by  ten 
minutes  to  twelve,  and  I'll  never  leave  it  all  day." 

Veneering  feels  that  his  friends  are  rallying 
round  him,  and  says,  "Thank  you,  thank  you. 
I  knew  I  could  rely  upon  you.  I  said  to  Anas- 
tatia  before  leaving  home  just  now  to  come  to 
you — of  course  the  first  friend  I  have  seen  on  a 
subject  so  momentous  to  me,  my  dear  Twem- 
low— I  said  to  Anastatia,  'We  must  work.'  " 

"You  were  right,  you  were  right,"  replies 
Twemlow.     "Tell  me.    Is  she  working?" 

"  She  is,"  says  Veneering. 

"Good!"  cries  Twemlow,  polite  little  gentle- 
man that  he  is.  "A  woman's  tact  is  invalua- 
ble. To  have  the  dear  sex  with  us  is  to  have 
every  thing  with  us." 

"But  you  have  not  imparted  to  me,"  remarks 
Veneering,  "what  you  think  of  my  entering  the 
House  of  Commons  ?" 

"I  think,"  rejoins  Twemlow,  feelingly,  "that 
it  is  the  best  club  in  London." 

Veneering  again  blesses  him,  plunges  down 
stairs,  rushes  into  his  Hansom,  and  directs  the 
driver  to  be  up  and  at  the  British  Public,  and 
to  charge  into  the  City. 

Meanwhile  Twemlow,  in  an  increasing  hurry 
of  spirits,  gets  his  hair  down  as  well  as  he  can — 
which  is  not  very  well ;  for,  after  these  glutin- 
ous applications  it  is  restive,  and  has  a  surface 
on  it  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  pastry — and 
gets  to  the  club  by  the  appointed  time.  At  the 
club  he  promptly  secures  a  large  window,  writ- 
ing materials,  and  all  the  newspapers,  and  es- 
tablishes himself,  immovable,  to  be  respectfully 
contemplated  by  Pall  Mall.  Sometimes,  when 
a  man  enters  who  nods  to  him,  Twemlow  says, 
"Do  you  know  Veneering ?"  Man  says,  " No ; 
member  of  the  club?"  Twemlow  says,  "Yes. 
Coming  in  for  Pocket-Breaches."  Man  says, 
"  Ah !  Hope  he  may  find  it  worth  the  money !" 
yawns,  and  saunters  out.  Toward  six  o'clock 
of  the  afternoon  Twemlow  begins  to  persuade 
himself  that  he  is  positively  jaded  with  work, 
and  thinks  it  much  to  be  regretted  that  he  was 
not  brought  up  as  a  Parliamentary  agent. 

From  Twemlow's,  Veneering  dashes  at  Pod- 
snap's  place  of  business.  Finds  Podsnap  read- 
ing the  paper,  standing,  and  inclined  to  be  ora- 
torical over  the  astonishing  discovery  he  has 
made,  that  Italy  is  not  England.  Respectfully 
entreats  Podsnap's  pardon  for  stopping  the  flow 
of  his  words  of  wisdom,  and  informs  him  what  is 
in  the  wind.  Tells  Podsnap  that  their  political 
opinions  are  identical.  Gives  Podsnap  to  un- 
derstand that  he,  Veneering,  formed  his  political 
opinions  while  sitting  at  the  feet  of  him,  Pod- 
snap. Seeks  earnestly  to  know  whether  Pod- 
snap "  will  rally  round  him  ?" 

Says  Podsnap,  something  sternly.  "Now, 
first  of  all,  Veneering,  do  you  ask  my  advice?" 

Veneering  falters  that  as  so  old  and  so  dear  a 
friend — 


"Yes,  yes,  that's  all  very  well,"  says  Pod- 
snap; "but  have  you  made  up  your  mind  to 
take  this  borough  of  Pocket-Breaches  on  its  own 
terms,  or  do  you  ask  my  opinion  whether  you 
shall  take  it  or  leave  it  alone  ?" 

Veneering  repeats  that  his  heart's  desire  and 
his  soul's  thirst  are,  that  Podsnap  shall  rally 
round  him. 

"Now,  I'll  be  plain  with  you,  Veneering," 
says  Podsnap,  knitting  his  brows.  "You  will, 
infer  that  i"  don't  care  about  Parliament,  from 
the  fact  of  my  not  being  there  ?" 

Why,  of  course  Veneering  knows  that !  Of 
course  Veneering  knows  that  if  Podsnap  chose 
to  go  there,  he  would  be  there,  in  a  space  of 
time  that  might  be  stated  by  the  light  and 
thoughtless  as  a  jiffy. 

"It  is  not  worth  my  while,"  pursues  Pod- 
snap, becoming  handsomely  mollified,  "  and  it 
is  the  reverse  of  important  to  my  position.  But 
it  is  not  my  wish  to  set  myself  up  as  law  for 
another  man  differently  situated.  You  think  it 
is  worth  your  while,  and  is  important  to  your 
position.     Is  that  so  ?" 

Always  with  the  proviso  that  Podsnap  will 
rally  round  him,  Veneering  thinks  it  is  so. 

"Then  you  don't  ask  my  advice,"  says  Pod- 
snap. "  Good.  Then  I  won't  give  it  you.  But 
you  do  ask  my  help.  Good.  Then  I'll  work 
for  you." 

Veneering  instantly  blesses  him,  and  apprises 
him  that  Twemlow  is  already  working.  Pod- 
snap does  not  quite  approve  that  anybody  should 
be  already  working — regarding  it  rather  in  the 
light  of  a  liberty — but  tolerates  Twemlow,  and 
says  he  is  a  well-connected  old  female  who  will 
do  no  harm. 

"  I  have  nothing  very  particular  to  do  to-day, " 
adds  Podsnap,  "and  I'll  mix  with  some  influ- 
ential people.  I  had  engaged  myself  to  dinner, 
but  I'll  send  Mrs.  Podsnap  and  get  off*  going  my- 
self, and  I'll  dine  with  you  at  eight.  It's  im- 
portant we  should  report  progress  and  compare 
notes.  Now  let  me  see.  You  ought  to  have  a 
couple  of  active,  energetic  fellows,  of  gentleman- 
ly manners,  to  go  about." 

Veneering,  after  cogitation,  thinks  of  Boots 
and  Brewer. 

"  Whom  I  have  met  at  your  house,"  says  Pod- 
snap. "Yes.  They'll  do  very  well.  Let  them 
each  have  a  cab,  and  go  about." 

Veneering  immediately  mentions  what  a  bless- 
ing he  feels  it  to  possess  a  friend  capable  of  such 
grand  administrative  suggestions,  and  really  is 
elated  at  this  going  about  of  Boots  and  Brewer, 
as  an  idea  wearing  an  electioneering  aspect  and 
looking  desperately  like  business.  Leaving  Pod- 
snap, at  a  hand-gallop,  he  descends  upon  Boots 
and  Brewer,  who  enthusiastically  rally  round 
him  by  at  once  bolting  off  in  cabs,  taking  oppo- 
site directions.  Then  Veneering  repairs  to  the 
legal  gentleman  in  Britannia's  confidence,  and 
with  him  transacts  some  delicate  affairs  of  busi- 
ness, and  issues  an  address  to  the  independent 
electors  of  Pocket-Breaches,  announcing  that  he 
is  coming  among  them  for  their  suffrages,  as  the 
mariner  returns  to  the  home  of  his  early  child- 
hood :  a  phrase  which  is  none  the  worse  for  his 
never  having  been  near  the  place  in  his  life,  and 
not  even  now  distinctly  knowing  where  it  is. 

Mrs.  Veneering,  during  the  same  eventful 
hours,  is  not  idle.     No  sooner  does  the  carriage 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


117 


turn  out,  all  complete,  than  she  turns  into  it,  all 
complete,  and  gives  the  word  "To  Lady  Tip- 
pins's. "  That  charmer  dwells  over  a  stay-maker's 
in  the  Belgravian  Borders,  with  a  life-size  mod- 
el in  the  window  on  the  ground-floor,  of  a  dis- 
tinguished beauty  in  a  blue  petticoat,  stay-lace 
in  hand,  looking  over  her  shoulder  at  the  town 
in  innocent  surprise.  As  well  she  may,  to  find 
herself  dressing  under  the  circumstances. 

Lady  Tippins  at  home?  Lady  Tippins  at 
home,  with  the  room  darkened,  and  her  back 
(like  the  lady's  at  the  ground-floor  window, 
though  for  a  different  reason)  cunningly  turned 
toward  the  light.  Lady  Tippins  is  so  surprised 
by  seeing  her  dear  Mrs.  Veneering  so  early — in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  the  pretty  creature  calls 
it — that  her  eyelids  almost  go  up,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  that  emotion. 

To  whom  Mrs.  Veneering  incoherently  com- 
municates, how  that  Veneering  has  been  offered 
Pocket-Breaches ;  how  that  it  is  the  time  for  ral- 
lying round ;  how  that  Veneering  has  said,  "We 
must  work  ;"  how  that  she  is  here,  as  a  wife  and 
mother,  to  entreat  Lady  Tippins  to  work  ;  how 
that  the  carriage  is  at  Lady  Tippins's  disposal 
for  purposes  of  work ;  how  that  she,  proprie- 
tress of  said  bran-new  elegant  equipage,  will  re- 
turn home  on  foot — on  bleeding  feet,  if  need  be 
— to  work  (not  specifying  how)  until  she  drops 
by  the  side  of  baby's  crib. 

"My  love,"  says  Lady  Tippins,  "compose 
yourself:  we'll  bring  him  in."  And  Lady  Tip- 
pins really  does  work,  and  work  the  Veneering 
horses  too ;  for  she  clatters  about  town  all  day, 
calling  upon  every  body  she  knows,  and  show- 
ing her  entertaining  powers  and  green  fan  to 
immense  advantage,  by  rattling  on  with,  My 
dear  soul,  what  do  you  think  ?  What  do  you 
suppose  me  to  be  ?  You'll  never  guess.  I'm 
pretending  to  be  an  electioneering  agent.  And 
for  what  place  of  all  places?  Pocket-Breaches. 
And  why  ?  Because  the  dearest  friend  I  have 
in  the  world  has  bought  it.  And  who  is  the 
dearest  friend  I  have  in  the  world  ?  A  man  of 
the  name  of  Veneering.  Not  omitting  his  wife, 
who  is  the  other  dearest  friend  I  have  in  the 
world ;  and  I  positively  declare  I  forgot  their 
baby,  who  is  the  other.  And  we  are  carrying 
on  this  little  farce  to  keep  up  appearances,  and 
isn't  it  refreshing !  Then,  my  precious  child, 
the  fun  of  it  is  that  nobody  knows  who  these 
Veneerings  are,  and  that  they  know  nobody,  and 
that  they  have  a  house  out  of  the  Tales  of  the 
Genii,  and  give  dinners  out  of  the  Arabian 
Nights.  Curious  to  see  'em,  my  dear?  Say 
you'll  know  'em.  Come  and  dine  with  'em. 
They  sha'n't  bore  you.  Say  who  shall  meet 
you.  We'll  make  up  a  party  of  our  own,  and 
I'll  engage  that  they  shall  not  interfere  with  you 
for  one  single  moment.  You  really  ought  to  see 
their  gold  and  silver  camels.  I  call  their  din- 
ner-table the  Caravan.  Do  come  and  dine  with 
my  Veneerings,  my  own  Veneerings,  my  ex- 
clusive property,  the  dearest  friends  I  have  in 
the  world !  And  above  all,  my  dear,  be  sure 
you  promise  me  your  vote  and  interest  and  all 
sorts  of  plumpers  for  Pocket-Breaches ;  for  we 
couldn't  think  of  spending  sixpence  on  it,  my 
love,  and  can  only  consent  to  be  brought  in  by 
the  spontaneous  thingummies  of  the  incorrupt- 
ible whatdoyoucallums. 

Now  the  point  of  view  seized  by  the  be- 


witching Tippins,  that  this  same  working  and 
rallying  round  is  to  keep  up  appearances,  may 
have  something  in  it,  but  not  all  the  truth. 
More  is  done,  or  considered  to  be  done — which 
does  as  well — by  taking  cabs,  and  "going  about," 
than  the  fair  Tippins  knew  of.  Many  vast  vague 
reputations  have  been  made  solely  by  taking 
cabs  and  going  about.  This  particularly  obtains 
in  all  Parliamentary  affairs.  Whether  the  busi- 
ness in  hand  be  to  get  a  man  in,  or  get  a  man 
out,  or  get  a  man  over,  or  promote  a  railway,  or 
jockey  a  railway,  or  what  else,  nothing  is  under- 
stood to  be  so  effectual  as  scouring  nowhere  in  a 
violent  hurry — in  short,  as  taking  cabs  and  going 
about. 

Probably  because  this  reason  is  in  the  air, 
Twemlow,  far  from  being  singular  in  his  persua- 
sion that  he  works  like  a  Trojan,  is  capped  by 
Podsnap,  who  in  his  turn  is  capped  by  Boots 
and  Brewer.  At  eight  o'clock,  when  all  these 
hard  workers  assemble  to  dine  at  Veneering's,  it 
is  understood  that  the  cabs  of  Boots  and  Brewer 
mustn't  leave  the  door,  but  that  pails  of  water 
must  be  brought  from  the  nearest  baiting-place, 
and  cast  over  the  horses'  legs  on  the  very  spot, 
lest  Boots  and  Brewer  should  have  instant  occa- 
sion to  mount  and  away.  Those  fleet  messen- 
gers require  the  Analytical  to  see  that  their  hats 
are  deposited  where  they  can  be  laid  hold  of  at 
an  instant's  notice ;  and  they  dine  (remarkably 
well  though)  with  the  air  of  firemen  in  charge 
of  an  engine,  expecting  intelligence  of  some  tre- 
mendous conflagration. 

Mrs.  Veneering  faintly  remarks,  as  dinner 
opens,  that  many  such  days  would  be  too  much 
for  her. 

"  Many  such  days  would  be  too  much  for  all 
of  us,"  says  Podsnap  ;  "  but  we'll  bring  him  in ! " 

"We'll  bring  him  in,"  says  Lady  Tippins, 
sportively  waving  her  green  fan.  "Veneering 
forever!" 

"  We'll  bring  him  in !"  says  Twemlow. 

"  We'll  bring  him  in !"  say  Boots  and  Brewer. 

Strictly  speaking,  it  would  be  hard  to  show 
cause  why  they  should  not  bring  him  in,  Pocket- 
Breaches  having  closed  its  little  bargain,  and 
there  being  no  opposition.  However,  it  is  agreed 
that  they  must  "work"  to  the  last,  and  that  if 
they  did  not  work,  something  indefinite  would 
happen.  It  is  likewise  agreed  that  they  are  all 
so  exhausted  with  the  work  behind  them,  and 
need  to  be  fortified  for  the  work  before  them,  as 
to  require  peculiar  strengthening  from  Veneer- 
ing's cellar.  Therefore,  the  Analytical  has  or- 
ders to  produce  the  cream  of  the  cream  of  his 
bins,  and  therefore  it  falls  out  that  rallying  be- 
comes rather  a  trying  word  for  the  occasion ; 
Lady  Tippins  being  observed  gamely  to  inculcate 
the  necessity  of  rearing  round  their  dear  Veneer- 
ing; Podsnap  advocating  roaring  round  him; 
Boots  and  Brewer  declaring  their  intention  of 
reeling  round  him ;  and  Veneering  thanking  his 
devoted  friends  one  and  all,  with  great  emotion, 
for  rarullarulling  round  him. 

In  these  inspiring  moments  Brewer  strikes 
out  an  idea  which  is  the  great  hit  of  the  day. 
He  consults  his  watch,  and  says  (like  Guy 
Fawkes),  he'll  now  go  down  to  the  House  of 
Commons  and  see  how  things  look. 

"I'll  keep  about  the  lobby  for  an  hour  or  so," 
says  Brewer,  with  a  deeply  mysterious  counte- 
nance;  "and  if  things  look  well,  I  won't  come 


118 


OUK  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


back,  but  will  order  my  cab  for  nine  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"You  couldn't  do  better,"  says  Podsnap. 

Veneering  expresses  his  inability  ever  to  ac- 
knowledge this  last  service.  Tears  stand  in  Mrs. 
Veneering's  affectionate  eyes.  Boots  shows  envy, 
loses  ground,  and  is  regarded  as  possessing  a 
second-rate  mind.  They  all  crowd  to  the  door 
to  see  Brewer  off.  Brewer  says  to  his  driver, 
"Now,  is  your  horse  pretty  fresh?"  eying  the 
animal  with  critical  scrutiny.  Driver  says  he's 
as  fresh  as  butter.  "  Put  him  along,  then,"  says 
Brewer;  " House  of  Commons."  Driver  darts 
up,  Brewer  leaps  in,  they  cheer  him  as  he  de- 
parts, and  Mr.  Podsnap  says,  "  Mark  my  words, 
Sir.  That's  a  man  of  resource ;  that's  a  man  to 
make  his  way  in  life." 

When  the  time  comes  for  Veneering  to  de- 
liver a  neat  and  appropriate  stammer  to  the  men 
of  Pocket-Breaches,  only  Podsnap  and  Twem- 
low  accompany  him  by  railway  to  that  seques- 
tered spot.  The  legal  gentleman  is  at  the  Pock- 
et-Breaches Branch  Station,  with  an  open  car- 
riage, with  a  printed  bill  "Veneering  forever!" 
stuck  upon  it,  as  if  it  were  a  wall;  and  they 
gloriously  proceed,  amidst  the  grins  of  the  popu- 
lace, to  a  feeble  little  town-hall  on  crutches, 
with  some  onions  and  boot-laces  under  it,  which 
the  legal  gentleman  says  are  a  Market;  and 
from  the  front  window  of  that  edifice  Veneering 
speaks  to  the  listening  earth.  In  the  moment 
of  his  taking  his  hat  off,  Podsnap,  as  per  agree- 
ment made  with  Mrs.  Veneering,  telegraphs  to 
that  wife  and  mother,  "  He's  up." 

Veneering  loses  his  way  in  the  usual  No 
Thoroughfares  of  speech,  and  Podsnap  and 
Twemlow  say  Hear  hear !  and  sometimes,  when 
he  can't  by  any  means  back  himself  out  of  some 
very  unlucky  No  Thoroughfare,  "  He-a-a-r 
He-a-a-r!"  with  an  air  of  facetious  conviction, 
as  if  the  ingenuity  of  the  thing  gave  them  a  sen- 
sation of  exquisite  pleasure.  But  Veneering 
makes  two  remarkably  good  points ;  so  good, 
that  they  are  supposed  to  have  been  suggested 
to  him  by  the  legal  gentleman  in  Britannia's 
confidence,  while  briefly  conferring  on  the 
stairs. 

Point  the  first  is  this.  Veneering  institutes 
an  original  comparison  between  the  country  and 
a  ship ;  pointedly  calling  the  ship  the  Vessel  of 
the  State,  and  the  Minister  the  Man  at  the 
Helm.  Veneering's  object  is  to  let  Pocket- 
Breaches  know  that  his  friend  on  his  right 
(Podsnap)  is  a  man  of  wealth.  Consequently 
says  he,  "And,  gentlemen,  when  the  timbers 
of  the  Vessel  of  the  State  are  unsound  and  the 
Man  at  the  Helm  is  unskillful,  would  those  great 
Marine  Insurers,  who  rank  among  our  world- 
famed  merchant  -  princes  —  would  they  insure 
her,  gentlemen  ?  Would  they  underwrite  her  ? 
Would  they  incur  a  risk  in  her?  Would  they 
have  confidence  in  her?  Why,  gentlemen,  if  I 
appealed  to  my  honorable  friend  upon  my  right, 
himself  among  the  greatest  and  most  respected 
of  that  great  and  much-respected  class,  he  would 
answer  No ! " 

Point  the  second  is  this.  The  telling  fact  that 
Twemlow  is  related  to  Lord  Snigsworth  must  be 
let  off.  Veneering  supposes  a  state  of  public 
affairs  that  probably  never  could  by  any  possi- 
bility exist  (though  this  is  not  quite  certain,  in 
consequence  of  his  picture  being  unintelligible 


to  himself  and  every  body  else),  and  thus  pro- 
ceeds :  "  Why,  gentlemen,  if  I  were  to  indicate 
such  a  programme  to  any  class  of  society,  I  say 
it  would  be  received  with  derision,  would  be 
pointed  at  by  the  finger  of  scorn.  If  I  indicated 
such  a  programme  to  any  worthy  and  intelligent 
tradesman  of  your  town — nay,  I  will  here  be 
personal,  and  say  Our  town — what  would  he  re- 
ply? He  would  reply,  'Away  with  it!'  That's 
what  he  would  reply,  gentlemen.  In  his  honest 
indignation  he  would  reply,  'Away  with  it!' 
But  suppose  I  mounted  higher  in  the  social 
scale.  Suppose  I  drew  my  arm  through  the 
arm  of  my  respected  friend  upon  my  left,  and, 
walking  with  him  through  the  ancestral  woods 
of  his  family,  and  under  the  spreading  beeches 
of  Snigsworthy  Park,  approached  the  noble 
hall,  crossed  the  court-yard,  entered  by  the 
door,  went  up  the  staircase,  and,  passing  from 
room  to  room,  found  myself  at  last  in  the  august 
presence  of  my  friend's  near  kinsman,  Lord 
Snigsworth.  And  suppose  I  said  to  that  ven- 
erable earl,  'My  Lord,  I  am  here  before  your 
lordship,  presented  by  your  lordship's  near  kins- 
man, my  friend  upon  my  left,  to  indicate  that 
programme;'  what  would  his  lordship  answer? 
Why,  he  would  answer,  'Away  with  it !'  That's 
what  he  would  answer,  gentlemen.  'Away 
with  it!'  Unconsciously  using,  in  his  exalted 
sphere,  the  exact  language  of  the  worthy  and 
intelligent  tradesman  of  our  town,  the  near  and 
dear  kinsman  of  my  friend  upon  my  left  would 
answer  in  his  wrath,  'Away  with  it!'  " 

Veneering  finishes  with  this  last  success,  and 
Mr.  Podsnap  telegraphs  to  Mrs.  Veneering, 
"  He's  down." 

Then  dinner  is  had  at  the  Hotel  with  the  legal 
gentleman,  and  then  there  are  in  due  succession 
nomination  and  declaration.  Finally  Mr.  Pod- 
snap telegraphs  to  Mrs.  Veneering,  "We  have 
brought  him  in." 

Another  gorgeous  dinner  awaits  them  on  their 
return  to  the  Veneering  halls,  and  Lady  Tippins 
awaits  them,  and  Boots  and  Brewer  await  them. 
There  is  a  modest  assertion  on  every  body's  part 
that  every  body  single-handed  "brought  him 
in ;"  but  in  the  main  it  is  conceded  by  all  that 
that  stroke  of  business  on  Brewer's  part,  in  go- 
ing down  to  the  House  that  night  to  see  how 
things  looked,  was  the  master-stroke. 

A  touching  little  incident  is  related  by  Mrs. 
Veneering  in  the  course  of  the  evening.  Mrs. 
Veneering  is  habitually  disposed  to  be  tearful, 
and  has  an  extra  disposition  that  way  after  her 
late  excitement.  Previous  to  withdrawing  from 
the  dinner-table  with  Lady  Tippins  she  says,  in 
a  pathetic  and  physically  weak  manner : 

"You  will  all  think  it  foolish  of  me,  I  know, 
but  I  must  mention  it.  As  I  sat  by  Baby's 
crib,  on  the  night  before  the  election,  Baby  was 
very  uneasy  in  her  sleep." 

The  Analytical  chemist,  who  is  gloomily  look- 
ing on,  has  diabolical  impulses  to  suggest  "Wind" 
and  throw  up  his  situation ;  but  represses  them. 

"After  an  interval  almost  convulsive,  Baby 
curled  her  little  hands  in  one  another  and 
smiled." 

Mrs.  Veneering  stopping  here,  Mr.  Podsnap 
deems  it  incumbent  on  him  to  say :  "I  wonder 
why !" 

"Could  it  be,  I  asked  myself,"  says  Mrs. 
Veneering,  looking  about  her  for  her  pocket- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


119 


BRINGING    HIM   IN. 


handkerchief,  "that  the  Fairies  were  telling 
Baby  that  her  papa  would  shortly  be  an  M.P.  ?" 

So  overcome  by  the  sentiment  is  Mrs.  Veneer- 
ing that  they  all  get  up  to  make  a  clear  stage  for 
Veneering,  who  goes  round  the  table  to  the  res- 
cue and  bears  her  out  backward,  with  her  feet 
impressively  scraping  the  carpet :  after  remark- 
ing that  her  work  has  been  too  much  for  her 
strength.  Whether  the  fairies  made  any  men- 
tion of  the  five  thousand  pounds,  and  it  dis- 
agreed with  Baby,  is  not  speculated  upon. 

Poor  little  Twemlow,  quite  done  up,  is  touch- 
ed, and  still  continues  touched  after  he  is  safely 
housed  over  the  livery-stable  yard  in  Duke  Street, 
Saint  James's.  But  there,  upon  his  sofa,  a  tre- 
mendous consideration  breaks  in  upon  the  mild 
gentleman,  putting  all  softer  considerations  to 
the  rout. 

"Gracious  Heavens!     Now  I  have  time  to 


think  of  it,  he  never  saw  one  of  his  constituents 
in  all  his  days  until  we  saw  them  together!" 

After  having  paced  the  room  in  distress  of 
mind,  with  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  the  inno- 
cent Twemlow  returns  to  his  sofa  and  moans : 

"I  shall  either  go  distracted,  or  die,  of  this 
man.  He  comes  upon  me  too  late  in  life.  I 
am  not  strong  enough  to  bear  him!" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CUPID    PROMPTED. 

To  use  the  cold  language  of  the  world,  Mrs. 
Alfred  Lammle  rapidly  improved  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Miss  Podsnap.  To  use  the  warm  lan- 
guage of  Mrs.  Lammle,  she  and  her  sweet  Geor- 
giana  soon  became  one — in  heart,  in  mind,  in 
sentiment,  in  soul. 


120 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Whenever  Georgiana  could  escape  from  the 
thralldom  of  Podsnappery  ;  could  throw  off  the 
bed-clothes  of  the  custard-colored  phaeton,  and 
get  up ;  could  shrink  out  of  the  range  of  her 
mother's  rocking,  and  (so  to  speak)  rescue  her 
poor  little  frosty  toes  from  being  rocked  over ; 
she  repaired  to  her  friend,  Mrs.  Alfred  Lammle. 
Mrs.  Podsnap  by  no  means  objected.  As  a  con- 
sciously "  splendid  woman,"  accustomed  to  over- 
hear herself  so  denominated  by  elderly  osteolo- 
gists pursuing  their  studies  in  dinner  society, 
Mrs.  Podsnap  could  dispense  with  her  daughter. 
Mr.  Podsnap,  for  his  part,  on  being  informed 
where  Georgiana  was,  swelled  with  patronage 
of  the  Lammles.  That  they,  when  unable  to  lay 
hold  of  him,  should  respectfully  grasp  at  the  hem 
of  his  mantle ;  that  they,  when  they  could  not 
bask  in  the  glory  of  him  the  sun,  should  take  up 
with  the  pale  reflected  light  of  the  watery  young 
moon  his  daughter ;  appeared  quite  natural,  be- 
coming, and  proper.  It  gave  him  a  better  opin- 
ion of  the  discretion  of  the  Lammles  than  he  had 
heretofore  held,  as  showing  that  they  apprecia- 
ted the  value  of  the  connection.  So,  Georgiana 
repairing  to  her  friend,  Mr.  Podsnap  went  out 
to  dinner,  and  to  dinner,  and  yet  to  dinner,  arm 
in  arm  with  Mrs.  Podsnap :  settling  his  obstinate 
head  in  his  cravat  and  shirt-collar,  much  as  if 
he  were  performing  on  the  Pandean  pipes,  in 
his  own  honor,  the  triumphal  march,  See  the 
conquering  Podsnap  comes,  Sound  the  trumpets, 
beat  the  drums ! 

It  was  a  trait  in  Mr.  Podsnap's  character  (and 
in  one  form  or  other  it  will  be  generally  seen  to 
pervade  the  depths  and  shallows  of  Podsnap- 
pery), that  he  could  not  endure  a  hint  of  dis- 
paragement of  any  friend  or  acquaintance  of  his. 
"  How  dare  you  ?"  he  would  seem  to  say,  in  such 
a  case.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  have  licensed 
this  person.  This  person  has  taken  out  my  cer- 
tificate. Through  this  person  you  strike  at  me, 
Podsnap  the  Great.  And  it  is  not 'That  I  par- 
ticularly care  for  the  person's  dignity,  but  that 
I  do  most  particularly  care  for  Podsnap's." 
Hence,  if  any  one  in  his  presence  had  presumed 
to  doubt  the  responsibility  of  the  Lammles,  he 
would  have  been  mightily  huffed.  Not  that 
any  one  did,  for  Veneering,  M.P.,  was  always 
the  authority  for  their  being  very  rich,  and  per- 
haps believed  it.  As  indeed  he  might,  if  he 
chose,  for  any  thing  he  knew  of  the  matter. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle's  house  in  Sackville 
Street,  Piccadilly,  was  but  a  temporary  resi- 
dence. It  had  done  well  enough,  they  informed 
their  friends,  for  Mr.  Lammle  when  a  bachelor, 
but  it  would  not  do  now.  So  they  were  always 
looking  at  palatial  residences  in  the  best  situa- 
tions, and  always  very  nearly  taking  or  buying 
one,  but  never  quite  concluding  the  bargain. 
Hereby  they  made  for  themselves  a  shining  little 
reputation  apart.  People  said,  on  seeing  a  va- 
cant palatial  residence,  "  The  very  thing  for  the 
Lammles !"  and  wrote  to  the  Lammles  about  it, 
and  the  Lammles  always  went  to  look  at  it,  but 
unfortunately  it  never  exactly  answered.  In 
short,  they  suffered  so  many  disappointments 
that  they  began  to  think  it  would  be  necessary 
to  build  a  palatial  residence.  And  hereby  they 
made  another  shining  reputation ;  many  persons 
of  their  acquaintance  becoming  by  anticipation  i 
dissatisfied  with  their  own  houses,  and  envious 
of  the  non-existent  Lammle  structure.  i 


The  handsome  fittings  and  furnishings  of  the 
house  in  Sackville  Street  were  piled  thick  and 
high  over  the  skeleton  up  stairs,  and  if  it  ever 
whispered  from  under  its  load  of  upholstery, 
"Here  I  am  in  the  closet!"  it  was  to  very  few 
ears,  and  certainly  never  to  Miss  Podsnap's. 
What  Miss  Podsnap  was  particularly  charmed 
with,  next  to  the  graces  of  her  friend,  was  the 
happiness  of  her  friend's  married  life.  This  was 
frequently  their  theme  of  conversation. 

"I  am  sure,"  said  Miss  Podsnap,  "Mr. 
Lammle  is  like  a  lover.  At  least  I — I  should 
think  he  was." 

"  Georgiana,  darling  !"  said  Mrs.  Lammle, 
holding  up  a  forefinger,  "Take  care !" 

"  Oh  my  goodness  me  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Pod- 
snap, reddening.     "What  have  I  said  now?" 

"Alfred,  you  know,"  hinted  Mrs.  Lammle, 
playfully  snaking  her  head.  "You  were  nevur 
to  say  Mr.  Lammle  any  more,  Georgiana." 

"  Oh !  Alfred,  then.  I  am  glad  it's  no  worse. 
I  was  afraid  I  had  said  something  shocking.  I 
am  always  saying  something  wrong  to  ma." 

"To  me,  Georgiana  dearest?" 

"  No,  not  to  you ;  you  are  not  ma.  I  wish 
you  were." 

Mrs.  Lammle  bestowed  a  sweet  and  loving 
smile  upon  her  friend,  which  Miss  Podsnap  re- 
turned as  she  best  could.  They  sat  at  lunch  in 
Mrs.  Lammle's  own  boudoir. 

"And  so,  dearest  Georgiana,  Alfred  is  like 
your  notion  of  a  lover?" 

"I  don't  say  that,  Sophronia,"  Georgiana  re- 
plied, beginning  to  conceal  her  elbows.  "I 
haven't  any  notion  of  a  lover.  The  dreadful 
wretches  that  ma  brings  up  at  places  to  torment 
me  are  not  lovers.     I  only  mean  that  Mr. — " 

"Again,  dearest  Georgiana?" 

"  That  Alfred— " 

"  Sounds  much  better,  darling." 

"  — Lov"es  you  so.  He  always  treats  you  with 
such  delicate  gallantry  and  attention.  Now, 
don't  he?" 

"Truly,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  with 
a  rather  singular  expression  crossing  her  face. 
"  I  believe  that  he  loves  me  fully  as  much  as  I 
love  him." 

"Oh,  what  happiness!"  exclaimed  Miss  Pod- 
snap. 

"But  do  you  know,  my  Georgiaha,'1  Mrs. 
Lammle  resumed  presently,  "  that  there  is  some- 
thing suspicious  in  your  enthusiastic  sympathy 
with  Alfred's  tenderness?" 

"Good  gracious  no,  I  hope  not !" 

"Doesn't  it  rather  suggest,"  said  Mrs.  Lam- 
mle, archly,  "  that  my  Georgiana's  little  heart 
is — " 

"Oh  don't!"  Miss  Podsnap  blushingly  be- 
sought her.  "Please  don't!  I  assure  you,  So- 
phronia, that  I  only  praise  Alfred  because  he  is 
your  husband  and  so  fond  of  you." 

Sophronia's  glance  was  as  if  a  rather  new 
light  broke  in  upon  her.  It  shaded  off  into  a 
cool  smile,  as  she  said,  with  her  eyes  upon  her 
lunch,  and  her  eyebrows  raised : 

"You  are  quite  wrong,  my  love,  in  your  guess 
at  my  meaning.  What  I  insinuated  was,  that 
my  Georgiana's  little  heart  was  growing  con- 
scious of  a  vacancy." 

" No,  no,  no,"  said  Georgiana.  "I  wouldn't 
have  any  body  say  any  thing  to  me  in  that  way 
for  I  don't  know  how  many  thousand  pounds." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FKIEND. 


"In  what  way,  my  Georgiana?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Lammle,  still  smiling  coolly,  with  her 
eyes  upon  her  lunch,  and  her  eyebrows  raised. 

"  You  know,"  returned  poor  little  Miss  Pod- 
snap.  "I  think  I  should  go  out  of  my  mind, 
Sophronia,  with  vexation  and  shyness  and  de- 
testation, if  any  body  did.  It's  enough  for  me 
to  see  how  loving  you  and  your  husband  are. 
That's  a  different  thing.  I  couldn't  bear  to  have 
any  thing  of  that  sort  going  on  with  myself.  I 
should  beg  and  pray  to  —  to  have  the  person 
taken  away  and  trampled  upon." 

Ah !  here  was  Alfred.  Having  stolen  in  un- 
observed, he  playfully  leaned  on  the  back  of  So- 
phronia's  chair,  and,  as  Miss  Podsnap  saw  him, 
put  one  of  Sophronia's  wandering  locks  to  his 
lips,  and  waved  a  kiss  from  it  toward  Miss  Pod- 
snap. 

"What  is  this  about  husbands  and  detesta- 
tions?" inquired  the  captivating  Alfred. 

"Why,  they  say,"  returned  his  wife,  "that 
listeners  never  hear  any  good  of  themselves; 
though  you — but  pray  how  long  have  you  been 
here,  Sir?" 

"This  instant  arrived,  my  own." 

"Then  I  may  go  on — though  if  you  had  been 
here  but  a  moment  or  two  sooner,  you  would 
have  heard  your  praises  sounded  by  Georgiana." 

"  Only,  if  they  were  to  be  called  praises  at  all, 
which  I  really  don't  think  they  were,"  explain- 
ed Miss  Podsnap  in  a  flutter,  "for  being  so  de- 
voted to  Sophronia." 

"  Sophronia !"  murmured  Alfred.  "My  life !" 
and  kissed  her  hand.  In  return  for  which  she 
kissed  his  watch-chain. 

"  But  it  was  not  I  who  was  to  be  taken  away 
and  trampled  upon,  I  hope?"  said  Alfred,  draw- 
ing a  seat  between  them. 

"Ask  Georgiana,  my  soul,"  replied  his  wife. 

Alfred  touchingly  appealed  to  Georgiana. 

"Oh,  it  was  nobody,"  replied  Miss  Podsnap. 
"It  was  nonsense." 

"But  if  you  are  determined  to  know,  Mr. 
Inquisitive  Pet,  as  I  suppose  you  are,"  said  the 
happy  and  fond  Sophronia,  smiling,  "it  was 
any  one  who  should  venture  to  aspire  to  Geor- 
giana." 

"Sophronia,  my  love,"  remonstrated  Mr. 
Lammle,  becoming  graver,  "you  are  not  seri- 
ous?" 

"Alfred,  my  love,"  returned  his  wife,  "I  dare 
say  Georgiana  was  not,  but  I  am." 

"Now  this,"  said  Mr.  Lammle,  "shows  the 
accidental  combinations  that  there  are  in  things ! 
Could  you  believe,  my  Ownest,  that  I  came  in 
here  with  the  name  of  an  aspirant  to  our  Geor- 
giana on  my  lips?" 

"Of  course  I  could  believe,  Alfred," said  Mrs. 
Lammle,  "any  thing  that^ow  told  me." 

"You  dear  one !  And  I  any  thing  that  you 
told  me." 

How  delightful  those  interchanges,  and  the 
looks  accompanying  them !  Now,  if  the  skele- 
ton up  stairs  had  taken  that  opportunity,  for  in- 
stance, of  calling  out  "Here  I  am,  suffocating 
in  the  closet !" 

"I  give  you  my  honor,  my  dear  Sophronia — " 

"And  I  know  what  that  is,  love,"  said  she. 

"You  do,  my  darling— that  I  came  into  the 
room  all  but  uttering  young  Fledgeby's  name. 
Tell  Georgiana,  dearest,  about  young  Fledgeby." 

"Oh  no,  don't!     Please  don't!"  cried  Miss 


121 
'I'd 


Podsnap,  putting  her  fingers  in  her  ears, 
rather  not." 

Mrs.  Lammle  laughed  in  her  gayest  manner, 
and,  removing  her  Georgiana's  unresisting  hands, 
and  playfully  holding  them  in  her  own  at  arms'- 
length,  sometimes  near  together  and  sometimes 
wide  apart,  went  on  : 

"You  must  know,  you  dearly  beloved  little 
goose,  that  once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  cer- 
tain person  called  young  Fledgeby.  And  this 
young  Fledgeby,  who  was  of  an  excellent  fam- 
ily and  rich,  was  known  to  two  other  certain 
persons,  dearly  attached  to  one  another  and 
called  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alfred  Lammle.  So  this 
young  Fledgeby,  being  one  night  at  the  play, 
there  sees,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alfred  Lammle,  a 
certain  heroine  called — " 

"No,  don't  say  Georgiana  Podsnap!"  plead- 
ed that  young  lady,  almost  in  tears.  "Please 
don't.  Oh  do  do  do  say  somebody  else !  Not 
Georgiana  Podsnap.    Oh  don't,  don't,  don't !" 

"  No  other,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  laughing  air- 
ily, and,  full  of  affectionate  blandishments,  open- 
ing and  closing  Georgiana's  arms  like  a  pair  of 
compasses,  "than  my  little  Georgiana  Podsnap. 
So  this  young  Fledgeby  goes  to  that  Alfred 
Lammle  and  says — " 

"Oh  ple-e-e-ease  don't !"  cried  Georgiana,  as 
if  the  supplication  were  Jbeing  squeezed  out  of 
her  by  powerful  compression.  "I  so  hate  him 
for  saying  it ! " 

"For  saying  what,  my  dear?"  laughed  Mrs. 
Lammle. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  he  said,"  cried  Geor- 
giana, wildly,  "but  I  hated  him  all  the  same 
for  saying  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  always  laugh- 
ing in  her  most  captivating  way,  "  the  poor  young 
fellow  only  says  that  he  is  stricken  all  of  a  heap." 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  ever  do !"  interposed  Geor- 
giana. "  Oh  my  goodness  what  a  Fool  he  must 
be!" 

" — And  implores  to  be  asked  to  dinner,  and 
to  make  a  fourth  at  the  play  another  time. 
And  so  he  dines  to-morrow  and  goes  to  the 
Opera  with  us.  That's  all.  Except,  my  dear 
Georgiana — and  what  will  you  think  of  this ! — 
that  he  is  infinitely  shyer  than  you,  and  far 
more  afraid  of  you  than  you  ever  were  of  any 
one  in  all  your  days ! " 

In  perturbation  of  mind  Miss  Podsnap  still 
fumed  and  plucked  at  her  hands  a  little,  but 
could  not  help  laughing  at  the  notion  of  any 
body's  being  afraid  of  her.  With  that  advant- 
age, Sophronia  flattered  her  and  rallied  her  more 
successfully,  and  then  the  insinuating  Alfred 
flattered  her  and  rallied  her,  and  promised  that 
at  any  moment  when  she  might  require  that  serv- 
ice at  his  hands  he  would  take  young  Fledgeby 
out  and  trample  on  him.  Thus  it  remained 
amicably  understood  that  young  Fledgeby  was 
to  come  to  admire,  and  that  Georgiana  was  to 
come  to  be  admired ;  and  Georgiana,  with  the 
entirely  new  sensation  in  her  breast  of  having 
that  prospect  before  her,  and  with  many  kisses 
from  her  dear  Sophronia  in  present  possession, 
preceded  six  feet  one  of  discontented  footman 
(an  amount  of  the  article  that  always  came  for 
her  when  she  walked  home)  to  her  father's  dwell- 
ing. 

The  happy  pair  being  left  together,  Mrs. 
Lammle  said  to  her  husband : 


122 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"If  I  understand  this  girl,  Sir,  your  danger- 
ous fascinations  have  produced  some  effect  upon 
her.  I  mention  the  conquest  in  good  time,  be- 
cause I  apprehend  your  scheme  to  be  more  im- 
portant to  you  than  your  vanity." 

There  was  a  mirror  on  the  wall  before  them, 
and  her  eyes  just  caught  him  smirking  in  it. 
She  gave  the  reflected  image  a  look  of  the  deep- 
est disdain,  and  the  image  received  it  in  the 
glass.  Next  moment  they  quietly  eyed  each 
other,  as  if  they,  the  principals,  had  had  no  part 
in  that  expressive  transaction. 

It  may  have  been  that  Mrs.  Lammle  tried  in 
some  manner  to  excuse  her  conduct  to  herself 
by  depreciating  the  poor  little  victim  of  whom 
she  spoke  with  acrimonious  contempt.  It  may 
have  been  too  that  in  this  she  did  not  quite  suc- 
ceed, for  it  is  very  difficult  to  resist  confidence, 
and  she  knew  she  had  Georgiana's. 

Nothing  more  was  said  between  the  happy 
pair.  Perhaps  conspirators  who  have  once  es- 
tablished an  understanding,  may  not  be  over- 
fond  of  repeating  the  terms  and  objects  of  their 
conspiracy.  Next  day  came  ;  came  Georgiana  ; 
and  came  Fledgeby. 

Georgiana  had  by  this  time  seen  a  good  deal 
of  the  house  and  its  frequenters.  As  there  was 
a  certain  handsome  room  with  a  billiard-table 
in  it — on  the  ground-floor,  eating  out  a  back- 
yard— which  might  h'ave  been  Mr.  Lammle's 
office,  or  libraiy,  but  was  called  by  neither  name, 
but  simply  Mr.  Lammle's  room,  so  it  would  have 
been  hard  for  stronger  female  heads  than  Geor- 
giana's to  determine  whether  its  frequenters  were 
men  of  pleasui'e  or  men  of  business.  Between 
the  room  and  the  men  there  were  strong  points 
of  general  resemblance.  Both  were  too  gaudy, 
too  slangey,  too  odorous  of  cigars,  and  too  much 
given  to  horse-flesh ;  the  latter  characteristic 
being  exemplified  in  the  room  by  its  decorations, 
and  in  the  men  by  their  conversation.  High- 
stepping  horses  seemed  necessary  to  all  Mr. 
Lammle's  friends — as  necessary  as  their  trans- 
action of  business  together  in  a  gipsy  way  at  un- 
timely hours  of  the  morning  and  evening,  and  in 
rushes  and  snatches.  There  were  friends  who 
seemed  to  be  always  coming  and  going  across 
the  Channel,  on  errands  about  the  Bourse,  and 
Greek  and  Spanish  and  India  and  Mexican  and 
par  and  premium  and  discount  and  three  quar- 
ters and  seven  eighths.  There  were  other  friends 
who  seemed  to  be  always  lolling  and  lounging 
in  and  out  of  the  City,  on  questions  of  the  Bourse, 
and  Greek  and  Spanish  and  India  and  Mexican 
and  par  and  premium  and  discount  and  three 
quarters  and  seven  eighths.  They  were  all  fe- 
verish, boastful,  and  indefinably  loose ;  and  they 
all  ate  and  drank  a  great  deal ;  and  made  bets 
in  eating  and  drinking.  They  all  spoke  of  sums 
of  money,  and  only  mentioned  the  sums  and  left 
the  money  to  be  understood :  as  "five  and  for- 
ty thousand  Tom,"  or  "Two  hundred  and  twen- 
ty-two on  every  individual  share  in  the  lot  Joe." 
They  seemed  to  divide  the  world  into  two  classes 
of  people ;  people  who  were  making  enormous 
fortunes,  and  people  who  were  being  enormous- 
ly ruined.  They  were  always  in  a  hurry,  and 
yet  seemed  to  have  nothing  tangible  to  do  ;  ex- 
cept a  few  of  them  (these,  mostly  asthmatic  and 
thick-lipped)  who  were  forever  demonstrating  to 
the  rest,  with  gold  pencil-cases  which  they  could 
hardly  hold  because  of  the  big  rings  on  their 


forefingers,  how  money  was  to  be  made.  Lastly, 
they  all  swore  at  their  grooms,  and  the  grooms 
were  not  quite  as  respectful  or  complete  as  other 
men's  grooms ;  seeming  somehow  to  fall  short 
of  the  groom  point  as  their  masters  fell  short  of 
the  gentleman  point. 

Young  Fledgeby  was  none  of  these.  Young 
Fledgeby  had  a  peachy  cheek,  or  a  cheek  com- 
pounded of  the  peach  and  the  red  red  red  wall 
on  which  it  grows,  and  was  an  awkward,  sandy- 
haired,  small-eyed  youth,  exceeding  slim  (his 
enemies  would  have  said  lanky),  and  prone  to 
self-examination  in  the  articles'  of  whisker  and 
mustache.  While  feeling  for  the  whisker  that 
he  anxiously  expected,  Fledgeby  underwent  re- 
markable fluctuations  of  spirits,  ranging  along 
the  whole  scale  from  confidence  to  despair. 
There  were  times  when  he  started,  as  exclaim- 
ing "By  Jupiter,  here  it  is  at  last !"  There  were 
other  times  when,  being  equally  depressed,  he 
would  be  seen  to  shake  his  head,  and  give  up 
hope.  To  see  him  at  those  periods  leaning  on  a 
chimney-piece,  like  as  on  an  urn  containing  the 
ashes  of  his  ambition,  with  the  cheek  that  would 
not  sprout,  upon  the  hand  on  which  that  cheek 
had  forced  conviction,  was  a  distressing  sight. 

Not  so  was  Fledgeby  seen  on  this  occasion. 
Arrayed  in  superb  raiment,  with  his  opera  hat 
under  his  arm,  he  concluded  his  self-examina- 
tion hopefully,  awaited  the  arrival  of  Miss  Pod- 
snap,  and  talked  small-talk  with  Mrs.  Lammle. 
In  facetious  homage  to  the  smallness  of  his  talk, 
and  the  jerky  nature  of  his  manners,  Fledgeby's 
familiars  had  agreed  to  confer  upon  him  (be- 
hind his  back)  the  honorary  title  of  Fascination 
Fledgeby. 

"Warm  weather,  Mrs.  Lammle,"  said  Fas- 
cination Fledgeby.  Mrs.  Lammle  thought  it 
scarcely  as  warm  as  it  had  been  yesterday. 
"Perhaps  not,"  said  Fascination  Fledgeby,  with 
great  quickness  of  repartee;  "but  I  expect  it 
will  be  devilish  warm  to-morrow. " 

He  threw  off  another  little  scintillation.  ' '  Been 
out  to-day,  Mrs.  Lammle?" 

Mrs.  Lammle  answered,  for  a  short  drive. 

"Some  people,"  said  Fascination  Fledgeby, 
"are  accustomed  to  take  long  drives;  but  it 
generally  appears  to  me  that  if  they  make  'em 
too  long,  they  overdo  it." 

Being  in  such  feather,  he  might  have  sur- 
passed himself  in  his  next  sally,  had  not  Miss 
Podsnap  been  announced.  Mrs.  Lammle  flew 
to  embrace  her  darling  little  Georgy,  and  when 
the  first  transports  were  over,  presented  Mr. 
Fledgeby.  Mr.  Lammle  came  on  the  scene  last, 
for  he  was  always  late,  and  so  were  the  frequent- 
ers always  late ;  all  hands  being  bound  to  be 
made  late,  by  private  information  about  the 
Bourse,  and  Greek  and  Spanish  and  India  and 
Mexican  and  par  and  premium  and  discount  and 
three  quarters  and  seven  eighths. 

A  handsome  little  dinner  was  served  imme- 
diately, and  Mr.  Lammle  sat  sparkling  at  his 
end  of  the  table,  with  his  servant  behind  his 
chair,  and  his  ever-lingering  doubts  upon  the 
subject  of  his  wages  behind  himself.  Mr.  Lam- 
mle's utmost  powers  of  sparkling  were  in  requi- 
sition to-day,  for  Fascination  Fledgeby  and 
Georgiana  not  only  struck  each  other  speech- 
less, but  struck  each  other  into  astonishing  atti- 
tudes ;  Georgiana,  as  she  sat  facing  Fledgeby, 
making  such  efforts  to  conceal  her  elbows  as 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


123 


were  totally  incompatible  with  the  use  of  a  knife 
and  fork ;  and  Fledgeby,  as  he  sat  facing  Georgi- 
ana,  avoiding  her  countenance  by  every  possible 
device,  and  betraying  the  discomposure  *  of  his 
mind  in  feeling  for  his  whiskers  with  his  spoon, 
his  wine-glass,  and  his  bread. 

So  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alfred  Lammle  had  to 
prompt,  and  this  is  how  they  prompted. 

"Georgiana,"  said  Mr.  Lammle,  low  and 
smiling,  and  sparkling  all  over,  like  a  harle- 
quin ;  "  you  are  not  in  your  usual  spirits.  Why 
are  you  not  in  your  usual  spirits,  Georgiana?" 

Georgiana  faltered  that  she  was  much  the 
same  as  she  was  in  general ;  she  was  not  aware 
of  being  different. 

"Not  aware  of  being  different !"  retorted  Mr. 
Alfred  Lammle.  "You,  my  dear  Georgiana! 
who  were  always  so  natural  and  unconstrained 
with  us  !  who  are  such  a  relief  from  the  crowd 
that  are  all  alike !  who  are  the  embodiment  of 
gentleness,  simplicity,  and  reality !" 

Miss  Podsnap  looked  at  the  door,  as  if  she 
entertained  confused  thoughts  of  taking  refuge 
from  these  compliments  in  flight. 

"Now,  I  will  be  judged,"  said  Mr.  Lammle, 
raising  his  voice  a  little,  "by  my  friend  Fledge- 
by." 

"  Oh  don't!"  Miss  Podsnap  faintly  ejaculated: 
when  Mrs.  Lammle  took  the  prompt-book. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Alfred,  my  dear,  but  I 
can  not  part  with  Mr.  Fledgeby  quite  yet ;  you 
must  wait  for  him  a  moment.  Mr.  Fledgeby  and 
I  are  engaged  in  a  personal  discussion." 

Fledgeby  must  have  conducted  it  on  his  side 
with  immense  art,  for  no  appearance  of  uttering 
one  syllable  had  escaped  him. 

"A  personal  discussion,  Sophronia,  my  love? 
What  discussion?  Fledgeby,  I  am  jealous. 
What  discussion,  Fledgeby  ?" 

"Shall  I  tell  him,  Mr.  Fledgeby?"  asked 
Mrs.  Lammle. 

Trying  to  look  as  if  he  knew  any  thing  about 
it,  Fascination  replied,  "Yes,  tell  him." 

"We  were  discussing  then,"  said  Mrs.  Lam- 
mle, "if  you  must  know,  Alfred,  whether  Mr. 
Fledgeby  was  in  his  usual  flow  of  spirits." 

"Why,  that  is  the  very  point,  Sophronia,  that 
Georgiana  and  I  were  discussing  as  to  herself! 
What  did  Fledgeby  say  ?" 

"Oh,  a  likely  thing,  Sir,  that  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  every  thing,  and  be  told  nothing !  What 
did  Georgiana  say  ?" 

"Georgiana  said  she  was  doing  her  usual  jus- 
tice to  herself  to-day,  and  I  said  she  was  not." 

• '  Precisely, "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lammle,  ' '  what 
I  said  to  Mr.  Fledgeby." 

Still,  it  wouldn't  do.  They  would  not  look  at 
one  another.  No,  not  even  when  the  sparkling 
host  proposed  that  the  quartette  should  take  an 
appropriately  sparkling  glass  of  wine.  Georgi- 
ana looked  from  her  wine-glass  at  Mr.  Lammle 
and  at  Mrs.  Lammle ;  but  mightn't,  couldn't, 
shouldn't,  wouldn't,  look  at  Mr.  Fledgeby.  Fas- 
cination looked  from  his  wine-glass  at  Mrs. 
Lammle  and  at  Mr.  Lammle;  but  mightn't, 
couldn't,  shouldn't,  wouldn't,  look  at  Georgiana. 

More  prompting  was  necessary.  Cupid  must 
be  brought  up  to  the  mark.  The  manager  had 
put  him  down  in  the  bill  for  the  part,  and  he 
must  play  it. 

"Sophronia,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. Lammle,  "I 
don't  like  the  color  of  your  dress." 


"I  appeal,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  "to  Mr. 
Fledgeby." 

"  And  I,"  said  Mr.  Lammle,  '*  to  Georgiana." 

"Georgy,  my  love,"  remarked  Mrs.  Lammle 
aside  to  her  dear  girl,  "I  rely  upon  you  not  to 
go  over  to  the  opposition.  Now,  Mr.  Fledge- 
by." 

Fascination  wished  to  know  if  the  color  were 
not  called  rose-color  ?  Yes,  said  Mr.  Lammle ; 
actually  he  knew  every  thing ;  it  was  really  rose- 
color.  Fascination  took  rose-color  to  mean  the 
color  of  roses.  (In  this  he  was  very  warmly 
supported  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle.)  Fascina- 
tion had  heard  the  term  Queen  of  Flowers  ap- 
plied to  the  Rose.  Similarly,  it  might  be  said 
that  the  dress  was  the  Queen  of  Dresses.  ("  Very 
happy,  Fledgeby!"  from  Mr.  Lammle.)  Not- 
withstanding, Fascination's  opinion  was  that  we 
all  had  our  eyes — or  at  least  a  large  majority  of 
us — and  that — and — and  his  further  opinion  was 
several  ands,  with  nothing  beyond  them. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Fledgeby,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  "to 
desert  me  in  that  way !  Oh,  Mr.  Fledgeby,  to 
abandon  my  poor  dear  injured  rose  and  declare 
for  blue!" 

"Victory,  victory!"  cried  Mr.  Lammle; 
"your  dress  is  condemned,  my  dear." 

"But  what,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  stealing  her 
affectionate  hand  toward  her  dear  girl's,  "what 
does  Georgy  say  ?" 

"  She  says,"  replied  Mr.  Lammle,  interpreting 
for  her,  "that  in  her  eyes  you  look  well  in  any 
color,  Sophronia,  and  that  if  she  had  expected  to 
be  embarrassed  by  so  pretty  a  compliment  as  she 
has  received,  she  would  have  worn  another  color 
herself.  Though  I  tell  her,  in  reply,  that  it 
would  not  have  saved  her,  for  whatever  color  she 
had  worn  would  have  been  Fledgeby's  color. 
But  what  does  Fledgeby  say?" 

"He  says,"  replied  Mrs.  Lammle,  interpret- 
ing for  him,  and  patting  the  back  of  her  dear 
girl's  hand,  as  if  it  were  Fledgeby  who  was  pat- 
ting it,  "that  it  was  no  compliment,  but  a  little 
natural  act  of  homage  that  he  couldn't  resist. 
And,"  expressing  more  feeling  as  if  it  were  more 
feeling  on  the  part  of  Fledgeby,  "he  is  right,  he 
is  right!" 

Still,  no  not  even  now,  would  they  look  at 
one  another.  Seeming  to  gnash  his  sparkling 
teeth,  studs,  eyes,  and  buttons,  all  at  once,  Mr. 
Lammle  secretly  bent  a  dark  frown  on  the  two, 
expressive  of  an  intense  desire  to  bring  them  to- 
gether by  knocking  their  heads  together. 

"  Have  you  heard  this  opera  of  to-night, 
Fledgeby?"  he  asked,  stopping  very  short,  to 
prevent  himself  from  running  on  into  "  con- 
found you." 

' '  Why  no,  not  exactly, "  said  Fledgeby.  '  f  In 
fact  I  don't  know  a  note  of  it." 

"  Neither  do  you  know  it,  Georgy  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Lammle. 

"N-no,"  replied  Georgiana,  faintly,  under  the 
sympathetic  coincidence. 

"Why,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  charmed 
by  the  discovery  which  flowed  from  the  prem- 
ises, ' '  you  neither  of  you  know  it !  How  charm- 
ing!" 

Even  the  craven  Fledgeby  felt  that  the  time 
was  now  come  when  he  must  strike  a  blow.  He 
struck  it  by  saying,  partly  to  Mrs.  Lammle  and 
partly  to  the  circumambient  air,  "1  consider  my- 
self very  fortunate  in  being  reserved  by — " 


124 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


As  he  stopped  dead,  Mr.  Lammle,  making 
that  gingerous  bush  of  his  whiskers  to  look  out 
of,  offered  him  the  word  "Destiny." 

"No,  I  wasn't  going  to  say  that,"  said  Fledge- 
by.  "I  was  going  to  say  Fate.  I  consider  it 
very  fortunate  that  Fate  has  written  in  the  book 
of — in  the  book  which  is  its  own  property — that 
I  should  go  to  that  opera  for  the  first  time  tinder 
the  memorable  circumstances  of  going  with  Miss 
Podsnap." 

To  which  Georgiana  replied,  hooking  her  two 
little  fingers  in  one  another,  and  addressing  the 
table-cloth,  "  Thank  you,  but  I  generally  go  with 
no  one  but  you,  Sophronia,  and  I  like  that  very 
much." 

Content  perforce  with  this  success  for  the  time, 
Mr.  Lammle  let  Miss  Podsnap  out  of  the  room, 
as  if  he  were  opening  her  cage  door,  and  Mrs. 
Lammle  followed.  Coffee  being  presently  served 
up  stairs,  he  kept  a  watch  on  Fledgeby  until 
Miss  Podsnap's  cup  was  empty,  and  then  direct- 
*  ed  him  with  his  finger  (as  if  that  young  gentle- 
man were  a  slow  Retriever)  to  go  and  fetch  it. 
This  feat  he  performed,  not  only  without  failure, 
but  even  with  the  original  embellishment  of  in- 
forming Miss  Podsnap  that  green  tea  was  con- 
sidered bad  for  the  nerves.  Though  there  Miss 
Podsnap  unintentionally  threw  him  out  by  falter- 
ing, "Oh,  is  it  indeed?  How  does  it  act?" 
Which  he  was  not  prepared  to  elucidate. 

The  carriage  announced,  Mrs.  Lammle  said, 
"Don't  mind  me,  Mr.  Fledgeby,  my  skirts  and 
cloak  occupy  both  my  hands ;  take  Miss  Pod- 
snap." And  he  took  her,  and  Mrs.  Lammle 
went  next,  and  Mr.  Lammle  went  last,  savagely 
following  his  little  flock  like  a  drover. 

But  he  was  all  sparkle  and  glitter  in  the  box 
at  the  Opera,  and  there  he  and  his  dear  wife 
made  a  conversation  between  Fledgeby  and 
Georgiana  in  the  following  ingenious  and  skill- 
ful manner.  They  sat  in  this  order:  Mrs.  Lam- 
mle, Fascination  Fledgeby,  Georgiana,  Mr.  Lam- 
mle. Mrs.  Lammle  made  leading  remarks  to 
Fledgeby,  only  requiring  monosyllabic  replies. 
Mr.  Lammle  did  the  like  with  Georgiana.  At 
times  Mrs.  Lammle  would  Jean  forward  to  ad- 
dress Mr.  Lammle  to  this  purpose. 

"Alfred,  my  dear,  Mr.  Fledgeby  very  justly 
says,  apropos  of  the  last  scene,  that  true  con- 
stancy would  not  require  any  such  stimulant  as 
the  stage  deems  necessary."  To  which  Mr. 
Lammle  would  reply,  "Ay,  Sophronia,  my  love, 
but  as  Georgiana  has  observed  to  me,  the,  lady 
had  no  sufficient  reason  to  know  the  state  of  the 
gentleman's  affections."  To  which  Mrs.  Lam- 
mle would  rejoin,  "Very  true,  Alfred;  but  Mr. 
Fledgeby  points  out,"  this.  To  which  Alfred 
would  demur:  "Undoubtedly,  Sophronia,  but 
Georgiana  acutely  remarks, "  that.  Through  this 
device  the  two  young  people  conversed  at  great 
length  and  committed  themselves  to  a  variety 
of  delicate  sentiments,  without  having  once  open- 
ed their  lips  save  to  say  yes  or  no,  and  even  that 
not  to  one  another. 

Fledgeby  took  his  leave  of  Miss  Podsnap  at 
the  carriage  door,  and  the  Lammles  dropped 
her  at  her  own  home,  and  on  the  way  Mrs. 
Lammle  archly  rallied  her,  in  her  fond  and  pro- 
tecting manner,  by  saying  at  intervals,  "Oh 
little  Georgiana,  little  Georgiana!"  Which  was 
not  much;  but  the  tone  added,  "You  have'  en- 
slaved your  Fledgeby." 


And  thus  the  Lammles  got  home  at  last,  and 
the  lady  sat  down  moody  and  weary,  looking  at 
her  dark  lord  engaged  in  a  deed  of  violence 
with  a  bottle  of  soda-water  as  though  he  were 
wringing  the  neck  of  some  unlucky  creature  and 
pouring  its  blood  down  his  throat.  As  he  wiped 
his  dripping  whiskers  in  an  ogreish  way,  he  met 
her  eyes,  and  pausing,  said,  with  no  very  gentle 
voice : 

"Well?" 

"Was  such  an  absolute  Booby  necessary  to 
the  purpose  ?" 

"I  know  what  I  am  doing.  He  is  no  such 
dolt  as  you  suppose." 

"A  genius,  perhaps?" 

"You  sneer,  perhaps;  and  you  take  a  lofty 
air  upon  yourself,  perhaps !  But  I  tell  you  this*: 
— when  that  young  fellow's  interest  is  concern- 
ed, he  holds  as  tight  as  a  horse-leech.  When 
money  is  in  question  with  that  young  fellow,  he 
is  a  match  for  the  Devil." 

"  Is  he  a  match  for  you  ?" 

"He  is.  Almost  as  good  a  one  as  you  thought 
me  for  you.  He  has  no  quality  of  youth  in  him 
but  such  as  you  have  seen  to-day.  Touch  him 
upon  money,  and  you  touch  no  booby  then. 
He  really  is  a  dolt,  I  suppose,  in  other  things ; 
but  it  answers  his  one  purpose  very  well." 

"Has  she  money  in  her  own  right  in  anv 
case?" 

"Ay!  she  has  money  in  her  own  right  in  any 
case.  You  have  done  so  well  to-day,  Sophronia, 
that  I  answer  the  question,  though  you  know  I 
object  to  any  such  questions.  You  have  done  so 
well  to-day,  Sophronia,  that  you  must  be  tired. 
Get  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  V. 

MERCURY  PROMPTING. 

Fledgeby  deserved  Mr.  Alfred  Lammle's  eu- 
logium.  He  was  the  meanest  cur  existing,  with 
a  single  pair  of  legs.  And  instinct  (a  word  we 
all  clearly  understand)  going  largely  on  four 
legs,  and  reason  always  on  two,  meanness  on 
four  legs  never  attains  the  perfection  of  mean- 
ness on  two. 

The  father  of  this  young  gentleman  had  been 
a  money-lender,  who  had  transacted  professional 
business  with  the  mother  of  this  young  gentle- 
man, when  he,  the  latter,  was  waiting  in  the 
vast  dark  ante-chambers  of  the  present  world 
to  be  born.  The  lady,  a  widow,  being  unable 
to  pay  the  money-lender,  married  him ;  and  in 
due  course,  Fledgeby  was  summoned  out  of  the 
vast  dark  ante-chambers  to  come  and  be  pre- 
sented to  the  Registrar-General.  Rather  a  cu- 
rious speculation  how  Fledgeby  would  otherwise 
have  disposed  of  his  leisure  until  Doomsday. 

Fledgeby's  mother  offended  her  family  by  mar- 
rying Fledgeby's  father.  It  is  one  of  the  easiest 
achievements  in  life  to  offend  your  family  when 
your  family  want  to  get  rid  of  you.  Fledgeby's 
mother's  family  had  been  very  much  offended 
with  her  for  being  poor,  and  broke  with  her  for 
becoming  comparatively  rich.  Fledgeby's  mo- 
ther's family  was  the  Snigsworth  family.  She 
had  even  the  high  honor  to  be  cousin  to  Lord 
Snigsworth — so  many  times  removed  that  the 
noble  Earl  would  have  had  no  compunction  in 
removing  her  one  time  more  and  dropping  her 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


125 


clean  outside  the  cousinly  pale ;  but  cousin  for 
all  that. 

Among  her  pre-matrimonial  transactions  with 
Fledgeby's  father,  Fledgeby's  mother  had  raised 
money  of  him  at  a  great  disadvantage  on  a  cer- 
tain reversionary  interest.  The  reversion  falling 
in  soon  after  they  were  married,  Fledgeby's  fa- 
ther laid  hold  of  the  cash  for  his  separate  use 
and  benefit.  This  led  to  subjective  differences 
of  opinion,  not  to  say  objective  interchanges  of 
bootjacks,  backgammon  boards,  and  other  do- 
mestic missiles,  between  Fledgeby's  father  and 
Fledgeby's  mother,  and  those  led  to  Fledgeby's 
mother  spending  as  much  money  as  she  could, 
and  to  Fledgeby's  father  doing  all  he  couldn't  to 
restrain  her.  Fledgeby's  childhood  had  been, 
in  consequence,  a  stormy  one;  but  the  winds 
and  the  waves  had  gone  down  in  the  grave,  and 
Fledgeby  flourished  alone. 

He  lived  in  chambers  in  the  Albany,  did 
Fledgeby,  and  maintained  a  spruce  appearance. 
But  his  youthful  fire  was  all  composed  of  sparks 
from  the  grindstone ;  and  as  the  sparks  flew  off, 
went  out,  and  never  warmed  any  thing,  be  sure 
that  Fledgeby  had  his  tools  at  the  grindstone, 
and  turned  it  with  a  wary  eye. 

Mr.  Alfred  Lammle  came  round  to  the  Albany 
to  breakfast  with  Fledgeby.  Present  on  the  ta- 
ble, one  scanty  pot  of  tea,  one  scanty  loaf,  two 
scanty  pats  of  butter,  two  scanty  rashers  of  ba- 
con, two  pitiful  eggs,  and  an  abundance  of  hand- 
some china  bought  a  second-hand  bargain. 

"What  did  you  think  of  Georgiana?"  asked 
Mr.  Lammle. 

"Why,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Fledgeby,  very  de- 
liberately. 

"Do,  my  boy." 

"You  misunderstand  me,"  said  Fledgeby. 
"I  don't  mean  I'll  tell  you  that.  I  mean  I'll 
tell  you  something  else." 

"Tell  me  any  thing,  old  fellow!" 

"Ah,  but  there  you  misunderstand  me  again," 
said  Fledgeby.     "I  mean  I'll  tell  you  nothing." 

Mr.  Lammle  sparkled  at  him,  but  frowned  at 
him  too. 

"Look  here,"  said  Fledgeby.  "You're  deep 
and  you're  ready.  Whether  I  am  deep  or  not, 
never  mind.  I  am  not  ready.  But  I  can  do 
one  thing,  Lammle,  I  can  hold  my  tongue. 
And  I  intend  always  doing  it." 

"You  are  a  long-headed  fellow,  Fledgeby." 

"May  be,  or  may  not  be.  If  I  am  a  short- 
tongued  fellow,  it  may  amount  to  the  same  thing. 
Now,  Lammle,  I  am  never  going  to  answer  ques- 
tions." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  it  was  the  simplest  question 
in  the  world." 

"Never  mind.  It  seemed  so,  but  things  are 
not  always  what  they  seem.  I  saw  a  man  ex- 
amined as  a  witness  in  Westminster  Hall.  Ques- 
tions put  to  him  seemed  the  simplest  in  the 
world,  but  turned  out  to  be  any  thing  rather 
than  that,  after  he  had  answered  'em.  Very 
well.  Then  he  should  have  held  his  tongue. 
If  he  had  held  his  tongue  he  would  have  kept 
out  of  scrapes  that  he  got  into." 

"If  I  had  held  my  tongue,  you  would  never 
have  seen  the  subject  of  my  question,"  remarked 
Lammle,  darkening. 

"Now,  Lammle,"  said  Fascination  Fledgeby, 
calmly  feeling  for  his  whisker,  "it  won't  do.  I 
won't  be  led  on  into  a  discussion.     I  can't  man- 


age a  discussion.  But  I  can  manage  to  hold 
my  tongue." 

"Can?"  Mr.  Lammle  fell  back  upon  propi- 
tiation.  "I  should  think  you  could!  Why, 
when  these  fellows  of  our  acquaintance  drink 
and  you  drink  with  them,  the  more  talkative 
they  get,  the  more  silent  you  get.  The  more 
they  let  out,  the  more  you  keep  in." 

"I  don't  object,  Lammle,"  returned  Fledge- 
by, with  an  internal  chuckle,  "to  being  under- 
stood, though  I  object  to  being  questioned.  That 
certainly  is  the  way  I  do  it." 

"And  when  all  the  rest  of  us  are  discussing 
our  ventures,  none  of  us  ever  know  what  a  sin- 
gle venture  of  yours  is !" 

"And  none  of  you  ever  will  from  me,  Lam- 
mle," replied  Fledgeby,  with  another  internal 
chuckle ;  "  that  certainly  is  the  way  I  do  it." 

"Why  of  course  it  is,  I  know!"  rejoined 
Lammle,  with  a  flourish  of  frankness,  and  a 
laugh,  and  stretching  out  his  hands  as  if  to  show 
the  universe  a  remarkable  man  in  Fledgeby. 
"If  I  hadn't  known  it  of  my  Fledgeby,  should 
I  have  proposed  our  little  compact  of  advantage 
to  my  Fledgeby?" 

"Ah!"  remarked  Fascination,  shaking  his 
head  slyly.  "But  I  am  not  to  be  got  at  in  that 
way.  I  am  not  vain.  That  sort  of  vanity  don't 
pay,  Lammle.  No,  no,  no.  Compliments  only 
make  me  hold  my  tongue  the  more." 

Alfred  Lammle  pushed  his  plate  away  (no 
great  sacrifice  under  the  circumstances  of  there 
being  so  little  in  it),  thrust  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  contem- 
plated Fledgeby  in  silence.  Then  he  slowly  re- 
leased his  left  hand  from  its  pocket,  and  made 
that  bush  of  his  whiskers,  still  contemplating 
him  in  silence.  Then  he  slowly  broke  silence, 
and  slowly  said:  "What — the — Dev-il  is  this 
fellow  about  this  morning?" 

"Now,  look  here,  Lammle,"  said  Fascination 
Fledgeby,  with  the  meanest  of  twinkles  in  his 
meanest  of  eyes :  which  were  too  near  together, 
by-the-way:  "look  here,  Lammle:  I  am  very 
well  aware  that  I  didn't  show  to  advantage  last 
night,  and  that  you  and  your  wife — who,  I  con- 
sider, is  a  very  clever  woman  and  an  agreeable 
woman — did.  I  am  not  calculated  to  show  to 
advantage  under  that  sort  of  circumstances.  I 
know  very  well  you  two  did  show  to  advantage, 
and  managed  capitally.  But  don't  you  on  that 
account  come  talking  to  me  as  if  I  were  your 
doll  and  puppet,  because  I  am  not." 

"And  all  this,"  cried  Alfred,  after  studying 
with  a  look  the  meanness  that  was  fain  to  have 
the  meanest  help,  and  yet  was  so  mean  as  to 
turn  upon  it:  "all  this  because  of  one  simple 
natural  question !" 

"  You  should  have  waited  till  I  thought  prop- 
er to  say  something  about  it  myself.  I  don't 
like  your  coming  over  me  with  your  Georgi- 
anas,  as  if  you  was  her  proprietor  and  mine 
too." 

"Well,  when  you  are  in  the  gracious  mind 
to  say  any  thing  about  it  of  yourself, "  retorted 
Lammle,  "pray  do." 

' '  I  have  done  it.  I  have  said  you  managed 
capitally.  You  and  your  wife  both.  If  you'll 
go  on  managing  capitally,  I'll  go  on  doing  my 
part.     Only  don't  crow." 

"I  crow !"  exclaimed  Lammle,  shrugging  his 
shoulders. 


126 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  Or,"  pursued  the  other — "  or  take  it  in  your 
head  that  people  are  your  puppets  because  they 
don't  come  out  to  advantage  at  the  particular 
moments  when  you  do,  with  the  assistance  of  a 
very  clever  and  agreeable  wife.  All  the  rest 
keep  on  doing,  and  let  Mrs.  Lammle  keep  on 
doing.  Now,  I  have  held  my  tongue  when  I 
thought  proper,  and  I  have'  spoken  when  I 
thought  proper,  and  there's  an  end  of  that.  And 
now  the  question  is,"  proceeded  Fledgeby,  with 
the  greatest  reluctance,  "will  you  have  another 
egg?" 

"No,  I  won't,"  said  Lammle,  shortly. 

"Perhaps  you're  right  and  will  find  yourself 
better  without  it,"  replied  Fascination,  in  great- 
ly improved  spirits.  "To  ask  you  if  you'll 
have  another  rasher  would  be  unmeaning  flat- 
tery, for  it  would  make  you  thirsty  all  day. 
Will  you  have  some  more  bread  and  butter  ?" 

"No,  I  won't,"  repeated  Lammle. 

"  Then  I  will,"  said  Fascination.  And  it  was 
not  a  mere  retort  for  the  sound's  sake,  but  was 
a  cheerful  cogent  consequence  of  the  refusal ; 
for  if  Lammle  had  applied  himself  again  to  the 
loaf,  it  would  have  been  so  heavily  visited,  in 
Fledgeby's  opinion,  as  to  demand  abstinence 
from  bread,  on  his  part,  for  the  remainder  of 
that  meal  at  least,  if  not  for  the  whole  of  the 
next. 

Whether  this  young  gentleman  (for  he  was 
but  three-and-twenty)  combined  with  the  miser- 
ly vice  of  an  old  man  any  of  the  open-handed 
vices  of  a  young  one,  was  a  moot-point ;  so  very 
honorably  did  he  keep  his  own  counsel.  He 
was  sensible  of  the  value  of  appearances  as  an 
investment,  and  liked  to  dress  well ;  but  he 
drove  a  bargain  for  every  movable  about  him, 
from  the  coat  on  his  back  to  the  china  on  his 
breakfast -table;  and  every  bargain,  by  repre- 
senting somebody's  ruin  or  somebody's  loss,  ac- 
quired a  peculiar  charm  for  him.  It  was  a  part 
of  his  avarice  to  take,  within  narrow  bounds, 
long  odds  at  races ;  if  he  won,  he  drove  harder 
bargains ;  if  he  lost,  he  half-starved  himself  un- 
til next  time.  Why  money  should  be  so  pre- 
cious to  an  Ass  too  dull  and  mean  to  exchange 
it  for  any  other  satisfaction,  is  strange ;  but 
there  is  no  animal  so  sure  to  get  laden  with  it 
as  the  Ass  who  sees  nothing  written  on  the  face 
of  the  earth  and  sky  but  the  three  letters  L. 
S.  D. — not  Luxury,  Sensuality,  Dissoluteness, 
which  they  often  stand  for,  but  the  three  dry 
letters.  Your  concentrated  Fox  is  seldom  com- 
parable to  your  concentrated  Ass  in  money- 
breeding. 

Fascination  Fledgeby  feigned  to  be  a  young 
gentleman  living  on  his  means,  but  was  known 
secretly  to  be  a  kind  of  outlaw  in  the  bill-brok- 
ing line,  and  to  put  money  out  at  high  interest 
in  various  ways.  His  circle  of  familiar  acquaint- 
ance, from  Mr.  Lammle  round,  all  had  a  touch 
of  the  outlaw,  as  to  their  rovings  in  the  merry 
green-wood  of  Jobbery  Forest,  lying  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  Share-Market  and  the  Stock  Ex- 
change. 

"I  suppose  you,  Lammle,"  said  Fledgeby, 
eating  his  bread  and  butter,  "  always  go  in  for 
female  society  ?" 

"Always,"  replied  Lammle,  glooming  con- 
siderably under  his  late  treatment. 

"  Came  natural  to  you,  eh?"  said  Fledgeby. 

"  The  sex  were  pleased  to  like  me,  Sir,"  said 


Lammle,  sulkily,  but  with  the  air  of  a  man  whc 
had  not  been  able  to  help  himself. 

"  Made  a  pretty  good  thing  of  marrying,  didn't 
you?"  asked  Fledgeby. 

The  other  smiled  (an  ugly  smile),  and  tapped 
one  tap  upon  his  nose. 

"My  late  governor  made  a  mess  of  it,"  said 
Fledgeby.  "But  Geor —  Is  the  right  name 
Georgina  or  Georgiana  ?" 

"Geor'giana." 

"I  was  thinking  yesterday,  I  didn't  know 
there  was  such  a  name.  I  thought  it  must  end 
in  ina." 

"Why?" 

"Why,  you  play — if  you  can — the  Concer- 
tina, you  know,"  replied  Fledgeby,  meditating 
very  slowly.  ' '  And  you  have — when  you  catch 
it — the  Scarlatina.  And  you  can  come  down 
from  a  balloon  in  a  parach —  No  you  can't 
though.  Well,  say  Georgeute — I  mean  Georgi- 
ana." 

"You  were  going  to  remark  of  Georgiana —  ?" 
Lammle  moodily  hinted,  after  waiting  in  vain. 

"I  was  going  to  remark  of  Georgiana,  Sir," 
said  Fledgeby,  not  at  all  pleased  to  be  reminded 
of  his  having  forgotten  it,  "  that  she  don't  seem 
to  be  violent.  Don't  seem  to  be  of  the  pitching- 
order." 

"  She  has  the  gentleness  of  the  dove,  Mr. 
Fledgeby." 

"Of  course  you'll  say  so,"  replied  Fledgeby, 
sharpening,  the  moment  his  interest  was  touched 
by  another.  "But  you  know,  the  real  look-out 
is  this :  — what  I  say,  not  what  you  say.  I  say — 
having  my  late  governor  and  my  late  mother  in 
my  eye — that  Georgiana  don't  seem  to  be  of  the 
pitching-in  order." 

The  respected  Mr.  Lammle  was  a  bully,  by 
nature  and  by  usual  practice.  Perceiving,  as 
Fledgeby's  affronts  cumulated,  that  conciliation 
by  no  means  answered  the  purpose  here,  he  now 
directed  a  scowling  look  into  Fledgeby's  small 
eyes  for  the  effect  of  the  opposite  treatment. 
Satisfied  by  what  he  saw  there,  he  burst  into  a 
violent  passion  and  struck  his  hand  upon  the 
table,  making  the  china  ring  and  dance. 

"You  are  a  very  offensive  fellow,  Sir,"  cried 
Mr.  Lammle,  rising.  "  You  are  a  highly  offens- 
ive scoundrel.  What  do  you  mean  by  this  be- 
havior?" 

"I  say!"  remonstrated  Fledgeby.  "Don't 
break  out." 

"You  are  a  very  offensive  fellow,  Sir,"  re- 
peated Mr.  Lammle.  "  You  are  a  highly  offens- 
ive scoundrel !'' 

"I  say,  you  know !"  urged  Fledgeby,  quailing. 

"Why,  you  coarse  and  vulgar  vagabond!"' 
said  Mr.  Lammle,  looking  fiercely  about  him. 
"  if  your  servant  was  here  to  give  me  six-pence 
of  your  money  to  get  my  boots  cleaned  after- 
ward— for  you  are  not  worth  the  expenditure — 
I'd  kick  you." 

"No  you  wouldn't,"  pleaded  Fledgeby.  "I 
am  sure  you'd  think  better  of  it." 

"I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Fledgeby,"  said  Lam- 
mle, advancing  on  him.  "Since  you  presume 
to  contradict  me,  I'll  assert  myself  a  little.  Give 
me  your  nose !" 

Fledgeby  covered  it  with  his  hand  instead,  and 
said,  retreating,  "I  beg  you  won't !" 

"  Give  me  your  nose,  Sir,"  repeated  Lammle. 

Still  covering  that  feature  and  backing,  Mr. 


OUK  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


T21 


Fledgeby  reiterated  (apparently  with  a  severe 
cold  in  his  head),  "I  beg,  I  beg,  you  won't." 

"And  this  fellow,"  exclaimed  Lammle,  stop- 
ping and  making  the  most  of  his  chest — "This 
fellow  presumes  on  my  having  selected  him  out 
of  all  the  young  fellows  I  know,  for  an  advanta- 
geous opportunity !  This  fellow  presumes  on  my 
having  in  my  desk  round  the  corner  his  dirty 
note  of  hand  for  a  wretched  sum  payable  on  the 
occurrence  of  a  certain  event,  which  event  can 
only  be  of  my  and  my  wife's  bringing  about ! 
This  fellow,  Fledgeby,  presumes  to  be  imperti- 
nent to  me,  Lammle.  Give  me  your  nose,  Sir !" 
"  No  !  Stop !  I  beg  your  pardon, "  said  Fledge- 
by, with  humility. 

"What  do  you  say,   Sir?"  demanded  Mr. 
Lammle,  seeming  too  furious  to  understand. 
'*I  beg  your  pardon,"  repeated  Fledgeby. 
"Repeat  your  words  louder,  Sir.     The  just 
indignation  of  a  gentleman  has  sent  the  blood 
boiling  to  my  head.     I  don't  hear  you." 

"I  say,"  repeated  Fledgeby,  with  laborious 
explanatory  politeness,  "I  beg  your  pardon." 

Mr.  Lammle  paused.  "  As  a  man  of  honor," 
said  he,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  "I  am 
disarmed." 

Mr.  Fledgeby  also  took  a  chair,  though  less 
demonstratively,  and  by  slow  approaches  re- 
moved his  hand  from  his  nose.  Some  natural 
diffidence  assailed  him  as  to  blowing  it,  so  short- 
ly after  its  having  assumed  a  personal  and  deli- 
cate, not  to  say  public,  character ;  but  he  over- 
came his  scruples  by  degrees,  and  modestly  took 
that  liberty  under  an  implied  protest. 

"Lammle,"  he  said,  sneakingly,  when  that  was 
done,  "I  hope  we  are  friends  again?" 

"  Mr.  Fledgeby,"  returned  Lammle,  "say  no 
more." 

"  I  must  have  gone  too  far  in  making  myself 
disagreeable,"  said  Fledgeby,  "but  I  never  in- 
tended it." 

"Say  no  more,  say  no  more!"  Mr.  Lammle 
repeated  in  a  magnificent  tone.  ' '  Give  me  your" 
— Fledgeby  started — "hand." 

They  shook  hands,  and  on  Mr.  Lammle's  part, 
in  particular,  there  ensued  great  geniality.  For 
he  was  quite  as  much  of  a  dastard  as  the  other, 
and  had  been  in  equal  danger  of  falling  into  the 
second  place  for  good,  when  he  took  heart  just 
in  time  to  act  upon  the  information  conveyed 
to  him  by  Fledgeby's  eye. 

The  breakfast  ended  in  a  perfect  understand- 
ing. Incessant  machinations  were  to  be  kept  at 
work  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle ;  love  was  to  be 
made  for  Fledgeby,  and  conquest  was  to  be  in- 
sured to  him ;  he  on  his  part  very  humbly  ad- 
mitting his  defects  as  to  the  softer  social  arts, 
and  entreating  to  be  backed  to  the  utmost  by  his 
two  able  coadjutors. 

Little  recked  Mr.  Podsnap  of  the  traps  and 
toils  besetting  his  Young  Person.  He  regarded 
her  as  safe  within  the  Temple  of  Podsnappery, 
biding  the  fullness  of  time  when  she,  Georgiana, 
should  take  him,  Fitz-Podsnap,  who  with  all  his 
worldly  goods  should  her  endow.  It  would  call 
a  blush  into  the  cheek  of  his  standard  Young 
Person  to  have  any  thing  to  do  with  such  mat- 
ters save  to  take  as  directed,  and  with  worldly 
goods  as  per  settlement  to  be  endowed.  Who 
giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this  man  ? 
I,  Podsnap.  Perish  the  daring  thought  that  any 
smaller  creation  should  come  between ! 


It  was  a  public  holiday,  and  Fledgeby  did  not 
recover  his  spirits  or  his  usual  temperature  of 
nose  until  the  afternoon.  Walking  into  the  City 
in  the  holiday  afternoon,  he  walked  against  a 
living  stream  setting  out  of  it ;  and  thus,  when 
he  turned  into  the  precincts  of  St.  Mary  Axe,  he 
found  a  prevalent  repose  and  quiet  there,,  A 
yellow  overhanging  plaster-fronted  house  at  which 
he  stopped  was  quiet  too.  The  blinds  were  all 
drawn  down,  and  the  inscription  Pubsey  and  Co. 
seemed  to  doze  in  the  counting-house  window  on 
the  ground-floor  giving  on  the  sleepy  street. 

Fledgeby  knocked  and  rang,  and  Fledgeby 
rang  and  knocked,  but  no  one  came.  Fledgeby 
crossed  the  narrow  street  and  looked  up  at  the 
house-windows,  but  nobody  looked  down  at 
Fledgeby.  He  got  out  of  temper,  crossed  the 
narrow  street  again,  and  pulled  the  house-bell  as 
if  it  were  the  house's  nose,  and  he  were  taking  a 
hint  from  his  late  experience.  His  ear  at  the 
keyhole  seemed  then,  at  last,  to  give  him  assur- 
ance that  something  stirred  within.  His  eye  at 
the  keyhole  seemed  to  confirm  his  ear,  for  he 
angrily  pulled  the  house's  nose  again,  and  pulled 
and  pulled  and  continued  to  pull,  until  a  human 
nose  appeared  in  the  dark  doorway. 

"Now  you,  Sir!"  cried  Fledgeby.  "These 
are  nice  games !" 

He  addressed  an  old  Jewish  man  in  an  an- 
cient coat,  long  of  skirt,  and  wide  of  pocket. 
A  venerable  man,  bald  and  shining  at  the  top 
of  his  head,  and  with  long  gray  hair  flowing 
down  at  its  sides  and  mingling  with  his  beard. 
A  man  who  with  a  graceful  Eastern  action  of 
homage  bent  his  head,  and  stretched  out  his 
hands  with  the  palms  downward,  as  if  to  depre- 
cate the  wrath  of  a  superior. 

"What  have  you  been  up  to?"  said  Fledge- 
by, storming  at  him. 

"Generous  Christian  master,"  urged  the  Jew- 
ish man,  "it  being  holiday  I  looked  for  no 
one." 

"Holiday  be  blowed  !"  said  Fledgeby,  enter- 
ing. "What  have  you  got  to  do  with  holidays  ? 
Shut  the  door." 

With  his  former  action  the  old  man  obeyed. 
In  the  entry  hung  his  rusty  large-brimmed  low- 
crowned  hat,  as  long  out  of  date  as  his  coat ;  in 
the  corner  near  it  stood  his  staff — no  walking- 
stick,  but  a  veritable  staff.  Fledgeby  turned  into 
the  counting-house,  perched  himself  on  a  busi- 
ness stool,  and  cocked  his  hat.  There  were 
light  boxes  on  shelves  in  the  counting-house,  and 
strings  of  mock  beads  hanging  up.  There  were 
samples  of  cheap  clocks,  and  samples  of  cheap 
vases  of  flowers.     Foreign  toys,  all. 

Perched  on  the  stool,  with  his  hat  cocked  on 
his  head  and  one  of  his  legs  dangling,  the  youth 
of  Fledgeby  hardly  contrasted  to  advantage  with 
the  age  of  the  Jewish  man  as  he  stood  with  his 
bare  head  bowed,  and  his  eyes  (which  he  only 
raised  in  speaking)  on  the  ground.  His  cloth- 
ing was  worn  down  to  the  rusty  hue  of  the  hat 
in  the  entry,  but  though  he  looked  shabby  he  did 
not  look  mean.  Now,  Fledgeby,  though  not 
shabby,  did  look  mean. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  what  you  were  up  to, 
you,  Sir,"  said  Fledgeby,  scratching  his  head 
with  the  brim  of  his  hat. 

"  Sir,  I  was  breathing  the  air." 

"In  the  cellar,  that  you  didn't  hear?" 

"On  the  house-top." 


128 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Upon  my  soul!  That's  a  way  of  doing 
business." 

"Sir,"  the  old  man  represented  with  a  grave 
and  patient  air,  "there  must  be  two  parties  to 
the  transaction  of  business,  and  the  holiday  has 
left  me  alone." 

"Ah!  Can't  be  buyer  and  seller  too.  That's 
what  the  Jews  say  ;  ain't  it?" 

"At  least  we  say  truly,  if  we  say  so,"  an- 
swered the  old  man  with  a  smile. 

"Your  people  need  speak  the  truth  sometimes, 
for  they  lie  enough,"  remarked  Fascination 
Fiedgeby. 

"  Sir,  there  is,"  returned  the  old  man  with 
quiet  emphasis,  "too  much  untruth  among  all 
denominations  of  men." 

Rather  dashed,  Fascination  Fiedgeby  took 
another  scratch  at  his  intellectual  head  with  his 
hat,  to  gain  time  for  rallying. 

"For  instance,"  he  resumed,  as  though  it 
were  he  who  had  spoken  last,  "  who  but  you 
and  I  ever  heard  of  a  poor  Jew  ?" 

"The  Jews,"  said  the  old  man,  raising  his 
eyes  from  the  ground  with  his  former  smile. 
"They  hear  of  poor  Jews  often,  and  are  very 
good  to  them." 

"Bother  that!"  returned  Fiedgeby.  "You 
know  what  I  mean.  You'd  persuade  me  if  you 
could  that  you  are  a  poor  Jew.  I  wish  you'd 
confess  hotv  much  you  really  did  make  out  of 
my  late  governor.  I  should  have  a  better  opin- 
ion of  you." 

The  old  man  only  bent  his  head,  and  stretched 
out  his  hands  as  before. 

"Don't  go  on  posturing  like  a  Deaf  and 
Dumb  School,"  said  the  ingenious  Fiedgeby, 
"but  express  yourself  like  a  Christian — or  as 
nearly  as  you  can." 

"I  had  had  sickness  and  misfortunes,  and 
was  so  poor,"  said  the  old  man,  "as  hopelessly 
to  owe  the  father,  principal  and  interest.  The 
son  inheriting,  was  so  merciful  as  to  forgive  me 
both  and  place  me  here." 

He  made  a  little  gesture  as  though  he  kissed 
the  hem  of  an  imaginary  garment  worn  by  the 
noble  youth  before  him.  It  was  humbly  done, 
but  picturesquely,  and  was  not  abasing  to  the 
doer. 

"You  won't  say  more,  I  see,"  said  Fiedgeby, 
looking  at  him  as  if  he  would  like  to  try  the  ef- 
fect of  extracting  a  double-tooth  or  two,  "and 
so  it's  of  no  use  my  putting  it  to  you.  But  con- 
fess this,  Riah ;  who  believes  you  to  be  poor  now?" 

' '  No  one,"  said  the  old  man. 

"There  you're  right,"  assented  Fiedgeby. 

"  No  one,"  repeated  the  old  man  with  a  grave 
slow  wave  of  his  head.  "All  scout  it  as  a  fable. 
Were  I  to  say  'This  little  fancy  business  is  not 
mine  ;'  "  with  a  lithe  sweep  of  his  easily-turning 
hand  around  him,  to  comprehend  the  various 
objects  on  the  shelves;  "'it  is  the  little  busi- 
ness of  a  Christian  young  gentleman  who  places 
me,  his  servant,  in  trust  and  charge  here,  and 
to  whom  I  am  accountable  for  every  single 
bead,'  they  would  laugh.  When,  in  the  larger 
money-business,  I  tell  the  borrowers — " 

"I  say,  old  chap!"  interposed  Fiedgeby,  "I 
hope  you  mind  what  you  do  tell  'em  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  tell  them  no  more  than  I  am  about  to 
repeat.  When  I  tell  them,  '  I  can  not  promise 
this,  I  can  not  answer  for  the  other,  I  must  see 
my  principal,  I  have  not  the  money,  I  am  a  poor 


man,  and  it  does  not  rest  with  me,'  they  are  so 
unbelieving  and  so  impatient,  that  they  some- 
times curse  me  in  Jehovah's  name." 

"  That's  deuced  good,  that  is !"  said  Fascina- 
tion Fiedgeby. 

"And  at  other  times  they  say,  'Can  it  never 
be  done  without  these  tricks,  Mr.  Riah  ?  Come, 
come,  Mr.  Riah,  we  know  the  arts  of  your  people' 
—my  people !— '  If  the  money  is  to  be  lent,  fetch 
it,  fetch  it ;  if  it  is  not  to  be  lent,  keep  it  and  say 
so.'    They  never  believe  me." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Fascination  Fiedgeby. 

"They  say,  'We  know,  Mr.  Riah,  we  know. 
■We  have  but  to  look  at  you,  and  we  know.'  " 

' «  Oh,  a  good  'un  are  you  for  the  post,"  thought 
Fiedgeby,  "and  a  good  'un  was  I  to  mark  you 
out  for  it !  I  may  be,  slow,  but  I  am  precious 
sure." 

Not  a  syllable  of  this  reflection  shaped  itself 
in  any  scrap  of  Mr.  Fledgeby's  breath,  lest  it 
should  tend  to  put  his  servant's  price  up.  But 
looking  at  the  old  man  as  he  stood  quiet,  with 
his  head  bowed  and  his  eyes  cast  down,  he  felt 
that  to  relinquish  an  inch  of  his  baldness,  an  inch 
of  his  gray  hair,  an  inch  of  his  coat-skirt,  an  inch 
of  his  hat-brim,  an  inch  of  his  walking-staff, 
would  be  to  relinquish  hundreds  of  pounds. 

"Look  here,  Riah,"  said  Fiedgeby,  mollified 
by  these  self-approving  considerations.  ' '  I  want 
to  go  a  little  more  into  buying  up  queer  bills. 
Look  out  in  that  direction." 

"Sir,  it  shall  be  done." 

"Casting  my  eye  over  the  accounts,  I  find 
that  branch  of  business  pays  pretty  fairly,  and  I 
am  game  for  extending  it.*  I  like  to  know  peo- 
ple's affairs  likewise.     So  look  out." 

"Sir,  I  will,  promptly." 

"  Put  it  about  in  the  right  quarters,  that  you'll 
buy  queer  bills  by  the  lump — by  the  pound  weight 
if  that's  all — supposing  you  see  your  way  to  a 
fair  chance  on  looking  over  the  parcel.  And 
there's  one  thing  more.  Come  to  me  with  the 
books  for  periodical  inspection  as  usual,  at  eight 
on  Monday  morning." 

Riah  drew  some  folding  tablets  from  his  breast 
and  noted  it  down. 

"That's  all  I  wanted  to  say  at  the  present 
time,"  continued  Fiedgeby  in  a  grudging  vein, 
as  he  got  off  the  stool,  "  except  that  I  wish  you'd 
take  the  air  where  you  can  hear  the  bell,  or  the 
knocker,  either  one  of  the  two  or  both.  By-the- 
by,  how  do  you  take  the  air  at  the  top  of  the 
house  ?  Do  you  stick  your  head  out  of  a  chim- 
ney-pot?" 

"  Sir,  there  are  leads  there,  and  I  have  made 
a  little  garden  there." 

"To  bury  your  money  in,  you  old  dodger?" 

"A  thumb-nail's  space  of  garden  would  hold 
the  treasure  /  bury,  master,"  said  Riah.  ' '  Twelve 
shillings  a  week,  even  when  they  are  an  old 
man's  wages,  bury  themselves." 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  you  really  are 
worth,"  returned  Fiedgeby,  with  whom  his 
growing  rich  on  that  stipend  and  gratitude  was 
a  very  convenient  fiction.  "But  come  !  Let's 
have  a  look  at  your  garden  on  the  tiles  before  I 
go!" 

The  old  man  took  a  step  back,  and  hesitated. 

"Truly,  Sir,  I  have  company  there." 

"  Have  you,  by  George!"  said  Fiedgeby;  "I 
suppose  you  happen  to  know  whose  premises 
these  are  ?" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


129 


RIAH  8   GUESTS. 


''Sir,  they  are  yours,  and  I  am  your  servant 
in  them." 

"  Oh !  I  thought  you  might  have  overlooked 
that,"  retorted  Fledgeby,  with  his  eyes  on  Riah's 
beard  as  he  felt  for  his  own  ;  "having  company 
on  my  premises,  you  know!" 

"Come  up  and  see  the  guests,  Sir,  I  hope 
for  your  admission  that  they  can  do  no  harm." 

Passing  him  with  a  courteous  reverence,  spe- 
cially unlike  any  action  that  Mr.  Fledgeby  could 
for  his  life  have  imparted  to  his  own  head  and 
hands,  the  old  man  began  to  ascend  the  stairs. 
As  he  toiled  on  before,  with  his  palm  upon  the 
stair-rail,  and  his  long  black  skirt,  a  very  gaber- 
dine, overhanging  each  successive  step,  he  might 
have  been  the  leader  in  some  pilgrimage  of  de- 
votional ascent  to  a  prophet's  tomb.  Not  trou- 
I 


bled  by  any  such  weak  imagining,  Fascination 
Fledgeby  merely  speculated  on  the  time  of  life 
at  which  his  beard  had  begun,  and  thought  once 
more  what  a  good  'un  he  was  for  the  part. 

Some  final  wooden  steps  conducted  them, 
stooping  under  a  low  pent-house  roof,  to  the 
house-top.  Riah  stood  still,  and,  turning  to  his 
master,  pointed  out  his  guests. 

Lizzie  Hexam  and  Jenny  Wren.     For  whom, 

perhaps  with  some  old  instinct  of  his  race,  the 

gentle  Jew  had  spread  a  carpet.     Seated  on  it, 

j  against  no  more  romantic  object  than  a  black- 

!  ened  chimney-stack  over  which  some   humble 

|  creeper  had  been  trained,  they  both  pored  over 

one  book  ;  both  with  attentive  faces ;  Jenny  with 

the  sharper;  Lizzie  with  the  more  perplexed. 

1  Another  little  book  or  two  were  lying  near,  and 


130 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


a  common  basket  of  common  fruit,  and  another 
basket  full  of  strings  of  beads  and  tinsel  scraps. 
A  few  boxes  of  humble  flowers  and  evergreens 
completed  the  garden ;  and  the  encompassing  wil- 
derness of  dowager  old  chimneys  twirled  their 
gowIs  and  fluttered  their  smoke,  rather  as  if 
they  were  bridling,  and  fanning  themselves,  and 
looking  on  in  a  state  of  airy  surprise. 

Taking  her  eyes  off  the  book,  to  test  her  mem- 
ory of  something  in  it,  Lizzie  was  the  first  to  see 
herself  observed.  As  she  rose,  Miss  Wren  like- 
wise became  conscious,  and  said,  irreverently 
addressing  the  great  chief  of  the  premises: 
"  Whoever  you  are,  I  can't  get  up,  because  my 
back's  bad  and  my  legs  are  queer." 

"This  is  my  master,"  said  Riah,  stepping  for- 
ward. 

("Don't  look  like  any  body's  master,"  ob- 
served Miss  Wren  to  herself,  with  a  hitch  of  her 
chin  and  eyes.) 

"This,  Sir,"  pursued  the  old  man,  "is  a  little 
dress-maker  for  little  people.  Explain  to  the 
master,  Jenny." 

"Dolls;  that's  all,"  said  Jenny,  shortly. 
"Very  difficult  to  fit  too,  because  their  figures 
are  so  uncertain.  You  never  know  where  to 
expect  their  waists." 

"Her  friend,"  resumed  the  old  man,  motion- 
ing toward  Lizzie';  "and  as  industrious  as  vir- 
tuous. But  that  they  both  are.  They  are  busy 
early  and  late,  Sir,  early  and  late ;  and  in  by- 
times,  as  on  this  holiday,  they  go  to  book  learn- 
ing."  • 

"Not  much  good  to  be,  got  out  of  that,"  re- 
marked Fledgeby. 

"Depends  upon  the  person!"  quoth  Miss 
Wren,  snapping  him  up. 

"I  made  acquaintance  with  my  guosts,  Sir," 
pursued  the  Jew,  with  an  evident  purpose  of 
drawing  out  the  dress-maker,  "through  their 
coming  here  to  buy  of  our  damage  and  waste 
for  Miss  Jenny's  millinery.  Our  waste  goes  into 
the  best  of  company,  Sir,  on  her  rosy-cheeked 
little  customers.  They  wear  it  in  their  hair,  and 
on  their  ball-dresses,  and  even  (so  she  tells  me) 
are  presented  at  Court  with  it." 

"Ah!"  said  Fledgeby,  on  whose  intelligence 
this  doll-fancy  made  rather  strong  demands; 
"she's  been  buying  that  basketful  to-day,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"I  suppose  she  has,"  Miss  Jenny  interposed; 
"and  paying  for  it  too,  most  likely  !" 

"Let's  have  a  look  at  it,"  said  the  suspicious 
chief.  Riah  handed  it  to  him.  "How  much 
for  this  now?" 

"Two  precious  silver  shillings,"  said  Miss 
Wren. 

Riah  confirmed  her  with  two  nods,  as  Fledge- 
by looked  to  him.     A  nod  for  each  shilling. 

"Well,"  said  Fledgeby,  poking  into  the  con- 
tents of  the  basket  with  his  forefinger,  "the 
price  is  not  so  bad.  You  have  got  good  meas- 
ure, Miss  What-is-it." 

"  Try  Jenny,"  suggested  that  young  lady  with 
great  calmness. 

"You  have  got  good  measure,  Miss  Jenny; 
but  the  price  is  not  so  bad. — And  you,"  said 
Fledgeby,  turning  to  the  other  visitor,  "  do  you 
buv  any  thing  here,  miss  ?" 

"No,  Sir." 

"Nor  sell  any  thing  neither,  miss?" 

"No,  Sir." 


Looking  askew  at  the  questioner,  Jenny  stole 
her  hand  up  to  her  friend's,  and  drew  her  friend 
down,  so  that  she  bent  beside  her  on  her  knee. 

"  We  are  thankful  to  come  here  for  rest,  Sir," 
said  Jenny.  "You  see,  you  don't  know  what 
the  rest  of  this  place  is  to  us ;  does  he,  Lizzie  ? 
It's  the  quiet,  and  the  air." 

" The  quiet!"  repeated  Fledgeby,  with  a  con- 
temptuous turn  of  his  head  toward  the  City's  roar. 
"And  the  air!"  with  a  "Poof!"  at  the  smoke. 

"  Ah !"  said  Jenny.  * '  But  it's  so  high.  And 
you  see  the  clouds  rushing  on  above  the  narrow 
streets,  not  minding  them,  and  you  see  the  gold- 
en arrows  pointing  at  the  mountains  in  the  sky 
from  which  the  wind  comes,  and  you  feel  as  if 
you  were  dead." 

The  little  creature  looked  above,  her,  holding 
up  her  slight  transparent  hand. 

" How  do  you  feel  when  you  are  dead?"  ask- 
ed Fledgeby,  much  perplexed. 

"Oh,  so  tranquil!"  cried  the  little  creature, 
smiling.  "Oh,  so  peaceful  and  so  thankful! 
And  you  hear  the  people  who  are  alive,  crying, 
and  working,  and  calling  to  one  another  down 
in  the  close  dark  streets,  and  you  seem  to  pity 
them  so!  And  such  a  chain  has  fallen  from 
you,  and  such  a  strange  good  sorrowful  happi- 
ness comes  upon  you!" 

Her  eyes  fell  on  the  old  man,  who,  with  his 
hands  folded,  quietly  looked  on. 

"Why  it  was  only  just  now,"  said  the  little 
creature,  pointing  at  him,  "that  I  fancied  I  saw 
him  come  out  of  his  grave !  He  toiled  out  at 
that  low  door,  so  bent  and  worn,  and  then  he 
took  his  breath  and  stood  upright,  and  looked 
all  round  him  at  the  sky,  and  the  wind  blew 
upon  him,  and  his  life  down  in  the  dark  was 
over ! — Till  he  was  called  back  to  life,"  she  add- 
ed, looking  round  at  Fledgeby  with  that  lower 
look  of  sharpness.  "Why  did  you  call  him 
back?" 

"He  was  long  enough  coming,  any  how," 
grumbled  Fledgeby. 

"  But  you  are  not  dead,  you  know,"  said  Jen- 
ny Wren.     "  Get  down  to  life !" 

Mr.  Fledgeby  seemed  to  think  it  rather  a  good 
suggestion,  and  with  a  nod  turned  round.  As 
Riah  followed  to  attend  him  down  the  stairs, 
the  little  creature  called  out  to  the  Jew  in  a  sil- 
very tone,  "Don't  be  long  gone.  Come  back 
and  be  dead  lv  And  still  as  they  went  down 
they  heard  the  little  sweet  voice,  more  and  more 
faintly,  half  calling  and  half  singing,  "Come 
back  and  be  dead,  Come  back  and  be  dead !" 

When  they  got  down  into  the  entry,  Fledge- 
by,' pausing  under  the  shadow  of  the  broad  old 
hat,  and  mechanically  poising  the  staff,  said  to 
the  old  man : 

"That's  a  handsome  girl,  that  one  in  her 
senses." 

"And  as  good  as  handsome,"  answered  Riah. 

"At  all  events,"  observed  Fledgeby,  with  a 
dry  whistle,  "  I  hope  she  ain't  bad  enough  to  put 
any  chap  up  to  the  fastenings,  and  get  the  prem- 
ises broken  open.  You  look  out.  Keep  your 
weather  eye  awake,  and  don't  make  any  more 
acquaintances,  however  handsome.  Of  course 
you  always  keep  my  name  to  yourself?" 

"  Sir,  assuredly  I  do." 

"If  they  ask  it,  say  it's  Pubsey,  or  say  it's 
Co,  or  say  it's  any  thing  you  like,  but  what  it 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


131 


His  grateful  servant — in  whose  race  gratitude 
is  deep,  strong,  and  enduring — bowed  his  head, 
and  actually  did  now  put  the  hem  of  his  coat  to 
his  lips  :  though  so  lightly  that  the  wearer  knew 
nothing  of  it. 

Thus,  Fascination  Fledgeby  went  his  way,  ex- 
ulting in  the  artful  cleverness  with  which  he  had 
turned  his  thumb  down  on  a  Jew,  and  the  old 
man  went  his  different  way  up  stairs.  As  he 
mounted,  the  call  or  song  began  to  sound  in  his 
ears  again,  and,  looking  above,  he  saw  the  face 
of  the  little  creature  looking  down  out  of  a  Glo- 
ry of  her  long  bright  radiant  hair,  and  musical- 
ly repeating  to  him,  like  a  vision  : 

"  Come  up  and  be  dead !  Come  up  and  be 
dead!" 


CHAPTER  VI.       > 

A  RIDDLE  WITHOUT  AN  ANSWER. 

Again  Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood  and  Mr. 
Eugene  Wrayburn  sat  together  in  the  Temple. 
This  evening,  however,  they  were  not  together 
in  the  place  of  business  of  the  eminent  solicitor, 
but  in  another  dismal  set  of  chambers  facing  it 
on  the  same  second-floor;  on  whose  dungeon- 
like black  outer  door  appeared  the  legend :     , 

PRIVATE. 

Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn. 
Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood. 

(iE^3  Mr.  Lightwood1  s  Offices  opposite.*) 

Appearances  indicated  that  this  establishment 
was  a  very  recent  institution.  The  white  letters 
of  the  inscription  were  extremely  white,  and  ex- 
tremely strong  to  the  sense  of  smell,  the  com- 
plexion of  the  tables  and  chairs  was  (like  Lady 
Tippins's)  a  little  too  blooming  to  be  believed 
in,  and  the  carpets  and  floor-cloth  seemed  to 
rush  at  the  beholder's  face  in  the  unusual  prdm- 
inency  of  their  patterns.  But  the  Temple,  ac- 
customed to  tone  down  both  the  still  life  and 
the  human  life  that  has  much  to  do  with  it, 
would  soun  get  the  better  of  all  that. 

"Well !"  said  Eugene,  on  one  side  of  ftiefire, 
"I  feel  tolerably  comfortable.  I  hope  the  up- 
holsterer may  do  the  same." 

"  Why  shouldn't  he  ?"  asked  Lightwood,  from 
the  other  side  of  the  fire. 

"To  be  sure,"  pursued  Eugene,  reflecting, 
"  he  is  not  in  the  secret  of  our  pecuniary  af- 
fairs, so  perhaps  he  may  be  in  an  easy  frame  of 
mind." 

"We  shall  pay  him,"  said  Mortimer. 

"Shall  we,  really?"  returned  Eugene,  indo- 
lently surprised.     "You  don't  say  so !" 

"I  mean  to  pay  him,  Eugene,  for  my  part," 
said  Mortimer,  in  a  slightly  injured  tone. 

"  Ah  !  I  mean  to  pay  him  too,"  retorted  Eu- 
gene. "  But  then  I  mean  so  much  that  I — that 
I  don't  mean." 

"Don't  mean?" 

"  So  much  that  I  only  mean  and  shall  always 
only  mean  and  nothing  more,  my  dear  Morti- 
mer.    It's  the  same  thing." 

His  friend,  lying  back  in  his  easy -chair, 
watched  him  lying  back  in  his  easy-chair,  as  he 
stretched  out  his  legs  on  the  hearth-rug,  and 
said,  with  the'  amused  look  that  Eugene  Wray- 


burn could  always  awaken  in  him  without  seem- 
ing to  try  or  care  : 

"Any  how,  your  vagaries  have  increased  the 
bill." 

"  Calls  the  domestic  virtues  vagaries !"  ex- 
claimed Eugene,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling. 

"This  very  complete  little  kitchen  of  ours," 
said  Mortimer,  "in  which  nothing  will  ever  be 
cooked — " 

"My  dear,  dear  Mortimer,"  returned  his 
friend,  lazily  lifting  his  head  a  little  to  look  at 
him,  "  how  often  have  I  pointed  out  to  you  that 
its  moral  influence  is  the  important  thing  ?" 

"Its  moral  influence  on  this  fellow,"  ex- 
claimed Lightwood,  laughing. 

"Do  me  the  favor,"  said  Eugene,  getting 
out  of  his  chair  with  much  gravity,  "to  come 
and  inspect  that  feature  of  our  establishment 
which  you  rashly  disparage."  With  that,  tak- 
ing up  a  candle,  he  conducted  his  chum  into 
the  fourth  room  of  the  set  of  chambers — a  little 
narrow  room — which  was  very  completely  and 
neatly  fitted  as  a  kitchen.  "See!"  said  Eu- 
gene, "miniature  flour-barrel,  rolling-pin,  spice- 
box,  shelf  of  brown  jars,  chopping-board,  coffee- 
mill,  dresser  elegantly  furnished  with  crockery, 
sauce-pans  and  pans,  roasting  jack,  a  charming 
kettle,  an  armory  of  dish-covers.  The  moral  in- 
fluence of  these  objects,  in  forming  the  domestic 
virtues,  may  have  an  immense  influence  upon 
me ;  not  upon  you,  for  you  are  a  hopeless  case, 
but  upon  me.  In  fact,  I  have  an  idea  that  I  feel 
the  domestic  virtues  already  forming.  Do  me 
the  favor  to  step  into  my  bedroom.  Secretaire, 
you  see,  and  abstruse  set  of  solid  mahogany  pig- 
eon-holes, one  for  every  letter  of  the  alphabet. 
To  what  use  do  I  devote  them  ?  I  receive  a  bill 
— say  from  Jones.  I  docket  it  neatly  at  the 
secretaire,  Jones,  and  I  put  it  into  pigeon-hole 
J.  It's  the  next  thing  to  a  receipt,  and  is  quite 
as  satisfactory  to' me.  And  I  very  much  wish, 
Mortimer,"  sitting  on  his  bed,  with  the  air  of  a 
philosopher  lecturing  a  disciple,  "that  my  ex- 
ample might  induce  you  to  cultivate  habits  of 
punctuality  and  method  ;  and,  by  means  of  the 
moral  influences  with  which  I  have  surrounded 
you,  to  encourage  the  formation  of  the  domestic 
virtues." 

Mortimer  laughed  again,  with  his  usual  com- 
mentaries of  ' '  How  can  you  be  so  ridiculous, 
Eugene!"  and  "What  an  absurd  fellow  you 
are!"  but  when  his  laugh  was  out,  there  was 
something  serious,  if  not  anxious,  in  his  face. 
Despite  that  pernicious  assumption  of  lassitude 
and  indifference,  which  had  become  his  second 
nature,  he  was  strongly  attached  to  his  friend. 
He  had  founded  himself  upon  Eugene  when  they 
were  yet  boys  at  school ;  and  at  this  hour  imi- 
tated him  no  less,  admired  him  no  less,  loved 
him  no  less,  than  in  those  departed  days. 

"Eugene,"  said  he,  "if  I  could  find  you  in 
earnest  "for  a  minute,  I  would  try  to  say  an  earn- 
est word  to  you." 

"An  earnest  word  ?"  repeated  Eugene.  "The 
moral  influences  are  beginning  to  work.  Say  on." 

"Well,  I  will,"  returned  the  other,  "though 
you  are  not  earnest  yet." 

"In  this  desire  for  earnestness,"  murmured 
Eugene,  with  the  air  of  one  who  was  meditating 
deeply,  "I  trace  the  happy  influences  of  the  lit- 
tle flour-barrel  and  the  coffee-mill.    Gratifying. " 

"Eugene,"  resumed  Mortimer,  disregarding 


132 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


the  light  interruption,  and  laying  a  hand  upon 
Eugene's  shoulder,  as  he,  Mortimer,  stood  be- 
fore him  seated  on  his  bed,  "you  are  withhold- 
ing something  from  me." 

Eugene  looked  at  him,  but  said  nothing. 

"All  this  past  summer  you  have  been  with- 
holding something  from  me.  Before  we  entered 
on  our  boating  vacation,  you  were  as  bent  upon 
it  as  I  have  seen  you  upon  any  thing  since  we 
first  rowed  together.  But  you  cared  very  little 
for  it  when  it  came,  often  found  it  a  tie  and  a 
drag  upon  you,  and  were  constantly  away.  Now 
it  was  well  enough  half  a  dozen  times,  a  dozen 
times,  twenty  times,  to  say  to  me  in  your  own 
odd  manner,  which  I  know  so  well  and  like  so 
much,  that  your  disappearances  were  precau- 
tions against  our  boring  one  another;  but  of 
course  after  a  short  while  I  began  to  know  that 
they  covered  something.  I  don't  ask  what  it  is, 
as  you  have  not  told  me ;  but  the  fact  is  so. 
Say,  is  it  not  ?" 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  Mortimer,'.' 
returned  Eugene,  after  a  serious  pause  of  a  few 
moments,  "that  I  don't  know." 

"  Don't  know,  Eugene  ?" 

"Upon  my  soul,  don't  know.  I  know  less 
about  myself  than  about  most  people  in  the 
world,  and  I  don't  know." 

"  You  have  some  design  in  your  mind  ?" 

"Have  I?  'I  don't  think  I  have." 

"At  any  rate,  you  have  some  subject  of  in- 
terest there  which  used  not  to  be  there  ?" 

"I  really  can't  say," replied  Eugene,  shaking 
his  head  blankly,  after  pausing  again  to  recon- 
sider. "At  times  I  have  thought  yes ;  at  other 
times  I  have  thought  no.  Now  I  have  been  in- 
clined to  pursue  such  a  subject ;  now  I  have  felt 
that  it  was  absurd,  and  that  it  tired  and  embar- 
rassed me.  Absolutely,  I  can't  say.  Frankly 
and  faithfully,  I  would  if  I  could." 

So  replying,  he  clapped  a  hand,  in  his  turn, 
on  his  friend's  shoulder,  as  he  rose  from  his  seat 
upon  the  bed,  and  said : 

"  You  must  take  your  friend  as  he  is.  You 
know  what  I  am,  my  dear  Mortimer.  You  know 
how  dreadfully  susceptible  I  am  to  boredom. 
You  know  that  when  I  became  enough  of  a  man 
to  find  myself  an  embodied  conundrum,  I  bored 
myself  to  the  last  degree  by  trying  to  find  out 
what  I  meant.  You  know  that  at  length  I  gave 
it  up,  and  declined  to  guess  any  more.  Then 
how  can  I  possibly  give  you  the  answer  that  I 
have  not  discovered?  The  old  nursery  form 
runs, '  Riddle-me-riddle-me-ree,  p'raps  you  can't 
tell  me  what  this  may  be  ?'  My  reply  runs,  '  No. 
Upon  my  life,  I  can't.' " 

So  much  of  what  was  fantastically  true  to  his 
own  knowledge  of  this  utterly  careless  Eugene, 
mingled  with  the  answer,  that  Mortimer  could 
not  receive  it  as  a  mere  evasion.  Besides,  it 
was  given  with  an  engaging  air  of  openness, 
and  of  special  exemption  of  the  one  friend  he 
valued,  from  his  reckless  indifference. 

"Come,  dear  boy!"  said  Eugene.  "Let  us 
try  the  effect  of  smoking.  If  it  enlightens  me 
at  all  on  this  question,  I  will  impart  unreserv- 
edly." 

They  returned  to  the  room  they  had  come 
from,  and,  finding  it  heated,  opened  a  window. 
Having  lighted  their  cigars,  they  leaned  out  of 
this  window,  smoking,  and  looking  down  at  the 
moonlight  as  it  shone  into  the  court  below. 


"No  enlightenment,"  resumed  Eugene,  after 
certain  minutes  of  silence.  "I  feel  sincerely 
apologetic,  my  dear  Mortimer,  but  nothing 
comes." 

"  If  nothing  comes,"  returned  Mortimer,  "no- 
thing can  come  from  it.  So  I  shall  hope  that 
this  may  hold  good  throughout,  and  that  there 
may  be  nothing  on  foot.  Nothing  injurious  to 
you,  Eugene,  or — " 

Eugene  stayed  him  for  a  moment  with  his 
hand  on  his  arm,  while  he  took  a  piece  of  earth 
from  an  old  flower-pot  on  the  window-sill  and  * 
dextrously  shot  it  at  a  little  point  of  light  oppo- 
site ;  having  done  which  to  his  satisfaction,  he 
said,  "Or?" 

"  Or  injurious  to  any  one  else." 

"How,"  said  Eugene,  taking  another  little 
piece  of  earth,  and  shooting  it  with  great  pre- 
cision at  the  former  mark,  "how  injurious  to 
any  one  else?"  ' 

"I  don't  know." 

"And,"  said  Eugene,  taking,  as  he  said  the 
word,  another  shot,  "to  whom  else?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Checking  himself  with  another  piece  of  earth 
in  his  hand,  Eugene  looked  at  his  friend  inquir- 
ingly and  a  little  suspiciously.  There  was  no 
concealed  or  half-expressed  meaning  in  his  face. 

."Two  belated  wanderers  in  the  mazes  of  the 
law,"  said  Eugene,  attracted  by  the  sound  of 
footsteps,  and  glancing  down  as  he  spoke,  "  stray 
into  the  court.  They  examine  the  door-posts 
of  number  one,  seeking  the  name  they  want. 
Not  finding  it  at  number  one,  they  come  to 
number  two.  On  the  hat  of  wanderer  number 
two,  the  shorter  one,  I  drop  this  pellet.  Hit- 
ting him  on  the  hat,  I  smoke  serenely,  and  be- 
come absorbed  in  contemplation  of  the  sky." 

Both  the  wanderers  looked  up  toward  the 
window;  but  after  interchanging  a  mutter  or 
two,  soon  applied  themselves  to  the  door-posts 
below.  There  they  seemed  to  discover  what 
they  wanted,  for  they  disappeared  from  view  by 
entering  at  the  doorway.  "  When  they  emerge," 
said  Eugene,  "you  shall  see  me  bring  them  both 
down ;"  and  so  prepared  two  pellets  for  the  pur- 
pose. 

He  had  not  reckoned  on  their  seeking  his 
name,  or  Lightwood's.  But  either  the  one  or 
the  other  would  seem  to  be  in  question,  for  now 
there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  "I  am  on 
duty  to-night," said  Mortimer  ;  "stay  you  where 
you  are,  Eugene."  Requiring  no  persuasion, 
he  staid  there,  smoking  quietly,  and  not  at  all 
curious  to  know  who  knocked,  until  Mortimer 
spoke  to  him  from  within  the  room,  and  touch- 
ed him.  Then,  drawing  in  his  head,  he  found 
the  visitors  to  be  young  Charley  Hexam  and 
the  schoolmaster;  both  standing  facing  him, 
and  both  recognized  at  a  glance. 

"You1  recollect  this  young  fellow,  Eugene?" 
said  Mortimer. 

"Let  me  look  at  him,"  returned  Wrayburn, 
coolly.      "Oh  yes,  yes.     I  recollect  him !" 

He  had  not  been  about  to  repeat  that  former 
action  of  taking  him  by  the  chin,  but  the  boy 
had  suspected  him  of  it,  and  had  thrown  up  his 
arm  with  an  angry  start.  Laughingly,  Wray- 
burn looked  to  Lightwood  for  an  explanation 
of  this  odd  visit. 

"  He  says  he  has  something  to  say." 
"  Surely  it  must  be  to  you,  Mortimer." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


133 


"  So  I  thought,  but  he  says  no.  He  says  it  is 
to  you." 

"Yes,  I  do  say  so,"  interposed  the  boy. 
"And  I  mean  to  say  what  I  want  to  say,  too, 
Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn!" 

Passing  him  with  his  eyes  as  if  there  were  no- 
thing where  he  stood,  Eugene  looked  on  to  Brad- 
ley Headstone.  With  consummate  indolence 
he  turned  to  Mortimer,  inquiring:  "And  who 
•may  this  other  person  be?" 

"I  am  Charles  Hexam's  friend,"  said  Brad- 
ley ,•   "lam  Charles  Hexam's  schoolmaster." 

"My  good  Sir,  you  should  teach  your  pupils 
better  manners,"  returned  Eugene. 

Composedly  smoking,  he  leaned  an  elbow  on 
the  chimney-piece,  at  the  side  of  the  fire,  and 
looked  at  the  schoolmaster.  It  was  a  cruel 
look,  in  its  cold  disdain  of  him,  as  a  creature  of 
no  worth.  The  schoolmaster  looked  at  him, 
and  that,  too,  was  a  cruel  look,  though  of  the 
different  kind,  that  it  had  a  raging  jealousy  and 
fiery  wrath  in  it. 

Very  remarkably,  neither  Eugene  Wrayburn 
nor  Bradley  Headstone  looked  at  all  at  the  boy. 
Through  the  ensuing  dialogue  those  two,  no 
matter  who  spoke,  or  whom  was  addressed, 
looked  at  each  other.  There  was  some  secret, 
sure  perception  between  them,  which  set  them 
against  one  another  in  all  ways. 

"In  some  high  respects,  Mr.  Eugene  Wray- 
burn," said  Bradley,  answering  him  with  pale 
and  quivering  lips,  "the  natural  feelings  of  my 
pupils  are  stronger  than  my  teaching." 

"In  most  respects,  I  dare  say,"  replied  Eu- 
gene, enjoying  his  cigar,  "though  whether  high 
or  low  is  of  no  importance.  •  You  have  my  name 
very  correctly.     Pray  what  is  yours  ?" 

"It  can  not  concern  you  much  to  know,  but — " 

"True," interposed  Eugene,  striking  sharply, 
and  cutting  him  short  at  his  mistake,  "it  does 
not  concern  me  at  all  to  know.  I  can  say  School- 
master, which  is  a  most  respectable  title.  You 
are  right,  Schoolmaster." 

It  was  not  the  dullest  part  of  this  goad  in  its 
galling  of  Bradley  Headstone,  that  he  had  made 
it  himself  in  a  moment  of  incautious  anger.  He 
tried  to  set  his  lips  so  as  to  prevent  their  quiv- 
ering, but  they  quivered  fast. 

"Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn, "  said  the  boy,  "I 
want  a  word  with  you.  I  have  wanted  it  so 
much  that  we  have  looked  out  your  address  in 
the  book,  and  we  have  been  to  your  office,  and 
we  have  come  from  your  office  here." 

"You  have  given  yourself  much  trouble, 
Schoolmaster,"  observed  Eugene,  blowing  the 
feathery  ash  from  his  cigar.  "I  hope  it  may 
prove  remunerative." 

"  And  I  am  glad  to  speak,"  pursued  the  boy, 
"in  presence  of  Mr.  Lightwood,  because  it  was 
through  Mr.  Lightwood  that  you  ever  saw  my 
sister." 

For  a  mere  moment  Wrayburn  turned  his 
eyes  aside  from  the  schoolmaster  to  note  the  ef- 
fect of  the  last  word  on  Mortimer,  who,  stand- 
ing on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire,  as  soon  as  the 
word  was  spoken  turned  his  face  toward  the  fire 
and  looked  down  into  it. 

"Similarly,  it  was  through  Mr.  Lightwood 
that  you  ever  saw  her  again,  for  you  were  with 
him  on  the  night  when  my  father  was  found, 
and  so  I  found  you  with  her  on  the  next  day. 
Since  then  you  have  seen  my  sister  often.     You 


have  seen  my  sister  oftener  and  oftener.  And  I 
want  to  know  why  ?" 

"Was  this  worth  while,  Schoolmaster  ?"  mur- 
mured Eugene,  with  the  air  of  a  disinterested 
adviser.  "  So  much  trouble  for  nothing?  You 
should  know  best,  but  I  think  not." 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Wrayburn,"  answered 
Bradley,  with  his  passion  rising,  "why  you  ad- 
dress me — " 

"Don't  you?"  said  Eugene.    "Then  I  won't." 

He  said  it  so  tauntingly  in  his  perfect  placid- 
ity, that  the  respectable  right-hand  clutching  the 
respectable  hair-guard  of  the  respectable  watch 
could  have  wound  it  round  his  throat  and  stran- 
gled him  with  it.  Not  another  word  did  Eu- 
gene deem  it  worth  while  to  utter,  but  stood 
leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  smoking,  and 
looking  imperturbably  at  the  chafing  Bradley 
Headstone  with  his  clutching  right  hand,  until 
Bradley  was  well-nigh  mad. 

"Mr.  Wrayburn,"  proceeded  the  boy,  "we 
not  only  know  this  that  I  have  charged  upon 
you,  but  we  know  more.  It  has  not  yet  come 
to  my  sister's  knowledge  that  we  have  found  it 
out,  but  we  have.  We  had  a  plan,  Mr.  Head- 
stone and  I,  for  my  sister's  education,  and  for 
its  being  advised  and  overlooked  by  Mr.  Head- 
stone, who  is  a  much  more  competent  author- 
ity, whatever  you  may  pretend  to  think,  as  you 
smoke,  than  you  could  produce,  if  you  tried. 
Then,  what  do  we  find  ?  What  do  we  find,  Mr. 
Lightwood  ?  Why,  we  find  that  my  sister  is  al- 
ready being  taught  without  our  knowing  it. 
We  find  that  while  my  sister  gives  an  unwilling 
and  cold  ear  to  our  schemes  for  her  advantage 
— I,  her  brother,  and  Mr.  Headstone,  the  most 
competent  authority,  as  his  certificates  would 
easily  prove,  that  could  be  produced — she  is 
willfully  and  willingly  profiting  by  other  schemes. 
Ay,  and  taking  pains  too,  for  I  know  what  such 
pains  are.  And  so  does  Mr.  Headstone !  Well ! 
Somebody  pays  for  this,  is  a  thought  that  natu- 
rally occurs  to  us ;  who  pays  ?  We  apply  our- 
selves to  find  out,  Mr.  Lightwood,  and  we  find 
that  your  friend,  this  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn 
here,  pays.  Then  I  ask  him  what  right  has  he 
to  do  it,  and  what  does  he  mean  by  it,  and  how 
comes  he  to  be  taking  such  a  liberty  without  my 
consent,  when  I  am  raising  myself  in  the  scale 
of  society  by  my  own  exertions  and  Mr.  Head- 
stone's aid,  and  have  no  right  to  have  any  dark- 
ness cast  upon  my  prospects,  or  any  imputation 
upon  my  respectability  through  my  sister  ?" 

The  boyish  weakness  of  this  speech,  combined 
with  its  great  selfishness,  made  it  a  poor  one  in- 
deed. .  And  yet  Bradley  Headstone,  used  to  the 
little  audience  of  a  school,  and  unused  to  the 
larger  ways  of  men,  showed  a  kind  of  exultation 
in  it. 

"Now  I  tell  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn,"  pursued 
the  boy,  forced  into  the  use  of  the  third  person 
by  the  hopelessness  of  addressing  him  in  the  first, 
"that  I  object  to  his  having  any  acquaintance 
at  all  with  my  sister,  and  that  I  request  him  to 
drop  it  altogether.  He  is  not  to  take  it  into  his 
head  that  I  am  afraid  of  my  sister's  caring  for 
him — " 

(As  the  boy  sneered,  the  Master  sneered,  and 
Eugene  blew  off  the  feathery  ash  again.) 

— "  But  I  object  to  it,  and  that's  enough.  I 
am  more  important  to  my  sister  than  he  thinks. 
As  I  raise  myself,  I  intend  to  raise  her;  she 


134 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


knows  that,  and  she  has  to  look  to  me  for  her 
prospects.  Now  I  understand  all  this  very  well, 
and  so  does  Mr.  Headstone.  My  sister  is  an 
excellent  girl,  but  she  has  some  romantic  no- 
tions ;  not  about  such  things  as  your  Mr.  Eugene 
Wrayburns,  but  about  the  death  of  my  father 
and  other  matters  of  that  sort.  Mr.  Wrayburn 
encourages  those  notions  to  make  himself  of  im- 
portance, and  so  she  thinks  she  ought  to  be  grate- 
ful to  him,  and  perhaps  even  likes  to  be.  Now 
I  don't  choose  her  to  be  grateful  to  him,  or  to  be 
grateful  to  any  body  but  me,  except  Mr.  Head- 
stone.     And  I  tell  Mr.  Wrayburn  that  if  he 


don't  take  heed  of  what  I  say,  it  will  be  worse 
for  her.  Let  him  turn  that  over  in  his  mem- 
ory, and  make  sure  of  it.     Worse  for  her ! " 

A  pause  ensued,  in  which  the  schoolmaster 
looked  very  awkward. 

"May  I  suggest,  Schoolmaster,"  said  Eugene, 
removing  his  fast- waning  cigar  from  his  lips  to 
glance  at  it,  "that  you  can  now  take  your  pupil 
away." 

"And  Mr.  Lightwood,"  added  the  boy,  with 
a  burning  face,  under  the  flaming  aggravation 
of  getting  no  sort  of  answer  or  attention,  "  I 
hope  you'll  take  notice  of  what  I  have  said  to 


OUE  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


135 


your  friend,  and  of  what  your  friend  has  heard 
"me  say,  word  by  word,  whatever  he  pretends  to 
the  contrary.  You  are  bound  to  take  notice  of 
it,  Mr.  Lightwood,  for,  as  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, you  first  brought  your  friend  into  my 
sister's  company,  and  but  for  you  we  never 
should  have  seen  him.  Lord  knows  none  of  us 
ever  wanted  him,  any  more  than  any  of  us  will 
ever  miss  him.  Now,  Mr.  Headstone,  as  Mr. 
Eugene  Wrayburn  has  been  obliged  to  hear  what 
I  had  to  say,  and  couldn't  help  himself,  and  as 
I  have  said  it  out  to  the  last  word,  we  have  done 
all  we  wanted  to  do,  and  may  go." 

"Go  down  stairs,  and  leave  me  a  moment, 
Hexam,"  he  returned.  The  boy  complying  with 
an  indignant  look  and  as  much  noise  as  he  could 
make,  swung  out  of  the  room;  and  Lightwood 
went  to  the  window,  and  leaned  there,  looking 
out. 

"You  think  me  of  no  more  value  than  the 
dirt  under  your  feet,"  said  Bradley  to  Eugene, 
speaking  in  a  carefully  weighed  and  measured 
tone,  or  he  could  not  have  spoken  at  all. 

"I  assure  you,  Schoolmaster,"  replied  Eu- 
gene, "I  don't  think  about  you." 

"That's  not  true,"  returned  the  other;  "you 
know  better." 

"That's  coarse,"  Eugene  retorted;  "but  you 
don't  know  better." 

"  Mr.  Wrayburn,  at  least  I  know  very  well  that 
it  would  be  idle  to  set  myself  against  you  in  in- 
solent words  or  overbearing  manners.  That  lad 
who  has  just  gone  out  could  put  you  to  shame 
in  half  a  dozen  branches  of  knowledge  in  half 
an  hour,  but  you  can  throw  him  aside  like  an  in- 
ferior. You  can  do  as  much  by  me,  I  have  no 
doubt,  beforehand." 

"Possibly,"  remarked  Eugene. 

"But  I  am  more  than  a  lad,"  said  Bradley, 
with  his  clutching  hand,  "and  I  will  be  heard, 
Sir." 

"As  a  schoolmaster,"  said  Eugene,  "you  are 
always  being  heard.  That  ought  to  content 
you." 

"  But  it  does  not  content  me,"  replied  the  oth- 
er, white  with  passion.  "Do  you  suppose  that 
a  man,  in  forming  himself  for  the  duties  I  dis- 
charge, and  in  watching  and  repressing  himself 
daily  to  discharge  them  well,  dismisses  a  man's 
nature  ?" 

"I  suppose  you," said  Eugene,  "judging  from 
what  I  see  as  I  look  at  you,  to  be  rather  too  pas- 
sionate for  a  good  schoolmaster."  As  he  spoke, 
he  tossed  away  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

"Passionate  with  you,  Sir,  I  admit  I  am. 
Passionate  with  you,  Sir,  I  respect  myself  for 
being.     But  I  have  not  Devils  for  my  pupils." 

"For  your  Teachers,  I  should  rather  say," 
replied  Eugene. 

"  Mr.  Wrayburn." 

"Schoolmaster." 

"Sir,  my  name  is  Bradley  Headstone." 

"As  you  justly  said,  my  good  Sir,  your  name 
can  not  concern  me.     Now,  what  more?" 

"This  more.  Oh,  what  a  misfortune  is 
mine,"  cried  Bradley,  breaking  off  to  wipe  the 
starting  perspiration  from  his  face  as  he  shook 
from  head  to  foot,  "that  I  can  not  so  control 
myself  as  to  appear  a  stronger  creature  than  this, 
when  a  man  who  has  not  felt  in  all  his  life  what 
I  have  felt  in  a  day  can  so  command  himself!" 
He  said  it  in  a  very  agony,  and  even  followed  it 


with  an  errant  motion  of  his  hands  as  if  he  could 
have  torn  himself. 

Eugene  Wrayburn  looked  on  at  him,  as  if  he 
found  him  beginning  to  be  rather  an  entertain- 
ing study. 

"Mr.  Wrayburn,  I  desire  to  say  something 
to  you  on  my  own  part." 

"Come,  come,  Schoolmaster,"  returned  Eu- 
gene, with  a  languid  approach  to  impatience  as 
the  other  again  struggled  with  himself;  "say 
what  you  have  to  say.  And  let  me  remind  you 
that  the  door  is  standing  open,  and  your  young 
friend  waiting  for  you  on  the  stairs." 

"When  I  accompanied  that  youth  here,  Sir, 
I  did  so  with  the  purpose  of  adding,  as  a  man 
whom  you  should  not  be  permitted  to  put  aside, 
in  case  you  put  hirri  aside  as  a  boy,  that  his  in- 
stinct is  correct  and  right."  Thus  Bradley 
Headstone,  with  great  effort  and  difficulty. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Eugene. 

"No,  Sir,"  said  the  other,  flushed  and  fierce. 
"I  strongly  support  him  in  his  disapproval  of 
your  visits  to  his  sister,  and  in  his  objection  to 
your  officiousness  —  and  worse  —  in  what  you 
have  taken  upon  yourself  to  do  for  her." 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Eugene. 

"  No,  Sir.  I  determined  to  tell  you  that  you 
are  not  justified  in  these  proceedings,  and  that 
they  are  injurious  to  his  sister." 

"Are  you  her  schoolmaster  as  well  as  her 
brother's? — Or  perhaps  you  would  like  to  be?" 
said  Eugene. 

It  was  a  stab  that  the  blood  followed,  in  its 
rush  to  Bradley  Headstone's  face,  as  swiftly  as 
if  it  had  been  dealt  with  a  dagger.  "What  do 
you  mean  by  that?"  was  as  much  as  he  could 
utter. 

"A  natural  ambition  enough,"  said  Eugene, 
coolly.  "Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  otherwise. 
The  sister — who  is  something  too  much  upon 
your  lips,  perhaps — is  so  very  different  from  all 
the  associations  to  which  she  has  been  used,  and 
from  all  the  low  obscure  people  about  her,  that 
it  is  a  very  natural  ambition." 

"Do  you  throw  my  obscurity  in  my  teeth, 
Mr.  Wrayburn?" 

"That  can  hardly  be,  for  I  know  nothing  con- 
cerning it,  Schoolmaster,  and  seek  to  know  no- 
thing." 

"You  reproach  me  with  my  origin,"  said 
Bradley  Headstone;  "you  cast  insinuations  at 
my  bringing-up.  But  I  tell  you,  Sir,  I  have 
worked  my  way  onward,  out  of  both  and  in 
spite  of  both,  and  have  a  right  to  be  considered 
a  better  man  than  you,  with  better  reasons  for 
being  proud." 

"How  I  can  reproach  you  with  what  is  not 
within  my  knowledge,  or  how  I  can  cast  stones 
that  were  never  in  my  hand,  is  a  problem  for  the 
ingenuity  of  a  schoolmaster  to  prove,"  returned 
Eugene.     "Ismail?" 

"No,  Sir.     If  you  suppose  that  boy — " 

"Who  really  will  be  tired  of  waiting,"  said 
Eugene,  politely. 

"If  you  suppose  that  boy  to  be  friendless,  Mr. 
Wrayburn,  you  deceive  yourself.  I  am  his 
friend,  and  you  shall  find  me  so." 

"And  you  will  find  him  on  the  stairs,"  re- 
marked Eugene. 

"You  may  have  promised  yourself,  Sir,  that 
you  could  do  what  you  chose  here,  because  you 
had  to  deal  with  a  mere  boy,  inexperienced, 


136 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


friendless,  and  unassisted.  But  I  give  you  warn- 
ing that  this  mean  calculation  is  wrong.  You 
have  to  do  with  a  man  also.  You  have  to  do 
with  me.  I  will  support  him,  and,  if  need  be, 
require  reparation  for  him.  My  hand  and  heart 
are  in  this  cause,  and  are  open  to  him." 

"And  —  quite  a  coincidence  —  the  door  is 
open,"  remarked  Eugene. 

"I  scorn  your  shifty  evasions,  and  I  scorn 
you,"  said  the  schoolmaster.  "In  the  mean- 
ness of  your  nature  you  revile  me  with  the 
meanness  of  my  birth.  I  hold  you  in  contempt 
for  it.  But  if  you  don't  profit  by  this  visit,  and 
act  accordingly,  you  will  find  me  as  bitterly  in 
earnest  against  you  as  I  could  be  if  I  deemed 
you  worth  a  second  thought  on  my  own  ac- 
count." 

With  a  consciously  bad  grace  and  stiff  man- 
ner, as  Wrayburn  looked  so  easily  and  calmly 
on,  he' went  out  with  these  words,  and  the  heavy 
door  closed  like  a  furnace- door  upon  his  red  and 
white  heats  of  rage. 

"A  curious  monomaniac,"  said  Eugene. 
"The  man  seems  to  believe  that  every  body 
was  acquainted  with  his  mother !" 

Mortimer  Lightwood  being  still  at  the  win- 
dow, to  which  he  had  in  delicacy  withdrawn, 
Eugene  called  to  him,  and  he  fell  to  slowly  pac- 
ing the  room. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Eugene,  as  he  lighted 
another  cigar,  "I  fear  my  unexpected  visitors 
have  been  troublesome.  If  as  a  set-off  (excuse 
the  legal  phrase  from  a  barrister-at-law)  you 
would  like  to  ask  Tippins  to  tea,  I  pledge  my- 
self to  make  love  to  her." 

"Eugene,  Eugene,  Eugene,"  replied  Morti- 
mer, still  pacing  the  room,  "  I  am  sorry  for  this. 
And  to  think  that  I  have  been  so  blind !" 

"How  blind,  dear  boy?"  inquired  his  un- 
moved friend. 

"What  were  your  words  that  night  at  the 
river-side  public  house?"  said  Lightwood,  stop- 
ping. "  What  was  it  that  you  asked  me  ?  Did 
I  feel  like  a  dark  combination  of  traitor  and 
pickpocket  when  I  thought  of  that  girl?" 

"I  seem  to  remember  the  expression,"  said 
Eugene. 

"  How  do  you  feel  when  you  think  of  her  just 
now  ?" 

His  friend  made  no  direct  reply,  but  observed, 
after  a  few  whiffs  of  his  cigar,  "Don't  mistake 
the  situation.  There  is  no  better  girl  in  all  this 
London  than  Lizzie  Hexam.  There  is  no  bet- 
ter among  my  people  at  home  ;  no  better  among 
your  people." 

"Granted.    What  follows?" 

"There,"  said  Eugene,  looking  after  him  du- 
biously as  he  paced  away  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  "you  put  me  again  upon  guessing  the 
riddle  that  I  have  given  up." 

"Eugene,  do  you  design  to  capture  and  de- 
sert this  girl?" 

"My  dear  fellow,  no." 

"Do  you  design  to  marry  her?" 

"My  dear  fellow,  no." 

"Do  you  design  to  pursue  her?" 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  don't  design  any  thing. 
I  have  no  design  whatever.  I  am  incapable  of 
designs.  If  I  conceived  a  design  I  should  speed- 
ily abandon  it,  exhausted  by  the  operation." 

"Oh  Eugene,  Eugene!" 

"  My  dear  Mortimer,  not  that  tone  of  melan- 


choly reproach,  I  entreat.  What  can  I  do  more 
than  tell  you  all  I  know,  and  acknowledge  my 
ignorance  of  all  I  don't  know !  How  does  that 
little  old  song  go,  which,  under  pretense  of  being 
cheerful,  is  by  far  the  most  lugubrious  I  ever 
heard  in  my  life  ? 

'Away  with  melancholy, 
Nor  doleful  changes  ring 
On  life  and  human  folly, 
But  merrily,  merrily  sing 

Fal  la!' 

Don't  let  us  sing  Fal  la,  my  dear  Mortimer 
(which  is  comparatively  unmeaning),  but  let  us 
sing  that  we  give  up  guessing  the  riddle  alto- 
gether." 

"Are  you  in  communication  with  this  girl, 
Eugene,  and  is  what  these  people  say  true  ?"  , 

"'I  concede  both  admissions  to  my  honorable 
and  learned  friend." 

"Then  what  is  to  come  of  it  ?  What  are  you 
doing?     Where  are  you  going?" 

"My  dear  Mortimer,  one  would  think  the 
schoolmaster  had  left  behind  him  a  catechising 
infection.  You  are  ruffled  by  the  want  of  an- 
other cigar.  Take  one  of  these,  I  entreat. 
Light  it  at  mine,  which  is  in  perfect  order. 
So !  Now  do  me  the  justice  to  observe  that  I 
am  doing  all  I  can  toward  self-improvement, 
and  that  you  have  a  light  thrown  on  those 
household  implements  which,  when  you  only 
saw  them  as  in  a  glass  darkly,  you  were  hasti- 
ly— I  must  say  hastily — inclined  to  depreciate. 
Sensible  of  my  deficiencies,  I  have  surrounded 
myself  with  moral  influences  expressly  meant  to 
promote  the  formation  of  the  domestic  virtues, 
To  those  influences,  and  to  the  improving  soci- 
ety of  my  friend  from  boyhood,  commend  me 
with  your  best  wishes." 

"Ah,  Eugene!"  said  Lightwood,$affectionate- 
ly,  now  standing  near  him,  so  that  they  both 
stood  in  one  little  cloud  of  smoke;  "I  would 
that  you  answered  my  three  questions !  What 
is  to  come  of  it  ?  What  are  you  doing  f  Where 
are  you  going  ?" 

■'And  my  dear  Mortimer,"  returned  Eugene, 
lightly  fanning  away  the  smoke  with  his  hand 
for  the  better  exposition  of  his  frankness  of  face 
and  manner,  ' '  believe  me,  I  w^ould  answer  them, 
instantly  if  I  could.  But  to  enable  me  to  do  so, 
I  must  first  have  found  out  the  troublesome  co- 
nundrum long  abandoned.  Here  it  is.  Eugene 
Wrayburn."  Tapping  his  forehead  and  breast. 
"Riddle-me,  riddle-me-ree,  perhaps  you  can't 
tell  me  what  this  may  be  ? — No,  upon  my  life,  I 
can't.     I  give  it  up !" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN  WHICH  A  FRIENDLY  MOVE  IS  ORIGINATED. 

The  arrangement  between  Mr.  Boffin  and  his 
literary  man,  Mr.  Silas  Wegg,  so  far  altered  with 
the  altered  habits  of  Mr.  Boffin's  life,  as  that 
the  Roman  Empire  usually  declined  in  the  morn- 
ing and  in  the  eminently  aristocratic  family 
mansion,  rather  than  in  the  evening,  as  of  yore, 
and  in  Boffin's  Bower.  There  were  occasions, 
however,  when  Mr.  Boffin,  seeking  a  brief  ref- 
uge from  the  blandishments  of  fashion,  would 
present  himself  at  the  Bower  after  dark,  to  an- 
ticipate the  next  sallying  forth  of  Wegg,  and 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


137 


would  there,  on  the  old  settle,  pursue  the  down- 
ward fortunes  of  those  enervated  and  corrupted 
masters  of  the  world  who  were  by  this  time  on 
their  last  legs.  If  Wegg  had  been  worse  paid 
for  his  office,  or  better  qualified  to  discharge  it, 
he  would  have  considered  these  visits  compli- 
mentary and  agreeable;  but,  holding  the  posi- 
tion of  a  handsomely-remunerated  humbug,  he 
resented  them.  This  was  quite  according  to 
rule,  for  the  incompetent  servant,  by  whomsoev- 
er employed,  is  always  against  his  employer. 
Even  those  born  governors,  noble  and  right  hon- 
orable creatures,  who  have  been  the  most  imbe- 
cile in  high  places,  have  uniformly  shown  them- 
selves the  most  opposed  (sometimes  in  belying 
distrust,  sometimes  in  vapid  insolence)  to  their 
employer.  What  is  in  such  wise  true  of  the 
public  master  and  servant,  is  equally  true  of  the 
private  master  and  servant  all  the  world  over. 

When  Mr.  Silas  Wegg  did  at  last  obtain  free 
a'ccess  to  "  Our  House,"  as  he  had  been  wont  to 
call  the  mansion  outside  which  he  had  sat  shel- 
terless so  long,  and  when  he  did  at  last  find  it  in 
all  particulars  as  different  from  his  mental  plans 
of  it  as  according  to  the  nature  of  things  it  well 
could  be,  that  far-seeing  and  far-reaching  char- 
acter, by  way  of  asserting  himself  and  making 
out  a  case  for  compensation,  affected  to  fall  into 
a  melancholy  strain  of  musing  over  the  mournful 
past ;  as  if  the  house  and  he  had  had  a  fall  in 
life  together. 

"And  this,  Sir,"  Silas  would  say  to  his  patron, 
sadly  nodding  his  head  and  musing,  "was  once 
Our  House!  This,  Sir,  is  the  building  from 
which  I  have  so  often  seen  those  great  creatures, 
Miss  Elizabeth,  Master  George,  Aunt  Jane,  and 
Uncle  Parker" — whose  very  names  were  of  his 
own  inventing — "  pass  and  repass !  And  has  it 
come  to  this,  indeed  !     Ah  flear  me,  dear  me !" 

So  tender  were  his  lamentations,  that  the 
kindly  Mr.  Boffin  was  quite  sorry  for  him,  and 
almost  felt  mistrustful  that  in  buying  the  house 
he  had  done  him  an  irreparable  injury. 

Two  or  three  diplomatic  interviews,  the  result 
of  great  subtlety  on  Mr.  Wegg's  part,  but  assum- 
ing the  mask  of  careless  yielding  to  a  fortuitous 
combination  of  circumstances,  impelling  him  to- 
ward Clerkenwell,  had  enabled  him  to  complete 
his  bargain  with  Mr.  Venus. 

"Bring  me  round  to  the  Bower,"  said  Silas, 
when  the  bargain  was  closed,  "  next  Saturday 
evening,  and  if  a  sociable  glass  of  old  Jamaikey 
warm  should  meet  your  views,  I  am  not  the  man 
to  begrudge  it." 

"You  are  aware  of  my  being  poor  company, 
Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Venus  ;  "but  be  it  so." 

It  being  so,  here  is  Saturday  evening  come, 
and  here  is  Mr.  Venus  come,  and  ringing  at  the 
Bower- gate. 

Mr.  Wegg  opens  the  gate,  descries  a  sort  of 
brown  paper  truncheon  under  Mr.  Venus's  arm, 
and  remarks,  in  a  dry  tone:  "Oh!  I  thought 
perhaps  you  might  have  come  in  a  cab." 

"  No,  Mr.  Wegg,"  replies  Venus.  "  I  am  not 
above  a  parcel. " 

"Above  a  parcel!  No!"  says  Wegg,  with 
some  dissatisfaction.  But  does  not  openly  growl, 
"  a  certain  sort  of  parcel  might  be  above  you." 

"Here  is  your  purchase,  Mr.  Wegg,"  says 
Venus, politely  handing  it  over,  "and  I  am  glad 
to  restore  it  to  the  source  from  whence  it — 
flowed." 


"Thankee,"  says  Wegg.  "Now  this  affair 
is  concluded,  I  may  mention  to  you  in  a  friendly 
way  that  I've  my  doubts  whether,  if  I  had  con- 
sulted a  lawyer,  you  could  have  kept  this  arti- 
cle back  from  me.  I  only  throw  it  out  as  a 
legal  point." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Mr.  Wegg?  I  bought  you 
in  open  contract." 

"You  can't  buy  human  flesh  and  blood  in 
this  country,  Sir;  not  alive,  you  can't,"  says 
Wegg,  shaking  his  head.    "  Then  query,  bone  ?" 

"As  a  legal  point?"  asks  Venus. 

"As  a  legal  point." 

"  I  am  not  competent  to  speak  upon  that,  Mr. 
Wegg,''  says  Venus,  reddening,  and  growing 
something  louder ;  "  but  upon  a  point  of  fact  I 
think  myself  competent  to  speak ;  and  as  a  point 
of  fact  I  would  have  seen  you — will  you  allow 
me  to  say,  further?" 

"I  wouldn't  say  more  than  further,  if  I  was 
you,"  Mr.  Wegg  suggests,  pacifically. 

— "Before  I'd  have  given  that  packet  into 
your  hand  without  being  paid  my  price  for  it.  I 
don't  pretend  to  know  how  the  point  of  law  may 
stand,  but  I'm  thoroughly  confident  upon  the 
point  of  fact." 

As  Mr.  Venus  is  irritable  (no  doubt  owing  to 
his  disappointment  in  love),  and  as  it  is  hot  the 
cue  of  Mr.  Wegg  to  have  him  out  of  temper,  the 
latter  gentleman  soothingly  remarks,  "  I  only  put 
it  as  a  little  case ;  I  only  put  it  ha'porthetically." 

"  Then  I'd  rather,  Mr.  Wegg,  you  put  it  an- 
other time,  penn'orthetically,"  is  Mr.  Venus's  re- 
tort, "for  I  tell  you  candidly  I  don't  like  your 
little  cases." 

Arrived  by  this  time  in  Mr.  Wegg's  sitting- 
room,  made  bright  on  the  chilly  evening  by  gas- 
light and  fire,  Mr.  Venus  softens  and  compli- 
ments him  on  his  abode  ;  profiting  by  the  occa- 
sion to  remind  Wegg  that  he  (Venus)  told  him 
he  had  got  into  a  good  thing. 

"Tolerable,"  Wegg  rejoins.  "But  bear  in 
mind,  Mr.  Venus,  that  there's  no  gold  without 
its  alloy.  Mix  for  yourself,  and  take  a  seat  in 
the  chimbley-corner.  Will  you  perform  upon  a 
pipe,  Sir?" 

"  I  am  but  an  indifferent  performer,  Sir,"  re- 
turns the  other;  "but  I'll  accompany  you  with 
a  whiff  or  two  at  intervals." 

So,  Mr.  Venus  mixes,  and  Wegg  mixes  ;  and 
Mr.  Venus  lights  and  puffs,  and  Wegg  lights 
and  puffs. 

"And  there's  alloy  even  in  this  metal  of  yours, 
Mr.  Wegg,  you  was  remarking  ?" 

"Mystery,"  returns  Wegg.  "I  don't  like  it, 
Mr.  Venus.  I  don't  like  to  have  the  life  knocked 
out  of  former  inhabitants  of  this  house,  in  the 
gloomy  dark,  and  not  know  who  did  it." 

' '  Might  you  have  any  suspicions,  Mr.  Wegg  ?" 

"No,"  returns  that  gentleman.  "I  know  who 
profits  by  it.     But  I've  no  suspicions." 

Having  said  which,  Mr.  Wegg  smokes  and 
looks  at  the  fire  with  a  most  determined  expres- 
sion of  Charity ;  as  if  he  had  caught  that  car- 
dinal virtue  by  the  skirts  as  she  felt  it  her  pain- 
ful duty  to  depart  from  him,  and  held  her  by 
main  force. 

"Similarly,"  resumes  Wegg,  "I  have  obser- 
vations as  I  can  offer  upon  certain  points  and 
parties ;  but  I  make  no  objections,  Mr.  Venus. 
Here  is  an  immense  fortune  drops  from  the  clouds 
upon  a  person  that  shall  be  nameless.    Here  is 


138 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


a  weekly  allowance,  with  a  certain  weight  of 
coals,  drops  from  the  clouds  upon  me.  Which 
of  us  is  the  better  man  ?  Not  the  person  that 
shall  be  nameless.  That's  an  observation  of 
mine,  but  I  don't  make  it  an  objection.  I  take 
my  allowance  and  my  certain  weight  of  coals. 
He  takes  his  fortune.    That's  the  way  it  works." 

"It  would  be  a  good  thing  for  me  if  I  could 
see  things  in  the  calm  light  you  do,  Mr.  Wegg." 

"Again  look  here,"  pursues  Silas,  with  an 
oratorical  flourish  of  his  pipe  and  his  wooden 
leg:  the  latter  having  an  undignified  tendency 
to  tilt  him  back  in  his  chair;  "here's  another 
observation,  Mr.  Venus,  unaccompanied  with  an 
objection.  Him  that  shall  be  nameless  is  liable 
to  be  talked  over.  He  gets  talked  over.  Him 
that  shall  be  nameless,  having  me  at  his  right 
hand,  naturally  looking  to  be  promoted  higher, 
and  you  may  perhaps  say  meriting  to  be  pro- 
moted higher — " 

(Mr.  Venus  murmurs  that  he  does  say  so.) 

"  —  Him  that  shall  be  nameless,  under  such 
circumstances  passes  me  by,  and  puts  a  talking- 
over  stranger  above  my  head.  Which  of  us  two 
is  the  better  man  ?  Which  of  us  two  can  repeat 
most  poetry  ?  Which  of  us  two  has,  in  the  serv- 
ice of  him  that  shall  be  nameless,  tackled  the 
Romans,  both  civil  and  military,  till  he  has  got 
as  husky  as  if  he'd  been  weaned  and  ever  since 
brought  up  on  saw-dust  ?  Not  the  talking-over 
stranger.  Yet  the  house  is  as  free  to  him  as  if 
it  was  his,  and. he  has  his  room,  and  is  put  upon 
a  footing,  and  draws  about  a  thousand  a  year. 
I  am  banished  to  the  Bower,  to  be  found  in  it 
like  a  piece  of  furniture  whenever  wanted.  Mer- 
it, therefore,  don't  win.  That's  the  way  it  works. 
I  observe  it,  because  I  can't  help  observing  it, 
being  accustomed  to  take  a  powerful  sight  of 
notice ;  but  I  don't  object.  Ever  here  before, 
Mr.  Venus?" 

"  Not  inside  the  gate,  Mr.  Wegg." 

"You've  been  as  far  as  the  gate  then,  Mr. 
Venus  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Wegg,  and  peeped  in  from  curi- 
osity." 

"Did  you  see  any  thing?" 

"Nothing  but  the  dust-yard." 

Mr.  Wegg  rolls  his  eyes  all  round  the  room, 
in  that  ever  unsatisfied  quest  of  his,  and  then 
rolls  his  eyes  all  round  Mr.  Venus ;  as  if  sus- 
picious of  his  having  something  about  him  to  be 
found  out. 

"And  yet,  Sir,"  he  pursues,  "  being  acquaint- 
ed with  old  Mr.  Harmon,  one  would  have  thought 
it  might  have  been  polite  in  you,  too,  to  give  him 
a  call.  And  you're  naturally  of  a  polite  dispo- 
sition, you  are."  This  last  clause-  as  a  softening 
compliment  to  Mr.  Venus. 

"It  is  true,  Sir,"  replies  Venus,  winking  his 
weak  eyes,  and  running  his  fingers  through  his 
dusty  shock  of  hair,  "that  I  was  so,  before  a 
certain  observation  soured  me.  You  understand 
to  what  I  allude,  Mr.  Wegg  ?  To  a  certain  writ- 
ten statement  respecting  not  wishing  to  be  re- 
garded in  a  certain  light.  Since  that  all  is  fled, 
save  gall." 

"Not  all,"  says  Mr.  Wegg,  in  a  tone  of  sen- 
timental condolence. 

"Yes,  Sir,"  returns  Venus,  "all!  The  world 
may  deem  it  harsh,  but  I'd  quite  as  soon  pitch 
into  my  best  friend  as  not.  Indeed,  I'd  soon- 
er !" 


Involuntarily  making  a  pass  with  his  wooden 
leg  to  guard  himself  as  Mr.  Venus  springs  up 
in  the  emphasis  of  this  unsociable  declaration, 
Mr.  Wegg  tilts  over  on  his  back,  chair  and  all, 
and  is  rescued  by  that  harmless  misanthrope  in 
a  disjointed  state,  and  ruefully  rubbing  his  head. 

"Why,  you  lost  your  balance,  Mr.  Wegg," 
says  Venus,  handing  him  his  pipe. 

"And  about  time  to  do  it,"  grumbles  Silas, 
"when  a  man's  visitors,  without  a  word  of  no- 
tice, conduct  themselves  with  the  sudden  wicious- 
ness  of  Jacks-in-boxes !  Don't  come  flying  out 
of  your  chair  like  that,  Mr.  Venus !" 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  Mr.  Wegg.  I  am  so 
soured." 

"Yes,  but  hang  it,"  says  Wegg,  argumenta- 
tively,  "a  well-governed  mind  can  be  soured 
sitting!  And  as  to  being  regarded  in  lights, 
there's  bumpey  lights  as  well  as  bony.  In  which," 
again  rubbing  his  head,  "  I  object  to  regard  my- 
self." 

"  I'll  bear  it  in  memory,  Sir." 

"If  you'll  be  so  good."  Mr.  Wegg  slowly 
subdues  his  ironical  tone  and  his  lingering  irri- 
tation, and  resumes  his  pipe.  "  We  were  talk- 
ing of  old  Mr.  Harmon  being  a  friend  of  yours." 

"Not  a  friend,  Mr.  Wegg.  Only  known  to 
speak  to,  and  to  have  a  little  deal  with  now  and 
then.  A  very  inquisitive  character,  Mr.  Wegg, 
regarding  what  was  found  in  the  dust.  As  in- 
quisitive as  secret." 

"Ah !  You  found  him  secret  ?"  returns  Wegg, 
with  a  greedy  relish. 

"  He  had  always  the  look  of  it,  and  the  man- 
ner of  it." 

"Ah!"  with  another  roll  of  his-eyes.  "As 
to  what  was  found  in  the  dust  now.  Did  you 
ever  hear  him  mention  how  he  found  it,  my  dear 
friend  ?  Living  on  the  mysterious  premises,  one 
would  like  to  know.  For  instance,  where  he 
found  things?  Or,  for  instance,  how  he  set 
about  it  ?  Whether  he  began  at  the  top  of  the 
mounds,  or  whether  he  began  at  the  bottom. 
Whether  he  prodded;"  Mr.Wegg's  pantomime 
is  skillful  and  expressive  here ;  "or  whether  he 
scooped  ?  Should  you  say  scooped,  my  dear  Mr. 
Venus;  or  should  you — as  a  man — say  prod- 
ded?" 
'  "  I  should  say  neither,  Mr.  Wegg." 

"As  a  fellow-man,  Mr.  Venus — mix  again — 
why  neither?" 

"  Because  I  suppose,  Sir,  that  what  was  found 
was  found  in  the  sorting  and  sifting.  All  the 
mounds  are  sorted  and  sifted  ?" 

"You  shall  see  'em  and  pass  your  opinion. 
Mix  again." 

On  each  occasion  of  his  saying  "  mix  again," 
Mr.  Wegg,  with  a  hop  on  his  wooden  leg,  hitch- 
es his  chair  a  little  nearer ;  more  as  if  he  were 
proposing  that  himself  and  Mr.  Venus  should 
mix  again,  than  that  they  should  replenish  their 
glasses. 

"  Living  (as  I  said  before)  on  the  mysterious 
premises,"  says  Wegg  when  the  other  has  acted 
on  his  hospitable  entreaty,  "one  likes  to  know. 
Would  you  be  inclined  to  say  now — as  a  brother 
— that  he  ever  hid  things  in  the  dust,  as  well  as 
found  'em  ?" 

"Mr.  Wegg,  on  the  whole  I  should  say  he 
might." 

Mr,  Wegg  claps  on  his  spectacles,  and  ad- 
miringly surveys  Mr.  Venus  from  head  to  foot. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


139 


"As  a  mortal  equally  with  myself,  whose 
hand  I  take  in  mine  for  the  first  time  this  day, 
having  unaccountably  overlooked  that  act  so  full 
of  boundless  confidence  binding  a  fellow-creetur 
to  a  fellow-creetur,"  says  Wegg,  holding  Mr. 
Venus's  palm  out,  flat  and  ready  for  smiting, 
and  now  smiting  it ;  "as  such — and  no  other — 
for  I  scorn  all  lowlier  ties  betwixt  myself  and  the 
man  walking  with  his  face  erect  that  alone  I  call 
my  Twin — regarded  and  regarding  in  this  trust- 
ful bond — what  do  you  think  he  might  have 
hid?" 

"It  is  but  a  supposition,  Mr.  Wegg." 

"As  a  Being  with  his  hand  upon  his  heart," 
cries  Wegg;  and  the  apostrophe  is  not  the  less 
impressive  for  the  Being's  hand  being  actually 
upon  his  rum  and  water ;  "put  your  supposition 
into  language,  and  bring  it  out,  Mr.  Venus!" 

"He  was  the  species  of  old  gentleman,  Sir," 
slowly  returns  that  practical  anatomist,  after 
drinking,  "that  I  should  judge  likely  to  take 
such  opportunities  as  this  place  offered,  of  stow- 
ing away  money,  valuables,  maybe  papers." 

"  As  one  that  was  ever  an  ornament  to  human 
life,"  says  Mr.  Wegg,  again  holding  out  Mr. 
Venus's  palm  as  if  he  were  going  to  tell  his  for- 
tune by  chiromancy,  and  holding  his  own  up 
ready  for  smiting  it  when  the  time  should  come ; 
"as  one  that  the  poet  might  have  had  his  eye 
on  in  writing  the  national  naval  words : 

Helm  a-weather,  now  lay  her  close, 

Yard  arm  and  yard  arm  she  lies; 
Again,  cried  I,  Mr.  Venus,  give  her  t'other  dose, 

Man  shrouds  and  grapple,  Sir,  or  she  flies! 

— that  is  to  say,  regarded  in  the  light  of  true 
British  Oak,  for  such  you  are — explain,  Mr. 
Venus,  the  expression  '  papers' ! " 

"  Seeing  that  the  old  gentleman  was  generally 
cutting  off  some  near  relation,  or  blocking  out 
some  natural  affection,"  Mr.  Venus  rejoins,  "he 
most  likely  made  a  good  many  wills  and  Cod- 
icils." 

The  palm  of  Silas  Wegg  descends  with  a 
sounding  smack  upon  the  palm  of  Venus,  and 
Wegg  lavishly  exclaims,  "  Twin  in  opinion  equal- 
ly with  feeling !     Mix  a  little  more  !" 

Having  now  hitched  his  wooden  leg  and  his 
chair  close  in  front  of  Mr.  Venus,  Mr.  Wegg  rap- 
idly mixes  for  both,  gives  his  visitor  his  glass, 
touches  its  rim  with  the  rim  of  his  own,  puts  his 
own  to  his  lips,  puts  it  down,  and  spreading  his 
hands  on  his  visitor's  knees  thus  addresses  him : 

"  Mr.  Venus.  It  ain't  that  I  object  to  being 
passed  over  for  a  stranger,  though  I  regard  the 
stranger  as  a  more  than  doubtful  customer.  It 
ain't  for  the  sake  of  making  money,  though  mon- 
ey is  ever  welcome.  It  ain't  for  myself,  though 
I  am  not  so  haughty  as  to  be  above  doing  my- 
self a  good  turn.     It's  for  the  cause  of  the  right." 

Mr.  Venus,  passively  winking  his  weak  eyes 
both  at  once,  demands:  "What  is,  Mr.  Wegg?" 

"  The  friendly  move,  Sir,  that  I  now  pi-opose. 
You  see  the  move,  Sir?" 

"  Till  you  have  pointed  it  out,  Mr.  Wegg,  I 
can't  say  whether  I  do  or  not." 

"If  there  is  any  thing  to  be  found  on  these 
premises,  let  us  find  it  together.  Let  us  make 
the  friendly  move  of  agreeing  to  look  for  it  to- 
gether. Let  us  make  the  friendly  move  of  agree- 
ing to  share  the  profits  of  it  equally  betwixt  us. 
In  the  cause  of  the  right."  Thus  Silas  assuming 
a  noble  air. 


"Then,"  says  Mr.  Venus,  looking  up,  after 
meditating  with  his  hair  held  in  his  hands,  as  if 
he  could  only  fix  his  attention  by  fixing  his  head ; 
"if  any  thing  was  to  be  unburied  from  under  the 
dust,  it  would  be  kept  a  secret  by  you  and  me? 
Would  that  be  it,  Mr.  Wegg  ?" 

"That  would  depend  upon  what  it  was,  Mr. 
Venus.  Say  it  was  money,  or  plate,  or  jewelry, 
it  would  be  as  much  ours  as  any  body  else's." 

Mr.  Venus  rubs  an  eyebrow,  interrogatively. 

"  In  the  cause  of  the  right  it  would.  Because 
it  would  be  unknowingly  sold  with  the  mounds 
else,  and  the  buyer  would  get  what  he  was  never 
meant  to  have,  and  never  bought.  And  what 
would  that  be,  Mr.  Venus,  but  the  cause  of  the 
wrong  ?" 

"  Say  it  was  papers,"  Mr.  Venus  propounds. 

"  According  to  what  they  contained  we  should 
offer  to  dispose  of  'em  to  the  parties  most  inter- 
ested," replies  Wegg,  promptly. 

"In  the  cause  of  the  right,  Mr.  Wegg?" 

*  *  Always  so,  Mr.  Venus.  If  the  parties  should 
use  them  in  the  cause  of  the  wrong,  that  would 
be  their  act  and  deed.  Mr.  Venus.  I  have  an 
opinion  of  you,  Sir,  to  which  it  is  not  easy  to  give 
mouth.  Since  I  called  upon  you  that  evening 
when  you  were,  as  I  may  say,  floating  your  pow- 
erful mind  in  tea,  I  have  felt  that  you  required 
to  be  roused  with  an  object.  In  this  friendly 
move,  Sir,  you  will  have  a  glorious  object  to  rouse 
you." 

Mr.  Wegg  then  goes  on  to  enlarge  upon  what 
throughout  has  been  uppermost  in  his  crafty 
mind : — the  qualifications  of  Mr.  Venus  for  such 
a  search.  He  expatiates  on  Mr.  Venus's  patient 
habits  and  delicate  manipulation ;  on  his  skill  in 
piecing  little  things  together;  on  his  knowledge 
of  various  tissues  and  textures;  on  the  likelihood 
of  small  indications  leading  him  on  to  the  discov- 
ery of  great  concealments.  "While  as  to  my- 
self," says  Wegg,  "I  am  not  good  at  it.  Wheth- 
er I  gave  myself  up  to  prodding,  or  whether  I 
gave  myself  up  to  scooping,  I  couldn't  do  it  with 
that  delicate  touch  so  as  not  to  show  that  I  was 
disturbing  the  mounds.  Quite  different  with 
you,  going  to  work  (as  you  would)  in  the  light  of 
a  fellow-man,  holily  pledged  in  a  friendly  move 
to  his  brother  man."  Mr.  Wegg  next  modestly 
remarks  on  the  want  of  adaptation  in  a  wooden 
leg  to  ladders  and  such  like  airy  perches,  and 
also  hints  at  an  inherent  tendency  in  that  timber 
fiction,  when  called  into  action  for  the  purposes 
of  a  promenade  on  an  ashy  slope,  to  stick  itself 
into  the  yielding  foothold,  and  peg  its  owner  to 
one  spot.  Then,  leaving  this  part  of  the  subject, 
he  remarks  on  the  special  phenomenon  that  be- 
fore his  installation  in  the  Bower,  it  was  from 
Mr.  Venus  that  he  first  heard  of  the  legend  of 
hidden  wealth  in  the  Mounds  :  "which,"  he  ob- 
serves with  a  vaguely  pious  air,  "was  surely 
never  meant  for  nothing."  Lastly,  he  returns 
to  the  cause  of  the  right,  gloomily  foreshadow- 
ing the  possibility  of  something  being  unearthed 
to  criminate  Mr.  Boffin  (of  whom  he  once  more 
candidly  admits  it  can  not  be  denied  that  he 
profits  by  a  murder),  and  anticipating  his  de- 
nunciation by  the  friendly  movers  to  avenging 
justice.  And  this,  Mr.  Wegg  expressly  points 
out,  not  at  all  for  the  sake  of  the  reward — though 
it  would  be  a  want  of  principle  not  to  take  it. 

To  all  this,  Mr.  Venus,  with  his  shock  of  dusty 
hair  cocked  after  the  manner  of  a  terrier's  ears, 


140 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


attends  profoundly.  When  Mr.  Wegg,  having 
finished,  opens  his  arms  wide,  as  if  to  show  Mr. 
Venus  how  bare  his  breast  is,  and  then  folds 
them  pending  a  reply,  Mr.  Venus  winks  at  him 
with  both  eyes  some  little  time  before  speaking. 

"I  see  you  have  tried  it  by  yourself,  Mr. 
Wegg,"  he  says  when  he  does  speak.  "You 
have  found  out  the  difficulties  by  experience." 

"No,  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  I  have  tried 
it,"  replies  Wegg,  a  little  dashed  by  the  hint. 
"I  have  just  skimmed  it.     Skimmed  it." 

"And  found  nothing  besides  the  difficulties ?" 

Wegg  shakes  his  head. 

"I  scarcely  know  what  to  say  to  this,  Mr. 
Wegg,"  observes  Venus,  after  ruminating  for  a 
while. 

"  Say  yes,"  Wegg  naturally  urges. 

"If  I  wasn't  soured,  my  answer  would  be  no. 
But  being  soured,  Mr.  Wegg,  and  driven  to 
reckless  madness  and  desperation,  I  suppose  it's 
Yes." 

Wegg  joyfully  reproduces  the  two  glasses,  re- 
peats the  ceremony  of  clinking  their  rims,  and 
inwardly  drinks  with  great  heartiness  to  the 
health  and  success  in  life  of  the  young  lady  who 
has  reduced  Mr.  Venus  to  his  present  conven- 
ient state  of  mind. 

The  articles  of  the  friendly  move  are  then 
severally  recited  and  agreed  upon.  They  are 
but  secrecy,  fidelity,  and  perseverance.  The 
Bower  to  be  always  free  of  access  to  Mr.  Venus 
for  his  researches,  and  every  precaution  to  be 
taken  against  their  attracting  observation  in  the 
neighborhood. 

"There's  a  footstep !"  exclaims  Venus. 

"Where?"  cries  Wegg,  starting. 

"Outside.     St!" 

They  are  in  the  act  of  ratifying  the  treaty  of 
friendly  move,  by  shaking  hands  upon  it.  They 
softly  break  off,  light  their  pipes  which  have 
gone  out,  and  lean  back  in  their  chairs.  No 
doubt,  a  footstep.  It  approaches  the  window, 
and  a  hand  taps  at  the  glass.  "Come  in!" 
calls  Wegg ;  meaning  come  round  by  the  door. 
But  the  heavy  old-fashioned  sash  is  slowly  raised, 
and  a  head  slowly  looks  in  out  of  the  dark  back- 
ground of  night. 

"Fray  is  Mr.  Silas  Wegg  here?  Oh!  I  see 
him!" 

The  friendly  movers  might  not  have  been 
quite  at  their  ease,  even  though  the  visitor  had 
entered  in  the  usual  manner.  But*  leaning  on 
the  breast-high  window,  and  staring  in  out  of 
the  darkness,  they  find  the  visitor  extremely 
embarrassing.  Especially  Mr.  Venus :  who  re- 
moves his  pipe,  draws  back  his  head,  and  stares 
at  the  starer,  as  if  it  were  his  own  Hindoo  baby 
come  to  fetch  him  home. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Wegg.  The  yard  gate- 
lock  should  be  looked  to,  if  you  please ;  it  don't 
catch." 

"Is  it  Mr.  Rokesmith?"  falters  Wegg. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Rokesmith.  Don't  let  me  disturb 
you.  I  am  not  coming  in.  I  have  only  a  mes- 
sage for  you,  which  I  undertook  to  deliver  on 
my  way  home  to  my  lodgings.  I  was  in  two 
minds  about  coming  beyond  the  gate  without 
ringing :  not  knowing  but  you  might  have  a 
dog  about." 

"I  wish  I  had,"  mutters  Wegg,  with  his  back 
turned  as  he  rose  from  his  chair.  " St!  Hush ! 
The  talking-over  stranger,  Mr.  Venus." 


"Is  that  any  one  I  know?"  inquires  the  star- 
ing Secretary. 

"  No,  Mr.  Rokesmith.  Friend  of  mine.  Pass- 
ing the  evening  with  me." 

"Oh!  I  beg  his  pardon.  Mr.  Boffin  wishes 
you  to  know  that  he  does  not  expect  you  to  stay 
at  home  any  evening,  on  the  chance  of  his  com- 
ing.^ It  has  occurred  to  him  that  he  may,  with- 
out intending  it,  have  been  a  tie  upon  you.  In 
future,  if  he  should  come  without  notice,  he  will 
take  his  chance  of  finding  you,  and  it  will  be  all 
the  same  to  him  if  he  does  not.  I  undertook  to 
tell  you  on  my  way.     That's  all." 

With  that,  and  "Good-night,"  the  Secretary 
lowers  the  window,  and  disappears.  They  list- 
en, and  hear  his  footsteps  go  back  to  the  gate, 
and  hear  the  gate  close  after  him. 

"And  for  that  individual,  Mr.  Venus,"  re- 
marks Wegg,  when  he  is  fully  gone,  "i"  have 
been  passed  over !  Let  me  ask  you  what  you 
think  of  him  ?" 

Apparently,  Mr.  Venus  does  not  know  what 
to  think  of  him,  for  he  makes  sundry  efforts  to 
reply,  without  delivering  himself  of  any  other 
articulate  utterance  than  that  he  has  "a  singu- 
lar look." 

"A  double  look,  you  mean,  Sir,"  rejoins 
Wegg,  playing  bitterly  upon  the  word.  "That's 
his  look.  Any  amount  of  singular  look  for  me, 
but  not  a  double  look !  That's  an  underhanded 
mind,  Sir." 

"Do you  say  there's  something  against  him ?" 
Venus  asks. 

"Something  against  him?"  repeats  Wegg. 
"  Something  ?  What  would  the  relief  be  to  my 
feelings — as  a  fellow-man — if  I  wasn't  the  slave 
of  truth,  and  didn't  feel  myself  compelled  to  an- 
swer, Every  thing !" 

See  into  what  wonderful  maudlin  refuges 
featherless  ostriches  plunge  their  heads !  It  is 
such  unspeakable  moral  compensation  to  Wegg 
to  be  overcome  by  the  consideration  that  Mr. 
Rokesmith  has  an  underhanded  mind ! 

"On  this  starlight  night,  Mr.  Venus,"  he  re- 
marks, when  he  is  showing  that  friendly  mover 
out  across  the  yard,  and  both  are  something  the 
worse  for  mixing  again  and  again  :  "  on  this 
starlight  night  to  think  that  talking-over  stran- 
gers, and  underhanded  minds,  can  go  walk- 
ing home  under  the  sky,  as  if  they  was  all 
square!" 

"The  spectacle  of  those  orbs,"  says  Mr.  Ve- 
nus, gazing  upward  with  his  hat  tumbling  off, 
"brings  heavy  on  me  her  crushing  words  that 
she  did  not  wish  to  regard  herself  nor  yet  to  be 
regarded  in  that — " 

"I  know !  I  know !  You  needn't  repeat  'em," 
says  Wegg,  pressing  his  hand.  "  But  think  how 
those  stars  steady  me  in  the  cause  of  the  right 
against  some  that  shall  be  nameless.  It  isn't 
that  I  bear  malice.  But  see  how  they  glisten 
with  old  remembrances !  Old  remembrances 
of  what,  Sir  ?" 

Mr.  Venus  begins  drearily  replying,  "  Of  her 
words,  in  her  own  handwriting,  that  she  does 
not  wish  to  regard  herself,  nor  yet — "  when 
Silas  cuts  him  short  with  dignity. 

"No,  Sir!  Remembrances  of  Our  House, 
of  Master  George,  of  Aunt  Jane,  of  Uncle  Park- 
er, all  laid  waste  !  All  offered  up  sacrifices  to 
the  minion  of  fortune  and  the  worm  of  the 
hour!" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


141 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


IN   WHICH  AN   INNOCENT  ELOPEMENT  OCCURS. 

The  minion  of  fortune  and  the  worm  of  the 
hour,  or  in  less  cutting  language,  Nicodemus 
Boffin,  Esquire,  the  Golden  Dustman,  had  be- 
come as  much  at  home  in  his  eminently  aristo- 
cratic family  mansion  as  he  was  likely  ever  to 
be.  He  could  not  but  feel  that,  like  an  em- 
inently aristocratic  family  cheese,  it  was  much 
too  large  for  his  wants,  and  bred  an  infinite 
amount  of  parasites ;  but  he  was  content  to  re- 
gard this  drawback  on  his  property  as  a  sort 
of  perpetual  Legacy  Duty.  He  felt  the  more 
resigned  to  it,  forasmuch  as  Mrs.  Boffin  enjoy- 
ed herself  completely,  and  Miss  Bella  was  de- 
lighted. 

That  young  lady  was,  no  doubt,  an  acquisition 
to  the  Boffins.  She  was  far  too  pretty  to  be  un- 
attractive any  where,  and  far  too  quick  of  per- 
ception to  be  below  the  tone  of  her  new  career. 
Whether  it  improved  her  heart  might  be  a  mat- 
ter of  taste  that  was  open  to  question ;  but  as 
touching  another  matter  of  taste,  its  improve- 
ment of  her  appearance  and  manner,  there  could 
be  no  question  whatever. 

And  thus  it  soon  came  about  that  Miss  Bella 
began  to  set  Mrs.  Boffin  right;  and  even  fur- 
ther, that  Miss  Bella  began  to  feel  ill  at  ease, 
and  as  it  were  responsible,  when  she  saw  Mrs. 
Boffin  going  wrong.  Not  that  so  sweet  a  dispo- 
sition and  so  sound  a  nature  could  ever  go  very 
wrong  even  among  the  great  visiting  authorities 
who  agreed  that  the  Boffins  were  "charmingly 
vulgar"  (which  for  certain  was  not  their  own 
case  in  saying  so),  but  that  when  she  made  a  slip 
on  the  social  ice  on  which  all  the  children  of" 
Podsnappery,  with  genteel  souls  to  be  saved,  are 
required  to  skate  in  circles,  or  to  slide  in  long 
rows,  she  inevitably  tripped  Miss  Bella  up  (so 
that  young  lady  felt),  and  caused  her  to  experi- 
ence great  confusion  under  the  glances  of  the 
more  skillful  performers  engaged  in  those  ice- 
exercises. 

At  Miss  Bella's  time  of  life  it  was  not  to  be 
expected  that  she  should  examine  herself  very 
closely  on  the  congruity  or  stability  of  her  posi- 
tion in  Mr.  Boffin's  house.  And  as  she  had 
never  been  sparing  of  complaints  of  her  old 
home  when  she  had  no  other  to  compare  it 
with,  so  there  was  no  novelty  of  ingratitude  or 
disdain  in  her  very  much  preferring  her  new 
one. 

"An  invaluable  man  is  Rokesmith,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  after  some  two  or  three  months.  "But 
I  can't  quite  make  him  out." 

Neither  could  Bella,  so  she  found  the  subject 
rather  interesting. 

"He  takes  more  care  of  my  affairs,  morning, 
noon,  and  night,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "than  fifty 
other  men  put  together  either  could  or  would ; 
and  yet  he  has  ways  of  his  own  that  are  like  ty- 
ing a  scaffolding  pole  right  across  the  road,  and 
bringing  me  up  short  when  I  am  almost  a-walk- 
ing  arm  in  arm  with  him." 

"May  I  ask  how  so,  Sir?"  inquired  Bella. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "he  won't 
meet  any  company  here  but  you.  When  we 
have  visitors,  I  should  wish  him  to  have  his  reg- 
ular place  at  the  table  like  ourselves ;  but  no,  he 
won't  take  it." 

"If  he  considers  himself  above  it,"  said  Miss 


Bella,  with  an  airy  toss  of  her  head,  "I  should 
leave  him  alone." 

"It  ain't  that,  my  dear,"  replied  Mr.  Boffin, 
thinking  it  over.  "He  don't  consider  himself 
above  it." 

"Perhaps  he  considers  himself  beneath  it," 
suggested  Bella.  "If  so,  he  ought  to  know 
best." 

"No,  my  dear;  nor  it  ain't  that,  neither. 
No,"  repeated  Mr.  Boffin,  with  a  shake  of  his 
head,  after  again  thinking  it  over :  "  Rokesmith's 
a  modest  man,  but  he  don't  consider  himself  be- 
neath it." 

"Then  what  does  he  consider  it,  Sir?"  asked 
Bella. 

"Dashed  if  I  know!"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "It 
seemed  at  first  as  if  it  was  only  Lightwood  that 
he  objected  to  meet.  And  now  it  seems  to  be 
every  body,  except  you." 

"Oho!"  thought  Miss  Bella.  "In-deed! 
That's  it,  is  it!"  For  Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood 
had  dined  there  two  or  three  times,  and  she  had 
met  him  elsewhere,  and  he  had  shown  her  some 
attention.  "Rather  cool  in  a  Secretary — and 
Pa's  lodger — to  make  me  the  subject  of  his  jeal- 
ousy ! " 

That  Pa's  daughter  should  be  so  contemptu- 
ous of  Pa's  lodger  was  odd  ;  but  there  were  odder 
anomalies  than  that  in  the  mind  of  the  spoilt 
girl :  the  doubly  spoilt  girl :  spoilt  first  by  pov- 
erty, and  then  by  wealth.  Be  it  this  history's 
part,  however,  to  leave  them  to  unravel  them- 
selves. 

"A  little  too  much,  I  think,"  Miss  Bella  re- 
flected scornfully,  "  to  have  Pa's  lodger  laying 
claim  to  me,  and  keeping  eligible  people  off!  A 
little  too  much,  indeed,  to  have  the  opportunities 
opened  to  me  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  appropri- 
ated by  a  mere  Secretary  and  Pa's  lodger !" 

Yet  it  was  not  so  very  long  ago  that  Bella  had 
been  fluttered  by  the  discovery  that  this  same 
Secretary  and  lodger  seemed  to  like  her.  Ah ! 
but  the  eminently  aristocratic  mansion  and  Mrs. 
Boffin's  dress-maker  had  not  come  into  play  then. 

In  spite  of  his  seemingly  retiring  manners  a 
very  intrusive  person,  this  Secretary  and  lodger, 
in  Miss  Bella's  opinion.  Always  a  light  in  his 
office-room  when  we  came  home  from  the  play 
or  Opera,  and  he  always  at  the  carriage-door  to 
hand  us  out.  Always  a  provoking  radiance  too 
on  Mrs.  Boffin's  face,  and  an  abominably  cheer- 
ful reception  of  him,  as  if  it  were  possible  seri- 
ously to  approve  what  the  man  had  in  his  mind! 

"  You  never  charge  me,  Miss  Wilfer,"  said  the 
Secretary,  encountering  her  by  chance  alone  in 
the  great  drawing-room,  "with  commissions  for 
home.  I  shall  always  be  happy  to  execute  any 
commands  you  may  have  in  that  direction." 

"  Pray  what  may  you  mean,  Mr.  Rokesmith  ?" 
inquired  Miss  Bella,  with  languidly  drooping  eye- 
lids. 

"By  home?  I  mean  your  father's  house  at 
Holloway." 

She  colored  under  the  retort — so  skillfully 
thrust,  that  the  words  seemed  to  be  merely  a 
plain  answer,  given  in  plain  good  faith  —  and 
said,  rather  more  emphatically  and  sharply : 

"What  commissions  and  commands  are  you 
speaking  of?" 

."Only  such  little  words  of  remembrance  as  I 
assume  you  send  somehow  or  other,"  replied  the 
Secretary  with  his  former  air.     "It  would  be  a 


142 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


pa's  lodgek,  and  pa's  daughter: 


pleasure  to  me  if  you  would  make  me  the  bearer 
of  them.  As  you  know,  I  come  and  go  between 
the  two  houses  every  day." 

"You  needn't  remind  me  of  that,  Sir." 

She  was  too  quick  in  this  petulant  sally  against 
"Pa's  lodger;"  and  she  felt  that  she  had  been 
so  when  she  met  his  quiet  look. 

"They  don't  send  many — what  was  your  ex- 
pression?— words  of  remembrance  to  me,"  said 
Bella,  making  haste  to  take  refuge  in  ill  usage. 

"They  frequently  ask  me  about  you,  and  I 
give  them  such  slight  intelligence  as  I  can." 

"I  hope  it's  truly  given,"  exclaimed  Bella. 

"I  hope  you  can  not  doubt  it,  for  it  would  be 
very  much  against  you,  if  you  could." 

"No,  I  do  not  doubt  it.     I  deserve  the  re- 


proach, which  is  very  just  indeed.  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mr.  Rokesmith." 

"I  should  beg  you  not  to  do  so,  but  that  it 
shows  you  to  such  admirable  advantage,"  he  re- 
plied with  earnestness.  "Forgive  me ;  I  could 
not  help  saying  that.  To  return  to  what  I  have 
digressed  from,  let  me  add  that  perhaps  they 
think  I  report  them  to  you,  deliver  little  mes- 
sages, and  the  like.  But  I  forbear  to  trouble 
you,  as  you  never  ask  me." 

"I  am  going,  Sir,"  said  Bella,  looking  at  him 
as  if  he  had  reproved  her,  "  to  see  them  to-mor- 
row." 

"Is  that,"  he  asked,  hesitating,  "said  to  me, 
or  to  them?" 

"To  which  you  please." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


143 


"To  both  ?     Shall  I  make  it  a  message ?" 

"  You  can  if  you  like,  Mr.  Rokesmith.  Mes- 
sage or  no  message,  I  am  going  to  see  them  to- 
morrow." 

"Then  I  will  tell  them  so." 

He  lingered  a  moment,  as  though  to  give  her 
the  opportunity  of  prolonging  the  conversation 
if  she'wished.  As  she  remained  silent,  he  left 
her.  Two  incidents  of  the  little  interview  were 
felt  by  Miss  Bella  herself,  when  alone  again,  to 
be  very  curious.  The  first  was,  that  he  unques- 
tionably left  her  with  a  penitent  air  upon  her, 
and  a  penitent  feeling  in  her  heart.  The  second 
was,  that  she  had  not  had  an  intention  or  a 
thought  of  going  home  until  she  had  announced 
it  to  him  as  a  settled  design. 

"What  can  I  mean  by  it,  or  what  can  he  mean 
by  it?"  was  her  mental  inquiry:  "He  has  no 
right  to  any  power  over  me,  and  how  do  I  come 
to  mind  him  when  I  don't  care  for  him  ?" 

Mrs.  Boffin,  insisting  that  Bella  should  make 
to-morrow's  expedition  in  the  chariot,  she  went 
home  in  great  grandeur.  Mrs.  Wilfer  and  Miss 
Lavinia  had  speculated  much  on  the  probabili- 
ties and  improbabilities  of  her  coming  in  this 
gorgeous  state,  and,  on  beholding  the  chariot 
from  the  window  at  which  they  were  secreted  to 
look  out  for  it,  agreed  that  it  must  be  detained 
at  the  door  as  long  as  possible,  for  the  mortifica- 
tion and  confusion  of  the  neighbors.  Then  they 
repaired  to  the  usual  family  room,  to  receive 
Miss  Bella  with  a  becoming  show  of  indiffer- 
ence. 

The  family  room  looked  very  small  and  very 
mean,  and  the  downward  staircase  by  which  it 
was  attained  looked  very  narrow  and  very  crooked. 
The  little  house  and  all  its  arrangements  were  a 
poor  contrast  to  the  eminently  aristocratic  dwell- 
ing. "I  can  hardly  believe,"  thought  Bella, 
"  that  I  ever  did  endure  life  in  this  place !" 

Gloomy  majesty  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
and  native  pertness  on  the  part  of  Lavvy,  did 
not  mend  the  matter.  Bella  really  stood  in  nat- 
ural need  of  a  little  help,  and  she  got  none. 

"This,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  presenting  a  cheek 
to  be  kissed,  as  sympathetic  and  responsive  as 
the  back  of  the  bowl  of  a  spoon,  "is  quite  an 
honor !  You  will  probably  find  your  sister  Lav- 
vy grown,  Bella." 

"Ma,"  Miss  Lavinia  interposed,  "there  can  be 
no  objection  to  your  being  aggravating,  because 
Bella  richly  deserves  it ;  but  I  really  must  request 
that  you  will  not  drag  in  such  ridiculous  non- 
sense as  my  having  grown  when  I  am  past  the 
growing  age." 

"I  grew  myself,"  Mrs.  Wilfer  sternly  pro- 
claimed, "after  I  was  married." 

"Very  well,  Ma,"  returned  Lavvy,  "then  I 
think  you  had  much  better  have  left  it  alone." 

The  lofty  glare  with  which  the  majestic  wo- 
man received  this  answer  might  have  embar- 
rassed a  less  pert  opponent,  but  it  had  no  effect 
upon  Lavinia:  who,  leaving  her  parent  to  the 
enjoyment  of  any  amount  of  glaring  that  she 
might  deem  desirable  under  the  circumstances, 
accosted  her  sister,  undismayed. 

"I  suppose  you  won't  consider  yourself  quite 
disgraced,  Bella,  if  I  give  you  a  kiss?  Well! 
And  how  do  you  do,  Bella  ?  And  how  are  your 
Boffins?" 

"Peace  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilfer.  " Hold ! 
I  will  not  suffer  this  tone  of  levity." 


"My  goodness  me!  How  are  your  Spoffins, 
then?"  said  Lawy,  "since  Ma  so  very  much 
objects  to  your  Boffins." 

"Impertinent  girl!  Minx!"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
fer, with  dread  severity. 

"I  don't  care  whether  I  am  a  Minx  or  a 
Sphinx,"  returned  Lavinia,  coolly,  tossing  her 
head ;  "  it's  exactly  the  same  thing  to  me,  and 
I'd  every  bit  as  soon  be  one  as  the  other ;  but  I 
know  this — I'll  not  grow  after  I  am  married  !" 

"You  will  not?  You  will  not?"  repeated 
Mrs.  Wilfer,  solemnly. 

"No,  Ma,  I  will  not.  Nothing  shall  induce 
me." 

Mrs.  Wilfer,  having  waved  her  gloves,  be- 
came loftily  pathetic.  "But  it  was  to  be  ex- 
pected ;"  thus  she  spake,  "A  child  of  mine  de- 
serts me  for  the  proud  and  prosperous,  and  an- 
other child  of  mine  despises  me.  It  is  quite 
fitting." 

"  Ma,"  Bella  struck  in,  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin 
are  prosperous,  no  doubt ;  but  you  have  no  right 
to  say  they  are  proud.  You  must  know  very 
well  that  they  are  not." 

"In  short,  Ma,"  said  Lavvy,  bouncing  over  to 
the  enemy  without  a  word  of  notice,  "you  must 
know  very  well — or  if  you  don't,  more  shame  for 
you! — that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  are  just  abso- 
lute perfection." 

"Truly,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilfer,  courteously 
receiving  the  deserter,  "it  would  seem  that  we 
are  required  to  think  so.  And  this,  Lavinia,  is 
my  reason  for  objecting  to  a  tone  of  levity.  Mrs. 
Boffin  (of  whose  physiognomy  I  can  never  speak 
with  the  composure  I  would  desire  to  preserve) 
and  your  mother  are  not  on  terms  of  intimacy. 
It  is  not  for  a  moment  to  be  supposed  that  she 
and  her  husband  dare  to  presume  to  speak  of 
this  family  as  the  Wilfers.  I  can  not  therefore 
condescend  to  speak  of  them  as  the  Boffins. 
No ;  for  such  a  tone — call  it  familiarity,  levity, 
equality,  or  what  you  will — would  imply  those 
social  interchanges  which  do  not  exist.  Do  I 
render  myself  intelligible  ?" 

Without  taking  the  least  notice  of  this  inquiry, 
albeit  delivered  in  an  imposing  and  forensic 
manner,  Lavinia  reminded  her  sister,  "After 
all,  you  know,  Bella,  you  haven't  told  us  how 
your  Whatshisnames  are." 

"I  don't  want  to  speak  of  them  here,"  replied 
Bella,  suppressing  indignation,  and  tapping  her 
foot  on  the  floor.  "They  are  much  too  kind 
and  too  good  to  be  drawn  into  these  discus- 
sions." 

"Why  put  it  so?"  demanded  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
with  biting  sarcasm.  "Why  adopt  a  circuitous 
form  of  speech  ?  It  is  polite  and  it  is  obliging ; 
but  why  do  it?  Why  not  openly  say  that  they 
are  much  too  kind  and  too  good  for  us?  We 
understand  the  allusion.  Why  disguise  the 
phrase?" 

"  Ma,"  said  Bella,  with  one  beat  of  her  foot, 
"you  are  enough  to  drive  a  saint  mad,  and  so  is 
Lavvy." 

"Unfortunate  Lavvy!"  cried  Mrs.  Wilfer,  in 
a  tone  of  commiseration.  "She  always  comes 
in  for  it.  My  poor  child !"  But  Lavvy,  with 
the  suddenness  of  her  former  desertion,  now 
bounced  over  to  the  other  enemy:  very  sharply 
remarking,  "  Don't  patronize  me,  Ma,  because  I 
can  take  care  of  myself." 

"I  only  wonder,"  resumed  Mrs.  Wilfer,  di- 


U4 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


recting  her  observations  to  her  elder  daughter, 
as  safer  on  the  whole  than  her  utterly  unman- 
ageable younger,  "that  you  found  time  and  in- 
clination to  tear  yourself  from  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Boffin,  and  come  to  see  us  at  all.  I  only  wonder 
that  our  claims,  contending  against  the  superior 
claims  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  had  any  weight. 
I  feel  I  ought  to  be  thankful  for  gaining  so  much 
in  competition  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin."  (The 
good  lady  bitterly  emphasized  the  first  letter  of 
the  word  Boffin,  as  if  it  represented  her  chief 
objection  to  the  owners  of  that  name,  and  as  if 
she  could  have  borne  Doffin,  Moffin,  or  Poffin 
much  better.) 

"Ma,''  said  Bella,  angrily,  "you  force  me  to 
say  that  I  am  truly  sorry  I  did  come  home,  and 
that  I  never  will  come  home  again,  except  when 
poor  dear  Pa  is  here.  For,  Pa  is  too  magnani- 
mous to  feel  envy  and  spite  toward  my  generous 
friends,  and  Pa  is  delicate  enough  and  gentle 
enough  to  remember  the  sort  of  little  claim  they 
thought  I  had  upon  them,  and  the  unusually  try- 
ing position  in  which,  through  no  act  of  my  own, 
I  had  been  placed.  And  I  always  did  love  poor 
dear  Pa  better  than  all  the  rest  of  you  put  to- 
gether, and  I  always  do  and  I  always  shall ! " 

Here  Bella,  deriving  no  comfort  from  her 
charming  bonnet  and  her  elegant  dress,  burst 
into  tears. 

"I  think,  R.  W.,"  cried  Mrs.  Wilfer,  lifting 
up  her  eyes  and  apostrophizing  the  air,  "that  if 
you  were  present,  it  would  be  a  trial  to  your  feel- 
ings to  hear  your  wife  and  the  mother  of  your 
family  depreciated  in  your  name.  But  Fate  has 
spared  you  this,  R.  W.,  whatever  it  may  have 
thought  proper  to  inflict  upon  her!" 

Here  Mrs.  Wilfer  burst  into  tears. 

"I  hate  the  Boffins!"  protested  Miss  Lavinia. 
"  I  don't  care  who  objects  to  their  being  called 
the  Boffins.  I  will  call  'em  the  Boffins.  The 
Boffins,  the  Boffins,  the  Boffins!  And  I  say 
they  are  mischief-making  Boffins,  and  I  say  the 
Boffins  have  set  Bella  against  me,  and  I  tell  the 
Boffins  to  their  faces:"  which  was  not  strictly 
the  fact,  but  the  young  lady  was  excited :  "  that 
they  are  detestable  Boffins,  disreputable  Boffins, 
odious  Boffins,  beastly  Boffins.     There!" 

Here  Miss  Lavinia  burst  into  tears. 

The  front  garden-gate  clanked,  and  the  Secre- 
tary was  seen  coming  at  a  brisk  paee  up  the 
steps.  "Leave  Me  to  open  the  door  to  him," 
said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  rising  with  stately  resignation 
as  she  shook  her  head  and  dried  her  eyes ;  "we 
have  at  present  no  stipendiary  girl  to  do  so. 
We  have  nothing  to  conceal.  If  he  sees  these 
traces  of  emotion  on  our  cheeks,  let  him  construe 
them  as  he  may." 

With  those  words  she  stalked  out.  In  a  few 
moments  she  stalked  in  again,  proclaiming  in 
her  heraldic  manner,  "Mr.  Rokesmith  is  the 
bearer  of  a  packet  for  Miss  Bella  Wilfer." 

Mr.  Rokesmith  followed  close  upon  his  name, 
and  of  course  saw  what  was  amiss.  But  he  dis- 
creetly affected  to  see  nothing,  and  addressed 
Miss  Bella. 

"Mr.  Boffin  intended  to  have  placed  this  in 
the  carriage  for  you  this  morning.  He  wished 
you  to  have  it,  as  a  little  keepsake  he  had  pre- 
pared— it  is  only  a  purse,  Miss  Wilfer — but  as 
he  was  disappointed  in  his  fancy,  I  volunteered 
to  come  after  you  with  it." 

Bella  took  it  in  her  hand,  and  thanked  him. 


"We  have  been  quarreling  here  a  little,  Mr. 
Rokesmith,  but  not  more  than  we  used;  you 
know  our  agreeable  ways  among  ourselves.  You 
find  me  just  going.  Good-by,  mamma.  Good- 
by,  Lavvy!"  And  with  a  kiss  for  each  Miss 
Bella  turned  to  the  door.  The  Secretary  would 
have  attended  her,  but  Mrs.  Wilfer  advancing 
and  saying  with  dignity,  "Pardon  me!  Per- 
mit me  to  assert  my  natural  right  to  escort  my 
child  to  the  equipage  which  is  in  waiting  for 
her,"  he  begged  pardon  and  gave  place.  It  was 
a  very  magnificent  spectacle  indeed,  to  see  Mrs. 
Wilfer  throw  open  the  house-door,  and  loudly 
demand  with  extended  gloves,  "The  male  do- 
mestic of  Mrs.  Boffin !"  To  whom  presenting 
himself,  she  delivered  the  brief  but  majestic 
charge,  "Miss  Wilfer.  Coming  out!"  and  so 
delivered  her  over,  like  a  female  Lieutenant  of 
the  Tower  relinquishing  a  State  Prisoner.  The 
effect  of  this  ceremonial  was  for  some  quarter 
of  an  hour  afterward  perfectly  paralyzing  on  the 
neighbors,  and  was  much  enhanced  by  the  wor- 
thy lady  airing  herself  for  that  term  in  a  kind 
of  splendidly  serene  trance  on  the  top  step. 

When  Bella  was  seated  in  the  carriage,  she 
opened  the  little  packet  in  her  hand.  It  con- 
tained a  pretty  purse,  and  the  purse  contained 
a  bank-note  for  fifty  pounds.  "This  shall  be 
a  joyful  surprise  for  poor  dear  Pa,"  said  Bella, 
"and  I'll  take  it  myself  into  the  City !" 

As  she  was  uninformed  respecting  the  exact 
locality  of  the  place  of  business  of  Chicksey  Ve- 
neering and  Stobbles,  but  knew  it  to  be  near 
Mincing  Lane,  she  directed  herself  to  be  driven 
to  the  corner  of  that  darksome  spot.  Thence 
she  dispatched  "the  male  domestic  of  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin" in  search  of  the  counting-house  of  Chicksey 
Veneering  and  Stobbles,  with  a  message  import- 
ing that  if  R.  Wilfer  could  come  out,  there  was 
a  lady  waiting  who  would  be  glad  to  speak  with 
him.  The  delivery  of  these  mysterious  words 
from  the  mouth  of  a  footman  caused  so  great 
an  excitement  in  the  counting-house  that  a 
youthful  scout  was  instantly  appointed  to  fol- 
low Rumty,  observe  the  lady,  and  come  in  with 
his  report.  Nor  was  the  agitation  by  any  means 
diminished  when  the  scout  rushed  back  with  the 
intelligence  that  the  lady  was  "  a  slap-up  gal  in 
a  bang-up  chariot." 

Rumty  himself,  with  his  pen  behind  his  ear 
under  his  rusty  hat,  arrived  at  the  carriage-door 
in  a  breathless  condition,  and  had  been  fairly 
lugged  into  the  vehicle  by  his  cravat  and  em- 
braced almost  unto  choking,  before  he  recog- 
nized his  daughter.  "  My  dear  child  !"  he  then 
panted,  incoherently.  "Good  gracious  me! 
What  a  lovely  woman  you  are !  I  thought  you 
had  been  unkind,  and  forgotten  your  mother  and 
sister." 

"I  have  just  been  to  see  them,  Pa  clear." 

"Oh  !  and  how — how  did  you  find  your  mo- 
ther?" asked  R.  W.,  dubiously. 

"Very  disagreeable,  Pa,  and  so  was  Lavvy." 

"They  are  sometimes  a  little  liable  to  it," 
observed  the  patient  cherub ;  "  but  I  hope  you 
made  allowances,  Bella,  my  dear?" 

"No.  I  was  disagreeable  too,  Pa;  we  were 
all  of  us  disagreeable  together.  But  I  want  you 
to  come  and  dine  with  me  somewhere,  Pa." 

"Why,  my  dear,  I  have  already  partaken  of 
a — if  one  might  mention  such  an  article  in  this 
superb  chariot — of  a — Saveloy,"  replied  R.  Wil- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


145 


fer,  modestly  dropping  his  voice  on  the  word,  as 
he  eyed  the  canary-colored  fittings. 

"Oh!     That's  nothing,  Fa." 

"Truly,  it  ain't  as  much  as  one  could  some- 
times wish  it  to  be,  my  dear,'i  he  admitted, 
drawing  his  hand  across  his  mouth.  "Still, 
when  circumstances  over  which  you  have  no 
control  interpose  obstacles  between  yourself  and 
Small  Germans,  you  can't  do  better  than  bring 
a  contented  mind  to  bear  on" — again  dropping 
his  voice  in  deference  to  tbe  chariot — "Save- 
loys!" 

"You  poor  good  Pa !  Pa  do,  I  beg  and.  pray, 
get  leave  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  come  and 
pass  it  with  me!" 

' '  Well,  my  dear,  I'll  cut  back  and  ask  for 
leave." 

"But  before  you  cut  back,"  said  Bella,  who 
had  already  taken  him  by  the  chin,  pulled  his 
hat  off,  and  begun  to  stick  up  his  hair  in  her  old 
way,  "  do  say  that  you  are  sure  I  am  giddy  and 
inconsiderate,  but  have  never  really  slighted  you, 
Fa." 

"My  dear,  I  say  it  with  all  my  heart.  And 
might  I  likewise  observe,"  her  father  delicately 
hinted,  with  a  glance  out  at  window,  "that  per- 
haps it  might  be  calculated  to  attract  attention, 
having  one's  hair  publicly  done  by  a  lovely  wo- 
man in  an  elegant  turn-out  inFenchurch  Street?" 

Bella  laughed  and  put  on  his  bat  again.  But 
when  his  boyish  figure  bobbed  away,  its  shabbi- 
ness  and  cheerful  patience  smote  the  tears  out 
of  her  eyes.  ' '  I  hate  that  Secretary  for  think- 
ing it  of  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and  yet  it 
seems  half  true!" 

Back  came  her  father,  more  like  a  boy  than 
ever,  in  his  release  from  school.  "  All  right, 
my  dear.  Leave  given  at  once.  Really  very 
handsomely  done!" 

"Now  where  can  we  find  some  quiet  place, 
Pa,  in  which  I  can  wait  for  you  while  you  go 
on  an  errand  for  me,  if  I  send  the  carriage  away?" 

It  demanded  cogitation.  "You  see,  my  dear," 
he  explained,  "you  really  have  become  such  a 
very  lovely  woman,  that  it  ought  to  be  a  very 
quiet  place."  At  length  he  suggested,  "Near 
the  garden  up  by  the  Trinity  House  on  Tower 
Hill."  So  they  were  driven  there,  and  Bella 
dismissed  the  chariot ;  sending  a  penciled  note 
by  it  to  Mrs.  Boffin,  that  she  was  with  her  fa- 
ther. 

"Now,  Pa,  attend  to  what  I  am  going  to  say, 
and  promise  and  vow  to  be  obedient." 

"I  promise  and  vow,  my  dear." 

"  You  ask  no  questions.  You  take  this  purse  ; 
you  go  to  the  nearest  place  where  they  keep  ev- 
ery thing  of  the  yery  very  best,  ready-made  ;  you 
buy  and  put  on  the  most  beautiful  suit  of  clothes, 
the  most  beautiful  hat,  and  the  most  beautiful  pair 
of  bright  boots  (patent  leather,  Pa,  mind ! )  that 
are  to  be  got  for  money ;  and  vou  come  back  to 
me." 

"  But,  my  dear  Bella—" 

"Take  care,  Pa!"  pointing  her  forefinger  at 
him,  merrily.  "  You  have  promised  and  vowed. 
It's  perjury,  you  know." 

There  was  water  in  the  foolish  little  fellow's 
eyes,  but  she  kissed  them  dry  (though  her  own 
were  wet),  and  he  bobbed  away  again.  After 
half  an  hour  he  came  back,  so  brilliantly  trans- 
formed, that  Bella  was  obliged  to  walk  round 
him  in  ecstatic  admiration  twentv  times,  before 
K 


she  could  draw  her  arm  through  his,  and  de- 
lightedly squeeze  it.  . 

"Now,  Fa,"  said  Bella,  hugging  him  close, 
"take  this  lovely  woman  out  to  dinner." 

"Where  shall  we  go,  my  dear?" 

"Greenwich!"  said  Bella,  valiantly.  "And 
be  sure  you  treat  this  lovely  woman  with  every 
thing  of  the  best." 

While  they  were  going  along  to  take  boat, 
"Don't  you  wish,  my  dear,"  said  R.  W.,  tim- 
idly, "that  your  mother  was  here?" 

"No,  I  don't,  Pa,  for  I  like  to  have  you  all  to 
myself  to-day.  I  was  always  your  little  favorite 
at  home,  and  you  were  always  mine.  We  have 
run  away  together  often,  before  now;  haven't 
we,  Pa?" 

"Ah,  to  be  sure  we  have !  Many  a  Sunday 
when  your  mother  was — was  a  little  liable  to  it," 
repeating  his  former  delicate  expression  after 
pausing  to  cough. 

"Yes,  and  I  am  afraid  I  was  seldom  or  never 
as  good  as  I  ought  to  have  been,  Fa.  I  made 
you  carry  me,  over  and  over  again,  when  you 
should  have  made  me  walk ;  and  I  often  drove 
you  in  harness,  when  you  would  much  rather 
have  sat  down  and  read  your  newspaper : 
didn't  I?" 

"  Sometimes,  sometimes.  But  Lor,  what  a 
child  you  were !    What  a  companion  you  were !" 

"  Companion  ?  That's  just  what  1  want  to  be 
to-day,  Pa." 

"You  are  safe  to  succeed,  my  love.  Your 
brothers  and  sisters  have  all  in  their  turns  been 
companions  to  me,  to  a  certain  extent,  but  only 
to  a  certain  extent.  Your  mother  has,  through- 
out life,  been  a  companion  that  any  man  might 
— might  look  up  to — and — and  commit  the  say- 
ings of,  to  memory — and — form  himself  upon— 
if  he—" 

"If  he  liked  the  model?"  suggested  Bella. 

"  We-ell,  ye-es,"  he  returned,  thinking  about 
it,  not  quite  satisfied  with  the  phrase  :  "  or  per- 
haps I  might  say,  if  it  was  in  him.  Supposing, 
for  instance,  that  a  man  wanted  to  be  always 
marching,  he  would  find  your  mother  an  ines- 
timable companion.  But  if  he  had  any  taste 
for  walking,  or  should  wish  at  any  time  to  break 
into  a  trot,  he  might  sometimes  find  it  a  little 
difficult  to  keep  step  with  your  mother.  Or 
take  it  this  way,  Bella,"  he  added,  after  a  mo- 
ment's reflection:  "Supposing  that  a  man  had 
to  go  through  life,  we  won't  say  with  a  compan- 
ion, but  we'll  say  to  a  tune.  Very  good.  Sup- 
posing that  the  tune  allotted  to  him  was  the 
Dead  March  in  Saul.  Well.  It  would  be  a 
very  suitable  tune  for  particular  occasions — 
none  better — but  it  would  be  difficult  to  keep 
time  with  in  the  ordinary  run  of  domestic  trans- 
actions. For  instance,  if  he  took  his  supper 
after  a  hard  day  to  the  Dead  March  in  Saul, 
his  food  might  be  likely  to  sit  heavy  on  him. 
Or,  if  he  was  at  any  time  inclined  to  relieve  his 
mind  by  singing  a  comic  song  or  dancing  a  horn- 
pipe, and  was  obliged  to  do  it  to  the  Dead  March 
in  Saul,  he  might  find  himself  put  out  in  the  ex- 
ecution of  his  lively  intentions." 

"  Poor  Fa !"  thought  Bella,  as  she  hung  upon 
his  arm. 

"Now,  what  I  will  say  for  you,  my  dear,"  the 
cherub  pursued  mildly  and  without  a. notion  of 
complaining,  "is,  that  you  are  so  adaptable. 
So  adaptable." 


146 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  Indeed  I  am  afraid  I  have  shown  a  wretched 
temper,  Pa.  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  very  com- 
plaining, and  very  capricious.  I  seldom  or  never 
thought  of  it  before.  But  when  I  sat  in  the  car- 
riage just  now  and  saw  you  coming  along  the 
pavement,  I  reproached  myself." 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear.  Don't  speak  of  such 
a  thing." 

A  happy  and  a  chatty  man  was  Pa  in  his  new 
clothes  that  day.  Take  it  for  all  in  all,  it  was 
perhaps  the  happiest  day  he  had  ever  known  in 
his  life;  not  even  excepting  that  on  which  his 
heroic  partner  had  approached  the  nuptial  altar 
to  the  tune  of  the  Dead  March  in  Saul. 

The  little  expedition  down  the  river  was  de- 
lightful, and  the  little  room  overlooking  the 
river  into  which  they  were  shown  for  dinner 
was  delightful.  Every  thing  was  delightful. 
The  park  was  delightful,  the  punch  was  delight- 
ful, the  dishes  of  fish  were  delightful,  the  wine 
was  delightful.  Bella  was  more  delightful  than 
any  other  item  in  the  festival ;  drawing  Pa  out 
in  the  gayest  manner;  making  a  point  of  al- 
ways mentioning  herself  as  the  lovely  woman ; 
stimulating  Pa  to  order  things,  by  declaring 
that  the  lovely  woman  insisted  on  being  treated 
with  them ;  and  in  short  causing  Pa  to  be  quite 
enraptured  with  the  consideration  that  he  was 
the  Pa  of  such  a  charming  daughter. 

And  then,  as  they  sat  looking  at  the  ships 
and  steamboats  making  their  way  to  the  sea 
with  the  tide  that  was  running  down,  the  lovely 
woman  imagined  all  sorts  of  voyages  for  herself 
and  Pa.  Now,  Pa,  in  the  character  of  owner 
of  a  lumbering  square-sailed  collier,  was  tacking 
away  to  Newcastle,  to  fetch  black  diamonds  to 
make  his  fortune  with ;  now,  Pa  was  going  to 
China  in  that  handsome  three-masted  ship,  to 
bring  home  opium,  with  which  he  would  forever 
cut  out  Chicksey  Veneering  and  Stobbles,  and 
to  bring  home  silks  and  shawls  without  end  for 
the  decoration  of  his  charming  daughter.  Now, 
John  Harmon's  disastrous  fate  was  all  a  dream, 
and  he  had  come  home  and  found  the  lovely  wo- 
man just  the  article  for  him,  and  the  lovely  wo- 
man had  found  him  just  the  article  for  her,  and 
they  were  going  away  on  a  trip,  in  their  gallant 
bark,  to  look  after  their  vines,  with  streamers 
flying  at  all  points,  a  band  playing  on  deck,  and 
Pa  established  in  the  great  cabin.  Now,  John 
Harmon  was  consigned  to  his  grave  again,  and 
a  merchant  of  immense  wealth  (name  unknown) 
had  courted  and  married  the  lovely  woman,  and 
he  was  so  enormously  rich  that  every  thing  you 
saw  upon  the  river  sailing  or  steaming  belonged 
to  him,  and  he  kept  a  perfect  fleet  of  yachts  for 
pleasure,  and  that  little  impudent  yacht  which 
you  saw  over  there,  with  the  great  white  sail, 
was  called  The  Bella,  in  honor  of  his  wife,  and 
she  held  her  state  aboard  when  it  pleased  her, 
like  a  modern  Cleopatra.  Anon,  there  would 
embark  in  that  troop-ship  when  she  got  to 
Gravesend,  a  mighty  general,  of  large  property 
(name  also  unknown),  who  wouldn't  hear  of* 
going  to  victory  without  his  wife,  and  whose 
wife  was  the  lovely  woman,  and  she  was  des- 
tined to  become  the  idol  of  all  the  red  coats  and 
blue  jackets  alow  and  aloft.  And  then  again : 
you  saw  that  ship  being  towed  out  by  a  steam- 
tug?  Well !  where  did  you  suppose  she  was 
going  to  ?  She  was  going  among  the  coral  reefs 
and  cocoa-nuts  and  all  that  sort- of  thing,  and 


she  was  chartered  for  a  fortunate  individual  of 
the  name  of  Pa  (himself  on  board,  and  much 
respected  by  all  hands),  and  she  was  going,  for 
his  sole  profit  and  advantage,  to  fetch  a  cargo 
of  sweet-smelling  woods,  the  most  beautiful  that 
ever  were  seen,  and  the  most  profitable  that 
never  were  heard  of,  and  her  cargo  would  be  a 
great  fortune,  as  indeed  it  ought  to  be :  the  love- 
ly woman  who  had  purchased  her  and  fitted  her 
expressly  for  this  voyage  being  married  to  an 
Indian  Prince,  who  was  a  Something-or-Other, 
and  who  wore  Cashmere  shawls  all  over  him- 
self, and  diamonds  and  emeralds  blazing  in  his 
turban,  and  was  beautifully  coffee-colored  and 
excessively  devoted,  though  a  little  too  jealous. 
Thus  Bella  ran  on  merrily,  in  a  manner  perfect- 
ly enchanting  to  Pa,  who  was  as  willing  to  put 
his  head  into  the  Sultan's  tub  of  water  as  the 
beggar-boys  below  the  window  were  to  put  their 
heads  in  the  mud. 

"I  suppose,  my  dear,"  said  Pa  after  dinner, 
"  we  may  come  to  the  conclusion  at  home  that 
we  have  lost  you  for  good  ?" 

Bella  shook  her  head.  Didn't  know.  Couldn't 
say.  All  she  was  able  to  report  was,  that  she 
was  most  handsomely  supplied  with  every  thing 
she  could  possibly  want,  and  that  whenever  she 
hinted  at  leaving  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  they 
wouldn't  hear  of  it. 

"And  now,  Pa,"  pursued  Bella,  "I'll  make 
a  confession  to  you.  I  am  the  most  mercenary 
little  wretch  that  ever  lived  in  the  Avorld." 

"I  should  hardly  have  thought  it  of  you,  my 
dear,"  returned  her  father,  first  glancing  at  him- 
self, and  then  at  the  dessert. 

"  I  understand  what  you  mean,  Pa,  but  it's  not 
that.  It's  not  that  I  care  for  money  to  keep  as 
money,  but  I  do  care  so  much  for  what  it  will 
buy!" 

"  Really  I  think  most  of  us  do,"  returned  R.W. 

"But  not  to  the  dreadful  extent  that  I  do, 
Pa.  O-o !"  cried  Bella,  screwing  the  exclama- 
tion out  of  herself  with  a  twist  of  her  dimpled 
chin.     "  I  am  so  mercenary !" 

With  a  wistful  glance  R.  W.  said,  in  default 
of  having  any  thing  better  to  say :  "  About  when 
did  you  begin  to  feel  it  coming  on,  my  dear  ?" 

"That's  it,  Pa.  That's  the  terrible  part  of  it. 
When  I  was  at  home,  and  only  knew  what  it  was 
to  be  poor,  I  grumbled,  but  didn't  so  much  mind. 
When  I  was  at  home  expecting  to  be  rich,  I 
thought  vaguely  of  all  the  great  things  I  would 
do.  But  when  I  had  been  disappointed  of  my 
splendid  fortune,  and  came  to  see  it  from  day  to 
day  in  other  hands,  and  to  have  before  my  eyes 
what  it  could  really  do,  then  I  became  the  mer- 
cenary little  wretch  I  am." 

"It's  your  fancy,  my  dear." 

"I  can  assure  you  it's  nothing  of  the  sort, 
Pa !"  said  Bella,  nodding  at  him,  with  her  very 
pretty  eyebrows  raised  as  high  as  they  would  go, 
and  looking  comically  frightened.  "  It's  a  fact. 
I  am  always  avariciously  scheming." 

"Lor!     But  how?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Pa.  I  don't  mind  telling  you, 
because  we  have  always  been  favorites  of  each 
other's,  and  because  you  are  not  like  a  Pa,  but 
more  like  a  sort  of  a  younger  brother  with  a  dear 
venerable  chubbiness  on  him.  And  besides," 
added  Bella,  laughing  as  she  pointed  a  rallying 
finger  at  his  face,  "because  I  have  got  you  in 
my  power.    This  is  a  secret  expedition.    If  ever 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


147 


you  tell  of  me,  I'll  tell  of  you.  I'll  tell  Ma  that 
you  dined  at  Greenwich." 

"Well;  seriously,  my  dear,"  observed R.W., 
with  some  trepidation  of  manner,  "it  might  be 
as  well  not  to  mention  it. " 

"Aha!"  laughed  Bella.  "I  knew  you 
wouldn't  like  it,  Sir!  So  you  keep  my  confi- 
dence, and  I'll  keep  yours.  But  betray  the  love- 
ly woman,  and  you  shall  find  her  a  serpent. 
Now,  you  may  give  me  a  kiss,  Pa,  and  I  should 
like  to  give  your  hair  a  turn,  because  it  has  been 
dreadfully  neglected  in  my  absence." 

R.  W.  submitted  his  head  to  the  operator,  and 
the  operator  went  on  talking ;  at  the  same  time 
putting  separate  locks  of  his  hair  through  a  cu- 
rious process  of  being  smartly  rolled  over  her  two 
revolving  forefingers,  which  were  then  suddenly 
pulled  out  of  it  in  opposite  lateral  directions. 
On  each  of  these  occasions  the  patient  winced 
and  winked. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  I  must  have 
money,  Pa.  I  feel  that  I  can't  beg  it,  borrow 
it,  or  steal  it ;  and  so  I  have  resolved  that  I 
must  marry  it." 

R.  W.  cast  up  his  eyes  toward  her,  as  well  as 
he  could  under  the  operating  circumstances,  and 
said  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance,  "  My  de-ar 
Bella!" 

"Have  resolved,  I  say,  Pa,  that  to  get  money 
I  must  marry  money.  In  consequence  of  which, 
I  am  always  looking  out  for  money  to  captivate." 

"  My  de-a-r  Bella !" 

"Yes,  Pa,  that  is  the  state  of  the  case.  If 
ever  there  was  a  mercenary  plotter  whose 
thoughts  and  designs  were  always  in  her  mean 
occupation,  I  am  the  amiable  creature.  But  I 
don't  care.  I  hate  and  detest  being  poor,  and  I 
won't  be  poor  if  I  can  marry  money.  Now  you 
are  deliciously  fluffy,  Pa,  and  in  a  state  to  aston- 
ish the  waiter  and  pay  the  bill." 

"  But,  my  dear  Bella,  this  is  quite  alarming  at 
your  age." 

"I  told  you  so,  Pa,  but  you  wouldn't  believe 
it,"  returned  Bella,  with  a  pleasant  childish 
gravity.      " Isn't  it  shocking?" 

"It  would  be  quite  so,  if  you  fully  knew  what 
you  said,  my  dear,  or  meant  it." 

"Well,  Pa,  I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  mean 
nothing  else.  Talk  to  me  of  love  !"  said  Bella, 
contemptuously :  though  her  face  and  figure  cer- 
tainly rendered  the  subject  no  incongruous  one. 
"Talk  to  me  of  fiery  dragons !  But  talk  to  me 
of  poverty  and  wealth,  and  there  indeed  we 
touch  upon  realities." 

"My  De-ar,  this  is  becoming  Awful — "  her 
father  was  emphatically  beginning :  when  she 
stopped  him. 

"Pa,  tell  me.     Did  you  marry  money?" 

"You  know  I  didn't,  my  dear." 

Bella  hummed  the  Dead  March  in  Saul,  and 
said,  after  all  it  signified  very  little !  But  see- 
ing him  look  grave  and  downcast,  she  took  him 
round  the  neck  and  kissed  him  back  to  cheer- 
fulness again. 

"I  didn't  mean  that  last  touch,  Pa;  it  was 
only  said  in  joke.  Now  mind !  You  are  not  to 
tell  of  me,  and  I'll  not  tell  of  you.  And  more 
than  that;  I  promise  to  have  no  secrets  from 
you,  Pa,  and  you  may  make  certain  that,  what- 
ever mercenary  things  go  on,  I  shall  always  tell 
you  all  about  them  in  strict  confidence." 

Fain  to  be  satisfied  with  this  concession  from 


the  lovely  woman,  R.  W.  rang  the  bell,  and  paid 
the  bill.  "Now,  all  the  rest  of  this,  Pa,"  said 
Bella,  rolling  up  the  purse  when  they  were  alone 
again,  hammering  it  small  with  her  little  fist  on 
the  table,  and  cramming  it  into  one  of  the  pock- 
ets of  his  new  waistcoat,  "is  for  you,  to  buy 
presents  with  for  them  at  home,  and  to  pay  bills 
with,  and  to  divide  as  you  like,  and  spend  ex- 
actly as  you  think  proper.  Last  of  all  take  no- 
tice, Pa,  that  it's  not  the  fruit  of  any  avaricious 
scheme.  Perhaps  if  it  was,  your  little  merce- 
nary wretch  of  a  daughter  wouldn't  make  so  free 
with  it !" 

After  which,  she  tugged  at  his  coat  with  both 
hands,  and  pulled  him  all  askew  in  buttoning 
that  garment  over  the  precious  waistcoat  pocket, 
and  then  tied  her  dimples  into  her  bonnet-strings 
in  a  very  knowing  way,  and  took  him  back  to 
London.  Arrived  at  Mr.  Boffin's  door,  she  set 
him  with  his  back  against  it,  tenderly  took  him 
by  the  ears  as  convenient  handles  for  her  pur- 
pose, and  kissed  him  until  he  knocked  muffled 
double  knocks  at  the  door  with  the  back  of  his 
head.  That  done,  she  once  more  reminded  him 
of  their  compact,  and  gayly  parted  from  him. 

Not  so  gayly,  however,  but  that  tears  filled 
her  eyes  as  he  went  away  down  the  dark  street. 
Not  so  gayly,  but  that  she  several  times  said, 
"  Ah,  poor  little  Pa !  Ah,  poor  dear  struggling 
shabby  little  Pa!"  before  she  took  heart  to  knock 
at  the  door.  Not  so  gayly,  but  that  the  brilliant 
furniture  seemed  to  stare  her  out  of  countenance 
as  if  it  insisted  on  being  compared  with  the  din- 
gy furniture  at  home.  Not  so  gayly,  but  that 
she  fell  into  very  low  spirits  sitting  late  in  her 
own  room,  and  very  heartily  wept,  as  she  wish- 
ed, now  that  the  deceased  old  John  Harmon  had 
never  made  a  will  about  her,  now  that  the  de* 
ceased  young  John  Harmon  had  lived  to  marry 
her.  "  Contradictory  things  to  wish,"  said  Bella; 
"but  my  life  and  fortunes  are  so  contradictory 
altogether,  that  what  can  I  expect  myself  to  be!" 


CHAPTER  IX. 


IN  WHICH  THE  ORPHAN  MAKES  HIS  WILL. 

The  Secretary,  working  in  the  Dismal  Swamp 
betimes  next  morning,  was  informed  that  a  youth 
waited  in  the  hall  who  gave  the  name  of  Sloppy. 
The  footman  who  communicated  this  intelli- 
gence made  a  decent  pause  before  uttering  the 
name,  to  express  that  it  was  forced  on  his  re- 
luctance by  the  youth  in  question,  and  that  if 
the  youth  had  had  the  good  sense  and  good  taste 
to  inherit  some  other  name  it  would  have  spared 
the  feelings  of  him  the  bearer. 

"Mrs.  Boffin  will  be  very  well  pleased,"  said 
the  Secretary  in  a  perfectly  composed  way. 
"  Show  him  in." 

Mr.  Sloppy  being  introduced,  remained  close 
to  the  door:  revealing  in  various  parts  of  his 
form  many  surprising,  confounding,  and  incom- 
prehensible buttons. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  John  Rokesmith, 
in  a  cheerful  tone  of  welcome.  "I  have  been 
expecting  you." 

Sloppy  explained  that  he  had  meant  to  come 
before.,  but  that  the  Orphan  (of  whom  he  made 
mention  as  Our  Johnny)  had  been  ailing,  and 
he  had  waited  to  report  him  well. 


148 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Then  he  is  well  now?"  said  the  Secretary. 

"No  he  ain't,"  said  Sloppy.  _ 

Mr.  Sloppy  having  shaken  his  head  to  a  con- 
siderable extent,  proceeded  to  remark  that  he 
thought  Johnny  "must  have  took  'em  from  the 
Minders."  Being  asked  what  he  meant,  he  an- 
swered, them  that  come  out  upon  him  and  par- 
tickler  his  chest.  Being  requested  to  explain 
himself,  he  stated  that  there  was  some  of  'em 
wot  you  couldn't  kiver  with  a  sixpence.  Press- 
ed to  fall  back  upon  a  nominative  case,  he  opined 
that  they  wos  about  as  red  as  ever  red  could  be. 
"But  as  long  as  they  strikes  out'ards,  Sir," con- 
tinued Sloppy,  "they  ain't  so  much.  It's  their 
striking  in'ards  that's  to  be  kep  off." 

John  Rokesmith  hoped  the  child  had  had  med- 
ical attendance  ?  Oh  yes,  said  Sloppy,  he  had 
been  took  to  the  doctor's  shop  once.  And  what 
did  the  doctor  call  it?  Rokesmith  asked  him. 
After  some  perplexed  reflection,  Sloppy  answer- 
ed, brightening,  "  He  called  it  something  as  wos 
wery  long  for  spots."  Rokesmith  suggested  mea- 
sles. "  No,"  said  Sloppy,  with  confidence,  "ever 
so  much  longer  than  them,  Sir!"  (Mr.  Sloppy 
was  elevated  by  this  fact,  and  seemed  to  consid- 
er that  it  reflected  credit  on  the  poor  little  pa- 
tient.) 

"Mrs.  Boffin  will  be  sorry  to  hear  this,"  said 
Rokesmith. 

"Mrs.  Higden  said  so,  Sir,  when  she  kep  it 
from  her,  hoping  as  Our  Johnny  would  work 
round."  \ 

"But  I  hope  he  will !"  said  Rokesmith,  with 
a  quick  turn  upon  the  messenger. 

"I  hope  so,"  answered  Sloppy.  "It  all  de- 
pends on  their  striking  in'ards."  He  then  went 
on  to  say  that  whether  Johnny  had  "  took  'em" 
from  the  Minders,  or  whether  the  Minders  had 
"  took  'em"  from  Johnny,  the  Minders  had  been 
sent  home  and  had  "got  'em."  Furthermore, 
that  Mrs.  Higden's  days  and  nights  being  devot- 
ed to  Our  Johnny,  who  was  never  out  of  her  lap, 
the  whole  of  the  mangling  arrangements  had 
devolved  upon  himself,  and  he  had  had  "ray- 
ther  a  tight  time."  The  ungainly  piece  of  hon- 
esty beamed  and  blushed  as  he  said  it,  quite  en- 
raptured with  the  remembrance  of  having  been 
serviceable. 

"Last  night,"  said  Sloppy,  "when  I  was 
a-turning  at  the  wheel  pretty  late,  the  mangle 
seemed  to  go  like  Our  Johnny's  breathing.  It 
begun  beautiful,  theii  as  it  went  out  it  shook  a 
little  and  got  unsteady,  then  as  it  took  the  turn 
to  come  home  it  had  a  rattle-like  and  lumbered 
a  bit,  then  it  come  smooth,  and  so  it  went  on  till 
I  scarce  know'd  which  was  mangle  and  which 
was  Our  Johnny.  Nor  Our  Johnny,  he  scarce 
know'd  either,  for  sometimes  when  the  mangle 
lumbers  he  says,  'Me  choking,  Granny!'  and 
Mrs.  Higden  holds  him  up  in  her  lap  and  says 
to  me,  '  Bide  a  bit,  Sloppy,'  and  we  all  stops  to- 
gether. And  when  our  Johnny  gets  his  breath- 
ing again,  I  turns  again,  and  we  all  goes  on  to- 
gether." 

Sloppy  had  gradually  expanded  with  his  de- 
scription into  a  stare  and  a  vacant  grin.  He 
now  contracted,  being  silent,  into  a  half-re- 
pressed gush  of  tears,  and,  under  pretense  of 
being  heated,  drew  the  under  part  of  his  sleeve 
across  his  eyes  with  a  singularly  awkward,  la- 
borious, and  roundabout  smear. 

"  This  is  unfortunate,"  said  Rokesmith.     "! 


must  go  and  break  it  to  Mrs.  Boffin.     Stay  you 
here,  Sloppy." 

Sloppy  staid  there,  staring  at  the  pattern  of 
the  paper  on  the  wall,  until  the  Secretary  and 
Mrs.  Boffin  came  back  together.  And  with  Mrs. 
Boffin  was  a  young  lady  (Miss  Bella  Wilfer  by 
name)  who  was  better  worth  staring  at,  it  oc- 
curred to  Sloppy,  than  the  best  of  wall-papering. 

"Ah,  my  poor  dear  pretty  little  John  Har- 
mon !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Boffin. 

"Yes,  mum,"  said  the  sympathetic  Sloppy. 

"You  don't  think  he  is  in  a  very,  very  bad 
way,  do  you?"  asked  the  pleasant  creature  with 
her  wholesome  cordiality. 

Put  upon  his  good  faith,  and  finding  it  in  col- 
lision with  his  inclinations,  Sloppy  threw  back 
his  head  and  uttered  a  mellifluous  howl,  round- 
ed off  with  a  sniff. 

"  So  bad  as  that !"  cried  Mrs.  Boffin.  "And 
Betty  Higden  not  to  tell  me  of  it  sooner !" 

"I  think  she  might  have  been  mistrustful, 
mum,"  answered  Sloppy,  hesitating. 

"  Of  what,  for  Heaven's  sake  ?" 

"I  think  she  might  have  been  mistrustful, 
mum,"  returned  Sloppy,  with  submission,  "of 
standing  in  Our  Johnny's  light.  There's  so 
much  trouble  in  illness,  and  so  much  expense, 
and  she's  seen  such  a  lot  of  its  being  objected 
to." 

"  But  she  never  can  have  thought,"  said  Mrs. 
Boffin,  "  that  I  would  grudge  the  dear  child  anv 
thing  ?" 

"No,  mum,  but  she  might  have  thought  (as 
a  habit-like)  of  its  standing  in  Johnny's  light, 
and  might  have  tried  to  bring  him  through  it 
unbeknownst." 

Sloppy  knew  his  ground  well.  To  conceal 
herself  in  sickness,  like  a  lower  animal ;  to  creep 
out  of  sight  and  coil  herself  away  and  die,  had 
become  this  woman's  instinct.  To  catch  up  in 
her  arms  the  sick  child  who  was  dear  to  her,  and 
hide  it  as  if  it  were  a.  criminal,  and  keep  off  all 
ministration  but  such  as  her  own,  ignorant  ten- 
derness and  patience  could  supply,  had  become 
this  woman's  idea  of  maternal  love,  fidelity,  and 
duty.*  The  shameful  accounts  we  read,  every 
week  in  the  Christian  year,  my  lords  and  gen- 
tlemen and  honorable  boards,  the  infamous  rec- 
ords of  small  official  inhumanity,  do  not  pass  by 
the  people  as  they  pass  by  us.  And  hence  these 
irrational,  blind,  and  obstinate  prejudices,  so  as- 
tonishing to  our  magnificence,  and  having  no 
more  reason  in  them — God  save  the  Queen  and 
Con-found  their  politics — no,  than  smoke  has  in 
coming  from  fire ! 

"  It's  not  a  right  place  for  the  poor  child  to 
stay  in,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin.  "Tell  us,  dear  Mr. 
Rokesmith,  what  to  do  for  the  best." 

He  had  already  thought  what  to  do,  and  the 
consultation  was  very  short.  He  could  pave  the 
way,  he  said,  in  half  an  hour,  and  then  they 
would  go  down  to  Brentford.  "  Pray  take  me," 
said  Bella.  Therefore  a  carriage  was  ordered, 
of  capacity  to  take  them  all,  and  in  the  mean 
time  Sloppy  was  regaled,  feasting  alone  in  the 
Secretary's  room,  with  a  complete  realization  of 
that  fairy  vision  —  meat,  beer,  vegetables,  and 
pudding.  In  consequence  of  which  his  buttons 
became  more  importunate  of  public  notice  than 
before,  with  the  exception  of  two  or  three  about 
the  region  of  the  waistband,  which  modestly 
withdrew  into  a  creasv  retirement. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


149 


Punctual  to  the  time  appeared  the  carriage 
and  the  Secretary.    He  sat  on  the  box,  and  Mr.  ! 
Sloppy  graced  the  rumble.     So,  to  the  Three 
Magpies  as  before  :  where  Mrs.  Boffin  and  Miss 
Bella  were  handed  out,  and  whence  they  all  went  j 
on  foot  to  Mrs.  Betty  Higden's. 

But,  on  the  way  down,  they  had  stopped  at  a 
toy-shop,  and  had  bought  that  noble  charger,  a  j 
description  of  whose  points  and  trappings  had  on  I 
the  last  occasion  conciliated  the  then  worldly-  J 
minded  orphan,  and  also  a  Noah's  ark,  and  also 
a  yellow  bird  with  an  artificial  voice  in  him,  and  j 
also  a  military  doll  so  well  dressed  that  if  he  had  ! 
only  been  of  life-size  his  brother  officers  in  the  j 


Guards  might  never  have  found  him  out.  Bear- 
ing these  gifts,  they  raised  the  latch  of  Betty 
Higden's  door,  and  saw  her  sitting  in  the  dim- 
mest and  furthest  corner  with  poor  Johnny  in 
her  lap. 

"And  how's  my  boy,  Betty?"  asked  Mrs. 
Boffin,  sitting  down  beside  her. 

"He's  bad!  he's  bad  !"  said  Betty.  "I  be- 
gin to  be  afeerd  he'll  not  be  yours  any  more  than 
mine.  All  others  belonging  to  him  have  gone 
to  the  Power  and  the  Glory,  and  I  have  a  mind 
that  they're  drawing  him  to  them — leading  him 
away." 

"No,  no,  no,"  said  Mrs. Boffin. 


150 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND 


"I  don't  know  why  else  he  clenches  his  little 
hand  as  if  it  had  hold  of  a  finger  that  I  can't 
see.  Look  at  it,"  said  Betty,  opening  the  wrap- 
pers in  which  the  flushed  child  lay,  and  showing 
his  small  right  hand  lying  closed  upon  his  breast. 
"  It's  always  so.     It  don't  mind  me." 

"  Is  he  a'sleep  ?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  You're  not  asleep,  my 
Johnny?" 

"No,"  said  Johnny,  with  a  quiet  air  of  pity 
for  himself,  and  without  opening  his  eyes. 

"Here's  the  lady,  Johnny.    And  the  horse." 

Johnny  could  bear  the  lady  with  complete  in- 
difference, but  not  the  horse.  Opening  his  heavy 
eyes,  he  slowly  broke  into  a  smile  on  beholding 
that  splendid  phenomenon,  and  wanted  to  take 
it  in  his  arms.  As  it  was  much  too  big,  it  was 
put  upon  a  chair  where  he  could  hold  it  by  the 
mane  and  contemplate  it.  Which  he  soon  for- 
got to  do. 

But,  Johnny  murmuring  something  with  his 
eyes  closed,  and  Mrs.  Boffin  not  knowing  what, 
old  Betty  bent  her  ear  to  listen,  and  took  pains 
to  understand.  Being  asked  by  her  to  repeat 
what  he  had  said,  he  did  so  two  or  three  times, 
and  then  it  came  out  that  he  must  have  seen 
more  than  they  supposed  when  he  looked  up  to 
see  the  horse,  for  the  murmur  was,  "  Who  is 
the  boofer  lady?"  Now,  the  boofer,  or  beauti- 
ful, lady  was  Bella;  and  whereas  this  notice 
from  the  poor  baby  would  have  touched  her  of 
itself,  it  was  rendered  more  pathetic  by  the  late 
melting  of  her  heart  to  her  poor  little  father, 
and  their  joke  about  the  lovely  woman.  So, 
Bella's  behavior  was  very  tender  and  very  natu- 
ral when  she  kneeled  on  the  brick  floor  to  clasp 
the  child,  and  when  the  child,  with  a  child's  ad- 
miration of  what  is  young  and  pretty,  fondled 
the  boofer  lady. 

"Now,  my  good  dear  Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin,' hoping  that  she  saw  her  opportunity,  and 
laying  her  hand  persuasively  on  her  arm ;  "  we 
have  come  to  remove  Johnny  from  this  cottage 
to  where  he  can  be  taken  better  care  of." 

Instantly,  and  before  another  word  could  be 
spoken,  the  old  woman  started  up  with  blazing 
eyes,  and  rushed  at  the  door  with  the  sick 
child. 

"  Stand  away  from  me  every  one  of  ye !"  she 
cried  out  wildly.  "I  see  what  ye  mean  now. 
Let  me  go  my  way,  all  of  ye.  I'd  sooner  kill 
the  Pretty,  and  kill  myself!" 

"Stay,  stay!"  said  Rokesmith,  soothing  her. 
"You  don't  understand." 

"I  understand  too  well.  I  know  too  much 
about  it,  Sir.  I've  run  from  it  too  many  a  year. 
No!  Never  for  me,  nor  for  the  child,  while 
there's  water  enough  in  England  to  cover  us!" 

The  terror,  the  shame,  the  passion  of  horror 
and  repugnance,  firing  the  worn  face  and  per- 
fectly maddening  it,  would  have  been  a  quite 
terrible  sight,  if  embodied  in  one  old  fellow- 
creature  alone.  Yet  it  "crops  up" — as  our 
slang  goes — my  lords  and  gentlemen  and  hon- 
orable boards,  in  other  fellow-creatures,  rather 
frequently ! 

"  It's  been  chasing  me  all  my  life,  but  it  shall 
never  take  me  nor  mine  alive ! "  cried  old  Betty. 
"I've  done  with  ye.  I'd  have  fastened  door  and 
window  and  starved  out,  afore  I'd  ever  have  let 
ye  in,  if  I  had  known  what  ye  came  for !" 

But,  catching  sight  of  Mrs.  Boffin's  whole- 


some face,  she  relented,  and  crouching  down 
by  the  door  and  bending  over  her  burden  to  hush 
it,  said  humbly:  "Maybe  my  fears  has  put  me 
wrong.  If  they  have  so,  tell  me,  and  the  good 
Lord  forgive  me !  I'm  quick  to  take  this  fright, 
I  know,  and  my  head  is  summ'at  light  with 
wearying  and  watching." 

"There,  there,  there!"  returned  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin. "Come,  come!  Say  no  more  of  it,  Bet- 
ty. It  was  a  mistake — a  mistake.  Any  one  of 
us  might  have  made  it  in  your  place,  and  felt 
just  as  you  do." 

"The  Lord  bless  ye!"  said  the  old  woman, 
stretching  out  her  hand. 

"Now,  see,  Betty,"  pursued  the  sweet  com- 
passionate soul,  holding  the  hand  kindly,  "what 
I  really  did  mean,  and  what  I  should  have  be- 
gun by  saying  out,  if  I  had  only  been  a  little 
wiser  and  handier.  We  want  to  move  Johnny 
to  a  place  where  there  are  none  but  children ;  a 
place  set  up  on  purpose  for  sick  children ;  where 
the  good  doctors  and  nurses  pass  their  lives  with 
children,  talk  to  none  but  children,  touch  none 
but  children,  comfort  and  cure  none  but  chil- 
dren." 

"Is  there  really  such  a  place?"  asked  the  old 
woman,  with  a  gaze  of  wonder. 

"Yes,  Betty,  on  my  word,  and  you  shall  see 
it.  If  my  home  was  a  better  place  for  the  dear 
boy  I'd  take  him  to  it;  but  indeed  indeed  it's 
not." 

"You  shall  take  him,"  returned  Betty,  fer- 
vently kissing  the  comforting  hand,  "where  you 
will,  my  deary.  I  am  not  so  hard  but  that  I 
believe  your  face  and  voice,  and  I  will,  as  long 
as  I  can  see  and  hear." 

This  victory  gained,  Rokesmith  made  haste 
to  profit  by  it,  for  he  saw  how  woefully  time  had 
been  lost.  He  dispatched  Sloppy  to  bring  the 
carriage  to  the  door ;  caused  the  child  to  be 
carefully  wrapped  up;  bade  old  Betty  get  her 
bonnet  on ;  collected  the  toys,  enabling  the  lit- 
tle fellow  to  comprehend  that  his  treasures  were 
to  be  transported  with  him ;  and  had  all  things 
prepared  so  easily  that  they  were  ready  for  the 
carriage  as  soon  as  it  appeared,  and  in  a  minute 
afterward  were  on  their  way.  Sloppy  they  left 
behind,  relieving  his  overcharged  breast  with  a 
paroxysm  of  mangling. 

At  the  Children's  Hospital  the  gallant  steed, 
the  Noah's  ark,  the  yellow  bird,  and  the  officer 
in  the  Guards,  were  made  as  welcome  as  their 
child-owner.  But  the  doctor  said  aside  to  Roke- 
smith, "This  should  have  been  days  ago.  Too 
late!" 

However,  they  were  all  carried  up  into  a  fresh 
airy  room,  and  there  Johnny  came  to  himself, 
out  of  a  sleep  or  a  swoon  or  whatever  it  was, 
to  find  himself  lying  in  a  little  quiet  bed,  with  a 
little  platform  over  his  breast,  on  which  were 
already  arranged,  to  give  him  heart  and  urge 
him  to  cheer  up,  the  Noah's  ark,  the  noble  steed, 
and  the  yellow  bird;  with  the  officer  in  the 
Guards  doing  duty  over  the  whole,  quite  as  much 
to  the  satisfaction  of  his  country  as  if  he  had 
been  upon  Parade.  And  at  the  bed's  head  was 
a  colored  picture  beautiful  to  see,  representing 
as  it  were  another  Johnny  seated  on  the  knee 
of  some  Angel  surely  who  loved  little  children. 
And,  marvelous  fact,  to  lie  and  stare  at :  John- 
ny had  become  one  of  a  little  family,  all  in  little 
quiet  beds  (except  two  playing  dominoes  in  little 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


151 


arm-chairs  at  a  little  table  on  the  hearth) :  and 
on  all  the  little  beds  were  little  platforms  where- 
on were  to  be  seen  dolls'  houses,  woolly  dogs 
with  mechanical  barks  in  them  not  very  dis- 
similar from  the  artificial  voice  pervading  the 
bowels  of  the  yellow  bird,  tin  armies,  Moorish 
tumblers,  wooden  tea-things,  and  the  riches  of 
the  earth. 

As  Johnny  murmured  something  in  his  placid 
admiration,  the  ministering  women  at  his  bed's 
head  asked  him  what  he  said.  It  seemed  that 
he  wanted  to  know  whether  all  these  were  broth- 
ers and  sisters  of  his?  So  they  told  him  yes. 
It  seemed  then  that  he  wanted  to  know  whether 
God  had  brought  them  all  together  there  ?  So 
they  told  him  yes  again.  They  made  out  then 
that  he  wanted  to  know  whether  they  would  all 
get  out  of  pain  ?  So  they  answered  yes  to  that 
question  likewise,  and  made  him  understand 
that  the  reply  included  himself. 

Johnny's  powers  of  sustaining  conversation 
were  as  yet  so  very  imperfectly  developed,  even 
in  a  state  of  health,  that  in  sickness  they  were 
little  more  than  monosyllabic.  But  he  had  to 
be  washed  and  tended,  and  remedies  were  ap- 
plied, and  though  those  offices  were  far,  far  more 
skillfully  and  lightly  done  than  'ever  any  thing 
had  been  done  for  him  in  his  little  life,  so  rough 
and  short,  they  would  have  hurt  and  tired  him 
but  for  an  amazing  circumstance  which  laid  hold 
of  his  attention.  This  was  no  less  than  the  ap- 
pearance on  his  own  little  platform  in  pairs,  of 
All  Creation,  on  its  way  into  his  own  particular 
ark :  the  elephant  leading,  and  the  fly,  with  a 
diffident  sense  of  its  size,  politely  bringing  up  the 
rear.  A  very  little  brother  lying  in  the  next 
bed  with  a  broken  leg,  was  so  enchanted  by  this 
spectacle  that  his  delight  exalted  its  enthralling 
interest ;  and  so  came  rest  and  sleep. 

"I  see  you  are  not  afraid  to  leave  the  dear 
child  here,  Betty,"  whispered  Mrs.  Boffin. 

"No,  ma'am.  Most  willingly,  most  thank- 
fully, with  all  my  heart  and  soul." 

So  they  kissed  him,  and  left  him  there,  and 
old  Betty  was  to  come  back  early  in  the  morning, 
and  nobody  but  Rokesmith  knew  for  certain  how 
that  the  doctor  had  said  "  This  should  have  been 
days  ago.     Too  late  !" 

But,  Rokesmith  knowing  it,  and  knowing  that 
his  bearing  it  in  mind  would  be  acceptable  there- 
after to  that  good  Woman  who  had  been  the  only 
light  in  the  childhood  of  desolate  John  Harmon 
dead  and  gone,  resolved  that  late  at  night  he 
would  go  back  to  the  bedside  of  John  Harmon's 
namesake,  and  see  how  it  fared  with  him. 

The  family  whom  God  had  brought  together 
were  not  all  asleep,  but  were  all  quiet.  From 
bed  to  bed  a  light  womanly  tread  and  a  pleas- 
ant fresh  face  passed  in  the  silence  of  the  night. 
A  little  head  would  lift  itself  up  into  the  soft- 
ened light  here  and  there,  to  be  kissed  as  the  face 
went  by — for  these  little  patients  are  very  loving 
— and  would  then  submit  itself  to  be  composed 
to  rest  again.  The  mite  with  the  broken  leg 
was  restless,  and  moaned ;  but  after  a  while 
turned  his  face  toward  Johnny's  bed,  to  fortify 
himself  with  a  view  of  the  ark,  and  fell  asleep. 
Over  most  of  the  beds  the  toys  were  yet  grouped 
as  the  children  had  left  them  when  they  last  laid 
themselves  down,  and,  in  their  innocent  gro- 
tesqueness  and  incongruity,  they  might  have 
stood  for  the  children's  dreams. 


The  doctor  came  in  too,  to  see  how  it  fared 
with  Johnny.  And  he  and  Rokesmith  stood  to- 
gether, looking  down  with  compassion  on  him. 

"What  is  it,  Johnny?"  Rokesmith  was  the 
questioner,  and  put  an  arm  round  the  poor  baby 
as  he  made  a  struggle. 

"Him!"  said  the  little  fellow.     "Those!" 

The  doctor  was  quick  to  understand  children, 
and,  taking  the  horse,  the  ark,  the  yellow  bird, 
and  the  man  in  the  Guards,  from  Johnny's  bed, 
softly  placed  them  on  that  of  his  next  neighbor, 
the  mite  with  the  broken  leg. 

With  a  weary  and  yet  a  pleased  smile,  and 
with  an  action  as  if  he  stretched  his  little  finger 
out  to  rest,  the  child  heaved  his  body  on  the  sus- 
taining arm,  and  seeking  Rokesmith's  face  with 
his  lips,  said : 

"  A  kiss  for  the  boofer  lady." 

Having  now  bequeathed  all  he  had  to  dispose 
of,  and  arranged  his  affairs  in  this  world,  John- 
ny, thus  speaking,  left  it. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A     SUCCESSOR. 

Some  of  the  Reverend  Frank  Milvey's  breth- 
ren had  found  themselves  exceedingly  uncom- 
fortable in  their  minds,  because  they  were  re- 
quired to  bury  the  dead  too  hopefully.  But  the 
Reverend  Frank,  inclining  to  the  belief  that  they 
were  required  to  do  one  or  two  other  things  (say 
out  of  nine-and-thirty)  calculated  to  trouble  their 
consciences  rather  more  if  they  would  think  as 
much  about  them,  held  his  peace. 

Indeed,  the  Reverend  Frank  Milvey  was  a  for- 
bearing man,  who  noticed  many  sad  warps  and 
blights  in  the  vineyard  wherein  he  worked,  and 
did  not  profess  that  they  made  him  savagely 
wise.  He  only  learned  that  the  more  he  him- 
self knew,  in  his  little  limited  human  way,  the 
better  he  could  distantly  imagine  what  Omnis- 
cience might  know. 

Wherefore,  if  the  Reverend  Frank  had  had  to 
read  the  words  that  troubled  some  of  his  breth- 
ren, and  profitably  touched  innumerable  hearts 
in  a  worse  case  than  Johnny's,  he  would  have 
done  so  out  of  the  pity  and  humility  of  his  soul. 
Reading  them  over  Johnny,  he  thought  of  his 
own  six  children,  but  not  of  his  poverty,  and 
read  them  with  dimmed  eyes.  And  very  seri- 
ously did  he  and  his  bright  little  wife,  who  had 
been  listening,  look  down  into  the  small  grave 
and  walk  home  arm-in-arm. 

There  was  grief  in  the  aristocratic  house,  and 
there  was  joy  in  the  Bower.  Mr.  Wegg  argued, 
if  an  orphan  were  wanted,  was  he  not  an  orphan 
himself,  and  could  a  better  be  desired?  And 
why  go  beating  about  Brentford  bushes,  seeking 
orphans  forsooth  who  had  established  no  claims 
upon  you  and  made  no  sacrifices  for  you,  when 
here  was  an  orphan  ready  to  your  hand  who  had 
given  up  in  your  cause  Miss  Elizabeth,  Master 
George,  Aunt  Jane,  and  Uncle  Parker  ? 

Mr.  Wegg  chuckled,  consequently,  when  he 
heard  the  tidings.  Nay,  it  was  afterward  affirm- 
ed by  a  witness  who  shall  at  present  be  nameless, 
that  in  the  seclusion  of  the  Bower  he  poked  out 
his  wooden  leg,  in  the  stage-ballet  manner,  and 
executed  a  taunting  or  triumphant  pirouette  on 
the  genuine  leg  remaining  to  him. 


152 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


John  Rokesmith's  manner  toward  Mrs.  Boffin 
at  this  time  was  more  the  manner  of  a  young 
man  toward  a  mother  than  that  of  a  Secretary 
toward  his  employer's  wife.  It  had  always  been 
marked  by  a  subdued  affectionate  deference  that 
seemed  to  have  sprung  up  on  the  very  day  of  his 
engagement ;  whatever  was  odd  in  her  dress  or 
her  ways  had  seemed  to  have  no  oddity  for  him ; 
he  had  sometimes  borne  a  quietly-amused  face  in 
her  company,  but  still  it  had  seemed  as  if  the 
pleasure  her  genial  temper  and  radiant  nature 
yielded  him  could  have  been  quite  as  naturally 
expressed  in  a  tear  as  in  a  smile.  The  complete- 
ness of  his  sympathy  with  her  fancy  for  having 
a  little  John  Harmon  to  protect  and  rear,  he  had 
shown  in  every  act  and  word,  and  now  that  the 
kind  fancy  was  disappointed,  he  treated  it  with 
a  manly  tenderness  and  respect  for  which  she 
could  hardly  thank  him  enough. 

"But  I  do  thank  you,  Mr.  Rokesmith,"  said 
Mrs.  Boffin,  "and  I  thank  you  most  kindly.  You 
love  children." 

"I  hope  every  body  does." 

i ' They  ought, " said  Mrs.  Boffin ;  "but  we  don't 
all  of  us  do  what  we  ought ;  do  us?" 

John  Rokesmith  replied,  "Some  among  us 
supply  the  shortcomings  of  the  rest.  You  have 
loved  children  well,  Mr.  Boffin  has  told  me." 

"Not  a  bit  better  than  he  has,  but  that's  his 
way ;  he  puts  all  the  good  upon  me.  You  speak 
rather  sadlv,  Mr.  Rokesmith." 

"Do  I?" 

"  It  sounds  to  me  so.  Were  you  one  of  many 
children  ?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  An  only  child  ?" 

"No,  there  was  another.    Dead  long  ago." 

"Father  or  mother  alive?" 

"Dead." 

"And  the  rest  of  your  relations?" 

"Dead — if  I  ever  had  any  living.  I  never 
heard  of  any." 

At  this  point  of  the  dialogue  Bella  came  in 
with  a  light  step.  She  paused  at  the  door  a  mo- 
ment, hesitating  whether  to  remain  or  retire ; 
perplexed  by  finding  that  she  was  not  ob- 
served. 

"Now,  don't  mind  an  old  lady's  talk,"  said 
Mrs.  Boffin,  "  but  tell  me.  Are  you  quite  sure, 
Mr.  Rokesmith,  that  you  have  never  had  a  dis- 
appointment in  love?" 

"  Quite  sure.    Why  do  you  ask  me  ?" 

"  Why,  for  this  reason.  Sometimes  you  have 
a  kind  of  kept-down  manner  with  you,  which  is 
not  like  your  age.     You  can't  be  thirty?" 

"  I  am  not  yet  thirty." 

Deeming  it  high  time  to  make  her  presence 
known,  Bella  coughed  here  to  attract  attention, 
begged  pardon,  and  said  she  would  go,  fearing 
that  she  interrupted  some  matter  of  business. 

"No,  don't  go,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Boffin,  "be- 
cause we  are  coming  to  business,  instead  of  hav- 
ing begun  it,  and  you  belong  to  it  as  much  now, 
my  dear  Bella,  as  I  do.  But  I  want  my  Noddy 
to  consult  with  us.  Would  somebody  be  so  good 
as  find  my  Noddy  for  me  ?" 

Rokesmith  departed  on  that  errand,  and  pres- 
ently returned  accompanied  by  Mr.  Boffin  at  his 
jog-trot.  Bella  felt  a  little  vague  trepidation  as 
to  the  subject-matter  of  this  same  consultation, 
until  Mrs.  Boffin  announced  it. 

"Now,  you  come  and  sit  by  me,  my  dear," 


said  that  worthy  soul,  taking  her  comfortable 
place  on  a  large  ottoman  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  drawing  her  arm  through  Bella's; 
"and  Noddy,  you  sit  here,  and  Mr.  Rokesmith 
you  sit  there.  Now,  you  see,  what  I  want  to 
talk  about,  is  this.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Milvey  have 
sent  me  the  kindest  note  possible  (which  Mr. 
Rokesmith  just  now  read  to  me  out  loud,  for  I 
ain't  good  at  handwritings),  offering  to  find  me 
another  little  child  to  name  and  educate  and 
bring  up.     Well.    This  has  set  me  thinking." 

("And  she  is  a  steam-ingein  at  it,"  murmured 
Mr.  Boffin,  in  an  admiring  parenthesis,  "  when 
she  once  begins.  It  mayn't  be  so  easy  to  start 
her  ;  but  once  started,  she's  a  ingein.") 

" — This  has  set  me  thinking,  I  say,"  repeated 
Mrs.  Boffin,  cordially  beaming  under  the  influ- 
ence of  her  husband's  compliment,  "  and  I  have 
thought  two  things.  First  of  all,  that  I  have 
grown  timid  of  reviving  John  Harmon's  name. 
It's  an  unfortunate  name,  and  I  fancy  I  should 
reproach  myself  if  I  gave  it  to  another  dear 
child,  and  it  proved  again  unlucky." 

"Now,  whether,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  gravely  pro- 
pounding a  case  for  his  Secretary's  opinion  ; 
"  whether  one  might  call  that  a  superstition  ?" 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  feeling  with  Mrs.  Boffin," 
said  Rokesmith,  gently.  "The  name  has  always 
been  unfortunate.  It  has  now  this  new  unfor- 
tunate association  connected  with  it.  The  name 
has  died  out.  Why  revive  it  ?  Might  I  ask  Miss 
Wilfer  what  she  thinks  ?" 

"It  has  not  been  a  fortunate  name  for  me," 
said  Bella,  coloring — "or  at  least  it  was  not, 
until  it  led  to  my  being  here — but  that  is  not  the 
point  in  my  thoughts.  As  we  had  given  the 
name  to  the  poor  child,  and  as  the  poor  child 
took  so  lovingly  to  me,  I  think  I  should  feel 
jealous  of  calling  another  child  by  it.  I  think  I 
should  feel  as  if  the  name  had  become  endeared 
to  me,  and  I  had  no  right  to  use  it  so. " 

"And  that's  your  opinion?"  remarked  Mr. 
Boffin,  observant  of  the  Secretary's  face,  and 
again  addressing  him. 

"I  say  again,  it  is  a  matter  of  feeling,"  re- 
turned the  Secretary.  "I  think  Miss  Wilfer's 
feeling  very  womanly  and  pretty." 

"Now,  give  us  your  opinion,  Noddy,"  said 
Mrs.  Boffin. 

"My  opinion,  old  lady,"  returned  the  Golden 
Dustman,  "is  your  opinion." 

"Then,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  "we  agree  not  to 
revive  John  Harmon's  name,  but  to  let  it  rest  in 
the  grave.  It  is,  as  Mr.  Rokesmith  says,  a  mat- 
ter of  feeling,  but  Lor  how  many  matters  are 
matters  of  feeling !  Well ;  and  so  I  come  to  the 
second  thing  I  have  thought  of.  You  must 
know,  Bella,  my  dear,  and  Mr.  Rokesmith,  that 
when  I  first  named  to  my  husband  my  thoughts 
of  adopting  a  little  orphan  boy  in  remembrance 
of  John  Harmon,  I  further  named  to  my  hus- 
band that  it  was  comforting  to^  think  that  how 
the  poor  boy  would  be  benefited  by  John's  own 
money,  and  protected  from  John's  own  forlorn- 
ness." 

'  •  Hear,  hear ! "  cried  Mr.  Boffin.  "  So  she  did. 
Ancoar!"  , 

"No,  not  Ancoar,  Noddy,  my  dear,"  returned 
Mrs.  Boffin,  "  because  I  am  going  to  say  some- 
thing else.  I  meant  that,  I  am  sure,  as  much 
as  I  still  mean  it.  But  this  little  death  has  made 
me  ask  myself  the  question,  seriously,  whether  I 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


153 


wasn't  too  bent  upon  pleasing  myself.  Else  why- 
did  I  seek  out  so  much  for  a  pretty  child,  and  a 
child  quite  to  my  liking  ?  Wanting  to  do  good, 
why  not  do  it  for  its  own  sake,  and  put  my 
tastes  and  likings  by?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  Bella;  and  perhaps  she  said 
it  with  some  little  sensitiveness  arising  out  of 
those  old  curious  relations  of  hers  toward  the 
murdered  man ;  "perhaps,  in  reviving  the  name, 
you  would  not  have  liked  to  give  it  to  a  less  in- 
teresting child  than  the  original.  He  interested 
you  very  much." 

"Well,  my  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Boffin,  giv- 
ing her  a  squeeze,  "it's  kind  of  you  to  find  that 
reason  out,  and  I  hope  it  may  have  been  so,  and 
indeed  to  a  certain  extent  I  believe  it  was  so, 
but  I  am  afraid  not  to  the  whole  extent.  How- 
ever, that  don't  come  in  question  now,  because 
we  have  done  with  the  name." 

"Laid  it  up  as  a  remembrance,"  suggested 
Bella,  musingly. 

"Much  better  said,  my  dear;  laid  it  up  as  a 
remembrance.  Well  then :  I  have  been  think- 
ing if  1  take  any  orphan  to  provide  for,  let  it  not 
be  a  pet  and  a  plaything  for  me,  but  a  creature 
to  be  helped  for  its  own  sake. " 

"Not  pretty  then?"  said  Bella. 

"  No,"  returned  Mrs.  Boffin,  stoutly. 

"Nor  prepossessing  then?"  said  Bella. 

"No,"  returned  Mrs. Boffin.  "Not  necessa- 
rily so.  That's  as  it  may  happen.  A  well-dis- 
posed boy  comes  in  my  way  who  may  be  even  a 
little  wanting  in  such  advantages  for  getting  on 
in  life,  but  is  honest  and  industrious  and  requires 
a  helping  hand  and  deserves  it.  If  I  am  very 
much  in  earnest  and  quite  determined  to  be  un- 
selfish, let  me  take  care  of  him" 

Here  the  footman  whose  feelings  had  been 
hurt  on  the  former  occasion  appeared,  and  cross- 
ing to  Rokesmith  apologetically  announced  the 
objectionable  Sloppy. 

The  four  members  of  Council  looked  at  one 
another,  and  paused.  "Shall  he  be  brought 
here,  ma'am?"  asked  Rokesmith. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin.  Whereupon  the  foot- 
man disappeared,  reappeared  presenting  Sloppy, 
and  retired  much  disgusted. 

The  consideration  of  Mrs.  Boffin  had  clothed 
Mr.  Sloppy  in  a  suit  of  black,  on  which  the  tailor 
had  received  personal  directions  from  Rokesmith 
to  expend  the  utmost  cunning  of  .his  art,  with  a 
view  to  the  concealment  of  the  cohering  and  sus- 
taining buttons.  But,  so  much  more  powerful 
were  the  frailties  of  Sloppy's  form  than  the 
strongest  resources  of  tailoring  science,  that  he 
now  stood  before  the  Council  a  perfect  Argus  in 
the  way  of  buttons:  shining  and  winking 'and 
gleaming  and  twinkling  out  of  a  hundred  of 
those  eyes  of  bright  metal,  at  the  dazzled  spec- 
tators. The  artistic  taste  of  some  unknown  hat- 
ter had  furnished  him  with  a  hat-band  of  whole- 
sale capacity,  which  was  fluted  behind,  from  the 
crown  of  his  hat  to  the  brim,  and  terminated 
in  a  black  bunch,  from  which  the  imagination 
shrunk  discomfited  and  the  reason  revolted. 
Some  special  powers  with  which  his  legs  were 
endowed  had  already  hitched  up  his  glossy  trow- 
sers  at  the  ankles  and  bagged  them  at  the  knees ; 
while  similar  gifts  in  his  arms  had  raised  his 
coat-sleeves  from  his  wrists  and  accumulated 
them  at  his  elbows.  Thus  set  forth,  with  the 
additional  embellishments  of  a  very  little  tail  to 


his  coat,  and  a  yawning  gulf  at  his  waistband, 
Sloppy  stood  confessed. 

"And  how  is  Betty,  my  good  fellow?"  Mrs. 
Boffin  asked  him. 

"Thankee,  mum,"  said  Sloppy,  "she  do  pret- 
ty nicely,  and  sending  her  dooty  and  many  thanks 
for  the  tea  and  all  faviors,  and  wishing  to  know 
the  family's  healths." 

"Have  you  just  come,  Sloppy?" 

"Yes,  mum." 

"Then  you  have  not  had  your  dinner  yet?" 

"No,  mum.  But  I  mean  to  it.  For  I  ain't 
forgotten  your  handsome  orders  that  I  was  never 
to  go  away  without  having  had  a  good  'un  off  of 
meat  and  beer  and  pudding — no :  there  was  four 
of  'em,  for  I  reckoned  'em  up  when  I  had  'em ; 
meat  one,  beer  two,  vegetables  three,  and  which 
was  four? — Why,  pudding,  he  was  four!"  Here 
Sloppy  threw  his  head  back,  opened  his  mouth 
wide,  and  laughed  rapturously. 

"How  are  the  two  poor  little  Minders?" 
asked  Mrs.  Boffin. 

"  Striking  right  out,  mum,  and  coming  round 
beautiful." 

Mrs.  Boffin  looked  on  the  other  three  members 
of  Council,  and  then  said,  beckoning  with  her 
finger : 

"Sloppy." 

"Yes,  mum." 

"  Come  forward,  Sloppy.  Should  you  like  to 
dine  here  every  day?" 

" Off  of  all  four  on  'em,  mum?  Oh,  mum !" 
Sloppy's  feelings  obliged  him  to  squeeze  his  hat, 
and  contract  one  leg  at  the  knee. 

"Yes.  And  should  you  like  to  be  always 
taken  care  of  here,  if  you  were  industrious  and 
deserving  ?" 

"  Oh,  mum  ! — But  there's  Mrs.  Higden,"  said 
Sloppy,  checking  himself  in  his  raptures,  draw- 
ing back,  and  shaking  his  head  with  very  serious 
meaning.  "There's  Mrs.  Higden.  Mrs.  Hig- 
den goes  before  all.  None  can  ever  be  better 
friends  to  me  than  Mrs.  Higden's  been.  And 
she  must  be  turned  for,  must  Mrs.  Higden. 
Where  would  Mrs.  Higden  be  if  she  warn't 
turned  for  I"  At  the  mere  thought  of  Mrs.  Hig- 
den in  this  inconceivable  affliction,  Mr.  Sloppy's 
countenance  became  pale,  and  manifested  the 
most  distressful  emotions. 

"You  are  as  right  as  right  can  be,  Sloppy," 
said  Mrs.  Boffin,  ' '  and  far  be  it  from  me  to  tell 
you  otherwise.  It  shall  be  seen  to.  If  Betty 
Higden  can  be  turned  for  all  the  same,  you  shall 
come  here  and  be  taken  care  of  for  life,  and  be 
made  able  to  keep  her  in  other  ways  than  the 
turning." 

"Even  as  to  that,  mum,"  answered  the  ec- 
static Sloppy,  "  the  turning  might  be  done  in  the 
night,  don't  you  see?  I  could  be  here  in  the 
day,  and  turn  in  the  night.  I  don't  want  no 
sleep,  /  don't.  Or  even  if  I  any  ways  should 
want  a  wink  or  two,"  added  Sloppy,  after  a  mo- 
ment's apologetic  reflection,  "I  could  take  'em 
turning.  I've  took  'em  turning  many  a  time, 
and  enjoyed  'em  wonderful !" 

On  the  grateful  impulse  of  the  moment  Mr. 
Sloppy  kissed  Mrs.  Boffin's  hand,  and  then  de- 
taching himself  from  that  good  creature  that  he 
might  have  room  enough  for  his  feelings,  threw 
back  his  head,  opened  his  mouth  wide,  and  ut- 
tered a  dismal  howl.  It  was  creditable  to  his 
tenderness  of  heart,  but  suggested  that  he  might 


154 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


on  occasion  give  some  offense  to  the  neighbors : 
the  rather,  as  the  footman  looked  in,  and  begged 
pardon,  finding  he  was  not  wanted,  but  excused 
himself,  on  the  ground  "  that  he  thought  it  was 
Cats." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SOME  AFFAIRS  OF  THE  HEART. 

Little  Miss  Peecher,  from  her  little  official 
dwelling-house,  with  its  little  windows  like  the 
eyes  in  needles,  and  its  little  doors  like  the  cov- 
ers of  school-books,  was  very  observant  indeed 
of  the  object  of  her  quiet  affections.  Love, 
though  said  to  be  afflicted  with  blindness,  is  a 
vigilant  watchman,  and  Miss  Peecher  kept  him 
on  double  duty  over  Mr.  Bradley  Headstone. 
It  was  not  that  she  was  naturally  given  to  play- 
ing the  spy — it  was  not  that  she  was  at  all  se- 
cret, plotting,  or  mean — it  was  simply  that  she 
loved  the  irresponsive  Bradley  with  all  the  primi- 
tive and  homely  stock  of  love  that  had  never 
been  examined  or  certificated  out  of  her.  If  her 
faithful  slate  had  had  the  latent  qualities  of  sym- 
pathetic paper,  and  its  pencil  those  of  invisible 
ink,  many  a  little  treatise  calculated  to  astonish 
the  pupils  would  have  come  bursting  through 
the  dry  sums  in  school-time  under  the  warming 
influence  of  Miss  Peecher's  bosom.  For,  often- 
times when  school  was  not,  and  her  calm  leisure 
and  calm  little  house  were  her  own,  Miss  Peecher 
would  commit  to  the  confidential  slate  an  im- 
aginary description  of  how,  upon  a  balmy  even- 
ing at  dusk,  two  figures  might  have  been  ob- 
served in  the  market-garden  ground  round  the 
corner,  of  whom  one,  being  a  manly  form,  bent 
over  the  other,  being  a  womanly  form  of  short 
stature  and  some  compactness,  and  breathed  in 
a  low  voice  the  words,  "Emma  Peecher,  wilt 
thou  be  my  own?"  after  which  the  womanly 
form's  head  reposed  upon  the  manly  form's  shoul- 
der, and  the  nightingales  tuned  up.  Though 
all  unseen,  and  unsuspected  by  the  pupils,  Brad- 
ley Headstone  even  pervaded  the  school  exer- 
cises. Was  Geography  in  question  ?  He  would 
come  triumphantly  flying  out  of  Vesuvius  and 
iEtna  ahead  of  the  lava,  and  would  boil  un- 
harmed in  the  hot  springs  of  Iceland,  and  would 
float  majestically  down  the  Ganges  and  the  Nile. 
Did  History  chronicle  a  king  of  men  ?  Behold 
him  in  pepper-and-salt  pantaloons,  with  his 
watch-guard  round  his  neck.  Were  copies  to 
be  written  ?  In  capital  B's  and  H's  most  of  the 
girls  under  Miss  Peecher's  tuition  were  half  a 
year  ahead  of  every  other  letter  in  the  alphabet. 
And  Mental  Arithmetic,  administered  by  Miss 
Peecher,  often  devoted  itself  to  providing  Brad- 
ley Headstone  with  a  wardrobe  of  fabulous  ex- 
tent: fourscore  and  four  neck-ties  at  two  and 
ninepence-halfpenny,  two  gross  of  silver  watches 
at  four  pounds  fifteen  and  sixpence,  seventy-four 
black  hats  at  eighteen  shillings ;  and  many  simi- 
lar superfluities. 

The  vigilant  watchman,  using  his  daily  oppor- 
tunities of  turning  his  eyes  in  Bradley's  direction, 
soon  apprised  Miss  Peecher  that  Bradley  was 
more  preoccupied  than  had  been  his  wont,  and 
more  given  to  strolling  about  with  a  downcast 
and  reserved  face,  turning  something  difficult  in 
his  mind  that  was  not  in  the  scholastic  syllabus. 
Putting  this  and  that  together — combining  un- 


der the  head  "this,"  present  appearances  and 
the  intimacy  with  Charley  Hexam,  and  ranging 
under  the  head  "  that"  the  visit  to  his  sister,  the 
watchman  reported  to  Miss  Peecher  his  strong 
suspicions  that  the  sister  was  at  the  bottom  of 
it. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Miss  Peecher,  as  she  sat 
making  up  her  weekly  report  on  a  half-holiday 
afternoon,  "what  they  call  Hexam's  sister?" 

Mary  Anne,  at  her  needle-work,  attendant  and 
attentive,  held  her  arm  up. 
"Well,  Mary  Anne?" 
"  She  is  named  Lizzie,  ma'am." 
"  She  can  hardly  be  named  Lizzie,  I  think, 
Mary  Anne,"  returned  Miss  Peecher,  in  a  tune- 
fully-instructive voice.     "Is  Lizzie  a  Christian 
name,  Mary  Anne  ?" 

Mary  Anne  laid  down  her  work,  rose,  hooked 
herself  behind,  as  being  under  catechisation,  and 
replied :   "No,  it  is  a  corruption,  Miss  Peecher." 
"Who  gave  her  that  name?"  Miss  Peecher 
was  going  on,  from  the  mere  force  of  habit,  when 
she  checked  herself,  on  Mary  Anne's  evincing 
theological  impatience  to  strike  in  with  her  god- 
fathers and  her  godmothers,  and  said :   "I  mean 
of  what  name  is  it  a  corruption  ?" 
"  Elizabeth,  or  Eliza,  Miss  Peecher." 
"Right,  Mary  Anne.     Whether  there  were 
any  Lizzies  in  the  early  Christian  Church  must 
be  considered  very  doubtful,  very  doubtful."    Miss 
Peecher  was  exceedingly  sage  here.     "Speak- 
ing correctly,  we  say,  then,  that  Hexam's  sister 
is  called  Lizzie ;  not  that  she  is  named  so.     Do 
we  not,  Mary  Anne?" 
"We  do,  Miss  Peecher." 
"And  where,"  pursued  Miss  Peecher,  com- 
placent in  her  little  transparent  fiction  of  con- 
ducting the  examination  in  a  semi-official  man- 
ner for  Mary  Anne's    benefit,   not    her   own, 
"where  does  this  young  woman,  who  is  called 
but  not  named  Lizzie,  live?     Think,  now,  be- 
fore answering." 

"In  Church  Street,  Smith  Square,  by  Mill 
Bank,  ma'am." 

"In  Church  Street,  Smith  Square,  by  Mill 
Bank,"  repeated  Miss  Peecher,  as  if  possessed 
beforehand  of  the  book  in  which  it  was  written. 
"Exactly  so.  And  what  occupation  does  this 
young  woman  pursue,  Mary  Anne  ?  Take  time." 
1 '  She  has  a  place  of  trust  at  an  outfitter's  in 
the  City,  ma'am." 

"Oh!"  said  Miss  Peecher,  pondering  on  it; 
but  smoothly  added,  in  a  confirmatory  tone, 
"At  an  outfitter's  in  the  City.     Ye-es?" 

"And  Charley — "  Mary  Ann  was  proceeding, 
when  Miss  Peecher  stared. 

"I  mean  Hexam,  Miss  Peecher." 
"  I  should  think  you  did,  Mary  Anne.     I  am 
glad  to  hear  you  do.     And  Hexam — ?" 

"  Says,"  Mary  Anne  went  on,  "that  he  is  not 
pleased  with  his  sister,  and  that  his  sister  won't 
be  guided  by  his  advice,  and  persists  in  being 
guided  by  somebody  else's ;  and  that — " 

"Mr.  Headstone  coming  across  the  garden!'* 
exclaimed  Miss  Peecher,  with  a  flushed  glance 
at  the  looking-glass.  "You  have  answered  very 
well,  Mary  Anne.  You  are  forming  an  excel- 
lent habit  of  arranging  your  thoughts  clearly. 
That  will  do." 

The  discreet  Mary  Anne  resumed  her  seat  and 
her  silence,  and  stirched,  and  stitched,  and  was 
stitching  when  the  schoolmaster's  shadow  came 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


155 


in  before  him,  announcing  that  he  might  be  in- 
stantly expected. 

"Good-evening,  Miss  Peecher,"  he  said,  pur- 
suing the  shadow,  and  taking  its  place. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Headstone.  Mary  Anne, 
a  chair." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Bradley,  seating  himself 
in  his  constrained  manner.  "This  is  but  a  fly- 
ing visit.  I  have  looked  in,  on  my  way,  to  ask 
a  kindness  of  you  as  a  neighbor." 

"Did  you  say  on  your  way,  Mr.  Headstone?" 
asked  Miss  Peecher. 

"  On  my  way  to — where  I  am  going." 

"Church  Street,  Smith  Square,  by  Mill 
Bank,"  repeated  Miss  Peecher,  in  her  own 
thoughts. 

"Charley  Hexam  has  gone  to  get  a  book  or 
two  he  wants,  and  will  probably  be  back  before 
me.  As  we  leave  my  house  empty,  I  took  the 
liberty  of  telling  him  I  would  leave  the  key  here. 
Would  you  kindly  allow  me  to  do  so?" 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Headstone.  Going  for  an 
evening  walk,  Sir  ?" 

"Partly  for  a  walk,  and  partly  for — on  busi- 
ness." 

"Business  in  Church  Street,  Smith  Square, 
by  Mill  Bank,"  repeated  Miss  Peecher  to  her- 
self. 

"Having  said  which,"  pursued  Bradley,  lay- 
ing his  door-key  on  the  table,  "I  must  be  al- 
ready going.  There  is  nothing  I  can  do  for 
you,  Miss  Peecher?" 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Headstone.  In  which  di- 
rection?" 

"In  the  direction  of  Westminster." 

"Mill  Bank,"  Miss  Peecher  repeated  in  her 
own  thoughts  once  again.  "No,  thank  you, 
Mr.  Headstone ;  I'll  not  trouble  you. " 

"You  couldn't  trouble  me,"  said  the  school- 
master. 

"Ah!"  returned  Miss  Peecher,  though  not 
aloud ;  "but  you  can  trouble  rne/"  And  for  all 
her  quiet  manner,  and  her  quiet  smile,  she  was 
full  of  trouble  as  he  went  his  way. 

She  was  right  touching  his  destination.  He 
held  as  straight  a  course  for  the  house  of  the 
dolls'  dress-maker  as  the  wisdom  of  his  ances- 
tors, exemplified  in  the  construction  of  the  in- 
tervening streets,  would  let  him,  and  walked 
with  a  bent  head  hammering  at  one  fixed  idea. 
It  had  been  an  immovable  idea  since  he  first  set 
eyes  upon  her.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  all  that 
he  could  suppress  in  himself  he  had  suppressed, 
as  if  all  that  he  could  restrain  in  himself  he  had 
restrained,  and  the  time  had  come — in  a  rush, 
in  a  moment — when  the  power  of  self-command 
had  departed  from  him.  Love  at  first  sight  is 
a  trite  expression  quite  sufficiently  discussed ; 
enough  that  in  certain  smouldering  natures  like 
this  man's,  that  passion  leaps  into  a  blaze,  and 
makes  such  head  as  fire  does  in  a  rage  of  wind, 
when  other  passions,  but  for  its  mastery,  could 
be  held  in  chains.  As  a  multitude  of  weak, 
imitative  natures  are  always  lying  by,  ready  to 
go  mad  upon  the  next  wrong  idea  that  may  be 
broached — in  these  times  generally  some  form 
of  tribute  to  Somebody  for  something  that  never 
was  done,  or,  if  ever  done,  that  was  done  by 
Somebody  Else — so  these  less  ordinary  natures 
may  lie  by  for  years,  ready  on  the  touch  of  an 
instant  to  burst  into  flame. 

The  schoolmaster  went  his  way,  brooding  and 


brooding,  and  a  sense  of  being  vanquished  in  a 
struggle  might  have  been  pieced  out  of  his  wor- 
ried face.  Truly,  in  his  breast  there  lingered  a 
resentful  shame  to  find  himself  defeated  by  this 
passion  for  Charley  Hexam's  sister,  though  in 
the  very  self-same  moments  he  was  concentrat- 
ing himself  upon  the  object  of  bringing  the  pas- 
sion to  a  successful  issue. 

He  appeared  before  the  dolls'  dress-maker, 
sitting  alone  at  her  work.  "Oho!"  thought 
that  sharp  young  personage,  "  it's  you,  is  it  ?  / 
know  your  tricks  and  your  manners,  my  friend  !" 

"Hexam's  sister,"  said  Bradley  Headstone, 
"is  not  come  home  yet?" 

"You  are  quite  a  conjurer,"  returned  Miss 
Wren. 

"I  will  wait,  if  you  please,  for  I  want  to  speak 
to  her." 

"Do  you ?"  returned  Miss  Wren.  "  Sit  down. 
I  hope  it's  mutual." 

Bradley  glanced  distrustfully  at  the  shrewd 
face  again  bending  over  the  work,  and  said,  try- 
ing to  conquer  doubt  and  hesitation : 

"I  hope  you  don't  imply  that  my  visit  will  be 
unacceptable  to  Hexam's  sister?" 

"There!  Don't  call  her  that.  I  can't  bear 
you  to  call  her  that,"  returned  Miss  Wren,  snap- 
ping her  fingers  in  a  volley  of  impatient  snaps, 
"for  I  don't  like  Hexam." 

"Indeed?" 

"No."  Miss  Wren  wrinkled  her  nose,  to  ex- 
press dislike.  "Selfish.  Thinks  only  of  him- 
self.    The  way  with  all  of  you." 

"The  way  with  all  of  us?  Then  you  don't 
like  me  f 

"  So-so,"  replied  Miss  Wren,  with  a  shrug  and 
a  laugh.      "Don't  know  much  about  you." 

"But  I  was  not  aware  it  was  the  way  with 
all  of  us,"  said  Bradley,  returning  to  the  accu- 
sation, a  little  injured.  "Won't  you  say,  some 
of  us?" 

"Meaning,"  returned  the  little  creature,  "ev- 
ery one  of  you,  but  you.  Hah !  Now  look  this 
lady  in  the  face.  This  is  Mrs.  Truth.  The 
Honorable.     Full-dressed." 

Bradley  glanced  at  the  doll  she  held  up  for 
his  observation — which  had  been  lying  on  its 
face  on  her  bench,  while  with  a  needle  •  and 
thread  she  fastened  the  dress  on  at  the  back — 
and  looked  from  it  to  her. 

"  I  stand  the  Honorable  Mrs.  T.  on  my  bench 
in  this  corner  against  the  wall,  where  her  blue 
eyes  can  shine  upon  you,"  pursued  Miss  Wren, 
doing  so,  and  making  two  little  dabs  at  him  in 
the  air  with  her  needle,  as  if  she  pricked  him 
with  it  in  his  own  eyes ;  "and  I  defy  you  to  tell 
me,  with  Mrs.  T.  for  a  witness,  what  you  have 
come  here  for." 

"To  see  Hexam's  sister." 

"You  don't  say  so!"  retorted  Miss  Wren, 
hitching  her  chin.     "But  on  whose  account?" 

"Her  own." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  T. !"  exclaimed  Miss  Wren.  "  You 
hear  him!" 

"To  reason  with  her,"  pursued  Bradley,  half 
humoring  what  was  present,  and  half  angry  with 
what  was  not  present;    "for  her  own  sake." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  T. !"  exclaimed  the  dress-maker. 

"  For  her  own  sake,"  repeated  Bradley,  warm- 
ing, "  and  for  her  brother's,  and  as  a  perfectly 
disinterested  person." 

"Really,  Mrs.  T.,"  remarked  the  dress-mak- 


15G 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


er,  "since  it  conies  to  this,  we  must  positively 
turn  you  with  your  face  to  the  wall."  She  had 
hardly  done  so  when  Lizzie  Hexam  arrived, 
and  showed  some  surprise  on  seeing  Bradley 
Headstone  there,  and  Jenny  shaking  her  little 
fist  at  him  close  before  her  eyes,  and  the  Hon- 
orable Mrs.  T.  with  her  face  to  the  wall. 

"Here's  a  perfectly  disinterested  person,  Liz- 
zie dear,"  said  the  knowing  Miss  Wren,  "come 
to  talk  with  you,  for  your  own  sake  and  your 
brother's.  Thmk  of  that.  I  am  sure  there 
ought  to  be  no  third  party  present  at  any  thing 
so  very  kind  and  so  very  serious ;  and  so,  if 
you'll  remove  the  third  party  up  stairs,  my  dear, 
the  third  party  will  retire." 

Lizzie  took  the  hand  which  the  dolls'  dress- 
maker held  out  to  her  for  the  purpose  of  being 
supported  away,  but  only  looked  at  her  with  an 
inquiring  smile,  and  made  no  other  movement. 

"  The  third  party  hobbles  awfully,  you  know, 
when  she's  left  to  herself,"  said  Miss  Wren, 
"  her  back  being  so  bad,  and  her  legs  so  queer; 
so  she  can't  retire  gracefully  unless  you  help  her, 
Lizzie." 

"She  can  do  no  better  than  stay  where  she 
is,"  returned  Lizzie,  releasing  the  hand,  and 
laying  her  own  lightly  on  Miss  Jenny's  curls. 
And  then  to  Bradley :   "  From  Charley,  Sir  ?" 

In  an  irresolute  way,  and  stealing  a  clumsy 
look  at  her,  Bradley  rose  to  place  a  chair  for  her, 
and  then  returned  to  his  own. 

"Strictly  speaking,"  said  he,  "I  come*from 
Charley,  because  I  left  him  only  a  little  while 
ago ;  but  I  am  not  commissioned  by  Charley. 
I  come  of  my  own  spontaneous  act." 

With  her  elbows  on  her  bench,  and  her  chin 
upon  her  hands,  Miss  Jenny  Wren  sat  looking 
at  him  with  a  watchful  sidelong  look.  Lizzie, 
in  her  different  way,  sat  looking  at  him  too. 

"The  fact  is,"  began  Bradley,  with  a  mouth 
so  dry  that  he  had  some  difficulty  in  articulating 
his  words :  the  consciousness  of  which  rendered 
his  manner  still  more  ungainly  and  undecided ; 
"  the  truth  is,  that  Charley,  having  no  secrets 
from  me  (to  the  best  of  my  belief),  has  confided 
the  whole  of  this  matter  to  me." 

He  came  to  a  stop,  and  Lizzie  asked :  "  What 
matter,  Sir?" 

"  I  thought,"  returned  the  schoolmaster,  steal- 
ing another  look  at  her,  and  seeming  to  try  in 
vain  to  sustain  it;  for  the  look  dropped  as  it 
lighted  on  her  eyes,  "that  it  might  be  so  super- 
fluous as  to  be  almost  impertinent,  to  enter  upon 
a  definition  of  it.  My  allusion  was  to  this  mat- 
ter of  your  having  put  aside  your  brother's  plans 
for  you,  and  given  the  preference  to  those  of  Mr. 
— I  believe  the  name  is  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn." 

He  made  this  point  of  not  "being  certain  of 
the  name,  with  another  uneasy  look  at  her, 
which  dropped  like  the  last. 

Nothing  being  said  on  the  other  side,  he  had 
to  begin  again,  and  began  with  new  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  Your  brother's  plans  were  communicated  to 
me  when  he  first  had  them  in  his  thoughts.  In 
point  of  fact  he  spoke  to  me  about  them  when  I 
was  last  here — when  we  were  walking  back  to- 
gether, and  when  I — when  the  impression  was 
fresh  upon  me  of  having  seen  his  sister." 

There  might  have  been  no  meaning  in  it,  but 
the  little  dress-maker  here  removed  one  of  her 
supporting  hands  from  her  chin,  and  musingly 


turned  the  Honorable  Mrs.  T.  with  her  face  to 
the  company.  That  done  she  fell  into  her  for- 
mer attitude. 

"I  approved  of  his  idea,"  said  Bradley,  with 
his  uneasy  look  wandering  to  the  doll,  and  un- 
consciously resting  there  longer  than  it  had  rest- 
ed on  Lizzie,  "both  because  your  brother  ought 
naturally  to  be  the  originator  of  any  such  scheme, 
and  because  I  hoped  to  be  able  to  promote  it. 
I  should  have  had  inexpressible  pleasure,  I 
should  have  taken  inexpressible  interest,  in  pro- 
moting it.  Therefore  I  must  acknowledge  that 
when  your  brother  was  disappointed,  I  too  was 
disappointed.  I  wish  to  avoid  reservation  or 
concealment,  and  I  fully  acknowledge  that." 

He  appeared  to  have  encouraged  himself  by 
having  got  so  far.  At  all  events  he  went  on 
with  much  greater  firmness  and  force  of  em- 
phasis :  though  with  a  curious  disposition  to  set 
his  teeth,  and  with  a  curious  tight-screwing 
movement  of  his  right  hand  in  the  clenching 
palm  of  his  left,  like  the  action  of  one  who  was 
being  physically  hurt,  and  was  unwilling  to  cry 
out. 

"I  am  a  man  of  strong  feelings,  and  I  have 
strongly  felt  this  disappointment.  I  do  strongly 
feel  it.  I  don't  show  what  I  feel ;  some  of  us 
are  obliged  habitually  to  keep  it  down.  To 
keep  it  down.  But  to  return  to  your  brother. 
He  has  taken  the  matter  so  much  to  heart  that 
he  has  remonstrated  (in  my  presence  he  remon- 
strated) with  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn,  if  that  be 
the  name.  He  did  so  quite  ineffectually.  As 
any  one  not  blinded  to  the  real  character  of  Mr. 
— Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn — would  readily  sup- 
pose." 

He  looked  at  Lizzie  again,  and  held  the  look. 
And  his  face  turned  from  burning  red  to  white, 
and  from  white  back  to  burning  red,  and  so  for 
the  time  to  lasting  deadly  white. 

"Finally,  I  resolved  to  come  here  alone  and 
appeal  to  you.  I  resolved  to  come  here  alone, 
and  entreat  you  to  retract  the  course  you  have 
chosen,  and  instead  of  confiding  in  a  mere 
stranger — a  person  of  most  insolent  behavior  to 
your  brother  and  others — to  prefer  your  brother 
and  your  brother's  friend." 

Lizzie  Hexam  had  changed  color  when  those 
changes  came  over  him,  and  her  face  now  ex- 
pressed some  anger,  more  dislike,  and  even  a 
touch  of  fear.  But  she  answered  him  very 
steadily. 

"I  can  not  doubt,  Mr.  Headstone,  that  your 
visit  is  well  meant.  You  have  been  so  good  a 
friend  to  Charley  that  I  have  no  right  to  doubt 
it.  I  have  nothing  to  tell  Charley,  but  that  I 
accepted  the  help  to  which  he  so  much  objects 
before  he  made  any  plans  for  me ;  or  certainly 
before  I  knew  of  any.  It  was  considerately  and 
delicately  offered,  and  there  were  reasons  that 
had  weight  with  me  which  should  be  as  dear  to 
Charley  as  to  me.  I  have  no  more  to  say  to 
Charley  on  this  subject." 

His  lips  trembled  and  stood  apart,  as  he  fol- 
lowed this  repudiation  of  himself,  and  limitation 
of  her  words  to  her  brother. 

"I  should  have  told  Charley,  if  he  had  come 
to  me, "she  resumed,  as  though  it  were  an  after- 
thought, "that  Jenny  and  I  find  our  teacher 
very  able  and  very  patient,  and  that  she  takes 
great  pains  with  us.  So  much  so,  that  we  have 
said  to  her  we  hope  in  a  very  little  while  to  be 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


157 


able  to  go  on  by  ourselves.  Charley  knows 
about  teachers,  and  I  should  also  have  told  him, 
for  his  satisfaction,  that  ours  comes  from  an  in- 
stitution where  teachers  are  regularly  brought 
up." 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you, "  said  Bradley  Head- 
stone, grinding  his  words  slowly  out,  as  though 
they  came  from  a  rusty  mill ;  "I  should  like  to 
ask  you,  if  I  may  without  offense,  whether  you 
would  have  objected — no ;  rather,  I  should  like 
to  say,  if  I  may  without  offense,  that  I  wish  I 
had  had  the  opportunity  of  coming  here  with 
your  brother  and  devoting  my  poor  abilities  and 
experience  to  your  service." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Headstone." 

"But  I  fear,"  he  pursued,  after  a  pause,  fur- 
tively wrenching  at  the  seat  of  his  chair  with 
one  hand,  as  if  he  would  have  wrenched  the 
chair  to  pieces,  and  gloomily  observing  her  while 
her  eyes  were  cast  down,  "  that  my  humble  serv- 
ices would  not  have  found  much  favor  with  you  ?" 

She  made  no  reply,  and  the  poor  stricken 
wretch  sat  contending  with  himself  in  a  heat 
of  passion  and  torment.  After  a  while  he  took 
out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  forehead  and 
hands. 

"There  is  only  one  thing  more  I  had  to  say, 
but  it  is  the  most  important.  There  is  a  reason 
against  this  matter,  there  is  a  personal  relation 
concerned  in  this  matter,  not  yet  explained  to 
you.  It  might — I  don't  say  it  would — it  might 
— induce  you  to  think  differently.  To  proceed 
under  the  present  circumstances  is  out  of  the 
question.  Will  you  please  come  to  the  under- 
standing that  there  shall  be  another  interview 
on  the  subject?" 

"With  Charley,  Mr.  Headstone?" 

"With  —  well,"  he  answered,  breaking  off, 
"yes!  Say  with  him  too.  Will  you  please 
come  to  the  understanding  that  there  must  be 
another  interview  under  more  favorable  circum- 
stances, before  the  whole  case  can  be  submit- 
ted?" 

"I  don't,"  said  Lizzie,  shaking  her  head, 
"  understand  your  meaning,  Mr.  Headstone." 

"Limit  my  meaning  for  the  present,"  he  in- 
terrupted, "to  the  whole  case  being  submitted 
to  you  in  another  interview." 

"  What  case,  Mr.  Headstone  ?  What  is  want- 
ing to  it?" 

"You — you  shall  be  informed  in  the  other  in- 
terview." Then  he  said,  as  if  in  a  burst  of  irre- 
pressible despair,  "  I — I  leave  it  all  incomplete  ! 
There  is  a  spell  upon  me,  I  think!"  And  then 
added,  almos.t  as  if  he  asked  for  pity,  4 '  Good- 
night!" 

He  held  out  his  hand.  As  she,  with  mani- 
fest hesitation,  not  to  say  reluctance,  touched  it, 
a  strange  tremble  passed  over  him,  and  his  face, 
so  deadly  white,  was  moved  as  by  a  stroke  of 
pain.    Then  he  was  gone. 

The  dolls'  dress-maker  sat  with  her  attitude 
unchanged,  eying  the  door  by  which  he  had  de- 
parted, until  Lizzie  pushed  her  bench  aside  and 
sat  down  near  her.  Then,  eying  Lizzie  as  she 
had  previously  eyed  Bradley  and  the  door,  Miss 
Wren  chopped  that  very  sudden  and  keen  chop 
in  which  her  jaws  sometimes  indulged,  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  with  folded  arms,  and  thus 
expressed  herself: 

"Humph!  If  he — I  mean,  of  course,  my 
dear,  the  party  who  is  coming  to  court  me  when 
L 


the  time  comes — should  be  that  sort  of  man,  he 
may  spare  himself  the  trouble.  He  wouldn't  do 
to  be  trotted  about  and  made  useful.  He'd  take 
fire  and  blow  up  while  he  was  about  it." 

"And  so  you  would  be  rid  of  him,"  said  Liz- 
zie, humoring  her. 

"Not  so  easily,"  returned  Miss  Wren.  " He 
wouldn't  blow  up  alone.  He'd  carry  me  up  with 
him.     /  know  his  tricks  and  his  manners." 

"Would  he  want  to  hurt  you,  do  you  mean  ?" 
asked  Lizzie. 

"Mightn't  exactly  want  to  do  it,  my  dear," 
returned  Miss  Wren;  "but  a  lot  of  gunpowder 
among  lighted  lucifer-matches  in  the  next  room 
might  almost  as  well  be  here." 

"He  is  a  very  strange  man,"  said  Lizzie, 
thoughtfully. 

"I  wish  he  was  so  very  strange  a  man  as  te 
be  a  total  stranger,"  answered  the  sharp  little 
thing. 

It  being  Lizzie's  regular  occupation  when  they 
were  alone  of  an  evening  to  brush  out  and  smooth 
the  long  fair  hair  of  the  dolls'  dress-maker,  she 
unfastened  a  ribbon  that  kept  it  back  while  the 
little  creature  was  at  her  work,  and  it  fell  in  a 
beautiful  shower  over  the  poor  shoulders  that 
were  much  in  need  of  such  adorning  rain.  "Not 
now,  Lizzie  dear,"  said  Jenny;  "let  us  have  a 
talk  by  the  fire."  With  those  words,  she  in  her 
turn  loosened  her  friend's  dark  hair,  and  it 
dropped  of  its  own  weight  over  her  bosom,  in 
two  rich  masses.  Pretending  to  compare  the 
colors  and  admire  the  contrast,  Jenny  so  man- 
aged a  mere  touch  or  two  of  her  nimble  hands, 
as  that  she  herself  laying  a  cheek  on  one  of  the 
dark  folds,  seemed  blinded  by  her  own  cluster- 
ing curls  to  all  but  the  fire,  while  the  fine  hand- 
some face  and  brow  of  Lizzie  were  revealed  with- 
out obstruction  in  the  sober  light. 

"Let  us  have  a  talk,"  said  Jenny,  "about 
Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn." 

Something  sparkled  down  among  the  fair  hair 
resting  on  the  dark  hair ;  and  if  it  were  not  a 
star — which  it  couldn't  be — it  was  an  eye  ;  and 
if  it  were  an  eye,  it  was  Jenny  Wren's  eye,  bright 
and  watchful  as  the  bird's  whose  name  she  had 
taken. 

"Why  about  Mr. Wrayburn ?"  Lizzie  asked. 

"For  no  better  reason  than  because  I'm  in 
the  humor.    I  wonder  whether  he's  rich ! " 

"No,  not  rich." 

"Poor?" 

"I  think  so,  for  a  gentleman." 

"  Ah !  To  be  sure !  Yes,  he's  a  gentleman. 
Not  of  our  sort ;  is  he  ?" 

A  shake  of  the  head,  a  thoughtful  shake  of 
the  head,  and  the  answer,  softly  spoken,  "Oh 
no,  oh  no!" 

The  dolls'  dress-maker  had  an  arm  round  her 
friend's  waist.  Adjusting  the  arm,  she  slyly 
took  the  opportunity  of  blowing  at  her  own  hair 
where  it  fell  over  her  face ;  then  the  eye  down 
there,  under  lighter  shadows  sparkled  more 
brightly  and  appeared  more  watchful. 

"When  He  turns  up,  he  sha'n't  be  a  gentle- 
man ;  I'll  very  soon4end  him  packing,  if  he  is. 
However,  he's  not  Mr.  Wrayburn ;  I  haven't 
captivated  him.  I  wonder  whether  any  body 
has*,  Lizzie !" 

"It  is  very  likely." 

"  Is  it  very  likely  ?     I  wonder  who !" 

"Is  it  not  very  likely  that  some  lady  has 


158 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


been  taken  by  him,  and  that  he  may  love  her 
dearly?" 

"Perhaps.  I  don't  know.  What  would  you 
think  of  him,  Lizzie,  if  you  were  a  lady  ?" 

"la  lady !"  she  repeated,  laughing.  "Such 
a  fancy!" 

"Yes.  But  say  :  just  as  a  fancy,  and  for  in- 
stance." 

"la  lady!  I,  a  poor  girl  who  used  to  row 
poor  father  on  the  river.  I,  who  had  rowed 
poor  father  out  and  home  on  the  very  night 
when  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time.  I,  who  was 
made  so  timid  by  his  looking  at  me,  that  I  got 
up  and  went  out!" 

("He  did  look  at  you,  even  that  night,  though 
you  were  not  a  lady!"  thought  Miss  Wren.) 

"la  lady!"  Lizzie  went  on  in  a  low  voice, 
with  her  eyes  upon  the  fire.  "I,  with  poor  fa- 
ther's grave  not  even  cleared  of  undeserved  stain 
and  shame,  and  he  trying  to  clear  it  for  me !  I 
a  lady!" 

"Only  as  a  fancy,  and  for  instance,"  urged 
Miss  Wren. 

"  Too  much,  Jenny  dear,  too  much !  My 
fancy  is  not  able  to  get  that  far."  As  the  low 
fire  gleamed  upon  her,  it  showed  her  smiling 
mournfully  and  abstractedly. 

' '  But  I  am  in  the  humor,  and  I  must  be  hu- 
mored, Lizzie,  because  after  all  I  am  a  poor 
little  thing,  and  have  had  a  hard  day  with  my 
bad  child.  Look  in  the  fire,  as  I  like  to  hear 
you  tell  how  you  used  to  do  when  you  lived  in 
that  dreary  old  house  that  had  once  been  a 
wind-mill.  Look  in  the — what  was  its  name 
when  you  told  fortunes  with  your  brother  that 
I  don't  like?" 

"The  hollow  down  by  the  flare?" 

"  Ah  !  That's  the  name !  You  can  find  a 
lady  there,  /know." 

"More  easily  than  I  can  make  one  of  such 
material  as  myself,  Jenny." 

The  sparkling  eye  looked  steadfastly  up,  as  the 
musing  face  looked  thoughtfully  down.  ' '  Well?" 
said  the  dolls'  dress-maker,  "  We  have  found  our 
lady?" 

Lizzie  nodded,  and  asked,  "  Shall  she  be 
rich  ?" 

"She  had  better  be,  as  he's  poor." 

"  She  is  very  rich.     Shall  she  be  handsome  ?" 

"  Even  you  can  be  that,  Lizzie,  so  she  ought 
to  be." 

"  She  is  very  handsome." 

"  What  does  she  say  about  him  ?"  asked  Miss 
Jenny,  in  a  low  voice  :  watchful,  through  an  in- 
tervening silence,  of  the  face  looking  down  at  the 
fire. 

"  She  is  glad,  glad,  to  be  rich,  that  he  may 
have  the  money.  She  is  glad,  glad,  to  be  beau- 
tiful, that  he  may  be  proud  of  her.  Her  poor 
heart — " 

"  Eh ?     Her  poor  heart?"  said  Miss  Wren. 

"  Her  heart — is  given  him,  with  all  its  love 
and  truth.  She  would  joyfully  die  with  him, 
or,  better  than  that,  die  for  him.  She  knows 
he  has  failings,  but  she  thinks  they  have  grown 
up  through  his  being  like\ne  cast  away,  for  the 
want  of  something  to  trust  in,  and  care  for,  and 
think  well  of.  And  she  says,  that  lady  rich 
and  beautiful  that  I  can  never  come  near,  'Only 
put  me  in  that  empty  place,  only  try  how  little 
I  mind  myself,  only  prove  what  a  world  of  things 
I  will  do  and  bear  for  you,  and  I  hope  that  you 


might  even  come  to  be  much  better  than  you 
are,  through  me  who  am  so  much  worse,  and 
hardly  worth  the  thinking  of  beside  you.' " 

As  the  face  looking  at  the  fire  had  become 
exalted  and  forgetful  in  the  rapture  of  these 
words,  the  little  creature,,  openly  clearing  away 
her  fair  hair  with  her  disengaged  hand,  had 
gazed  at  it  with  earnest  attention  and  something 
like  alarm.  Now  that  the  speaker  ceased,  the 
little  creature  laid  down  her  head  again,  and 
moaned,  "O  me,  0  me,  0  me!" 

"In  pain,  dear  Jenny?"  asked  Lizzy,  as  if 
awakened. 

"Yes,  but  not  the  old  pain.  Lay  me  down, 
lay  me  down.  Don't  go  out  of  my  sight  to- 
night. Lock  the  door  and  keep  close  to  me." 
Then  turning  away  her  face,  she  said  in  a  whis- 
per to  herself,  "  My  Lizzie,  my  poor  Lizzie  ! 
0  my  blessed  children,  come  back  in  the  long 
bright  slanting  rows,  and  come  for  her,  not  me. 
She  wants  help  more  than  I,  my  blessed  chil- 
dren ! " 

She  had  stretched  her  hands  up  with  that 
higher  and  better  look,  and  now  she  turned 
again,  and  folded  them  round  Lizzie's  neck, 
and  rocked  herself  on  Lizzie's  breast. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MORE    BIRDS    OF    PREY. 

Rogue  Riderhood  dwelt  deep  and  dark  in 
Limehouse  Hole,  among  the  riggers,  and  the 
mast,  oar,  and  block  makers,  and  the  boat-build- 
ers, and  the  sail-lofts,  as  in  a  kind  of  ship's  hold 
stored  full  of  waterside  characters,  some  no  bet- 
ter than  himself,  some  very  much  better,  and 
none  much  worse.  The  Hole,  albeit  in  a  gen- 
eral way  not  over-nice  in  its  choice  of  company, 
was  rather  shy  in  reference  to  the  honor  of  cul- 
tivating the  Rogue's  acquaintance ;  more  fre- 
quently giving  him  the  cold  shoulder  than  the 
warm  hand,  and  seldom  or  never  drinking  with 
him  unless  at  his  own  expense.  A  part  of  the 
Hole,  indeed,  contained  so  much  public  spirit 
and  private  virtue  that  not  even  this  strong  lev- 
erage could  move  it  to  good  fellowship  with  a 
tainted  accuser.  But  there  may  have  been  the 
drawback  on  this  magnanimous  morality,  that 
its  exponents  held  a  true  witness  before  Justice 
to  be  the  next  unneighborly  and  accursed  char- 
acter to  a  false  one. 

Had  it  not  be'en  for  the  daughter  whom  he 
often  mentioned,  Mr.  Riderhood  might  have 
found  the  Hole  a  mere  grave  as  to  any  means 
it  would  yield  him  of  getting  a  living.  But  Miss 
Pleasant  Riderhood  had  some  little  position  and 
connection  in  Limehouse  Hole.  Upon  the  small- 
est of  small  scales,  she  was  an  unlicensed  pawn- 
broker, keeping  what  was  popularly  called  a 
Leaving  Shop,  by  lending  insignificant  sums  on 
insignificant  articles  of  property  deposited  with 
her  as  security.  In  her  fbur-and-twentieth  year 
of  life,  Pleasant  was  already  in  her  fifth  year 
of  this  way  of  trade.  Her  deceased  mother  had 
established  the  business,  and  on  that  parent's 
demise  she  had  appropriated  a  secret  capital 
of  fifteen  shillings  to  establishing  herself  in  it ; 
the  existence  of  such  capital  in  a  pillow  being 
the  last  intelligible  confidential  communication 
made  to  her  by  the  departed,  before  succumb- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


159 


ing  to  dropsical  conditions  of  snuff  and  gin, 
incompatible  equally  with  coherence  and  exist- 
ence. 
•  Why  christened  Pleasant,  the  late  Mrs.  Rid- 

erhood might  possibly  have  been  at  some  time 
able  to  explain,  and  possibly  not.  Her  daugh- 
ter had  no  information  on  that  point.  Pleas- 
ant she  found  herself,  and  she  couldn't  help  it. 
She  had  not  been  consulted  on  the  question, 
any  more  than  on  the  question  of  her  coming 
into  these  terrestrial  parts,  to  want  a  name. 
Similarly,  she  found  herself  possessed  of  what 
is  colloquially  termed  a  swivel  eye  (derived  from 
her  father),  which  she  might  perhaps  have  de- 
clined if  her  sentiments  on  the  subject  had  been 
taken.  She  was  not  otherwise  positively  ill- 
looking,  though  anxious,  meagre,  of  a  muddy 
complexion,  and  looking  as  old  again  as  she  re- 
ally was. 

As  some  dogs  have  it  in  the  blood,  or  are 
trained,  to  worry  certain  creatures  to  a  certain 
point,  so — not  to  make  the  comparison  disre- 
spectfully—  Pleasant  Riderhood  had  it  in  the 
blood,  or  had  been  trained,  to  regard  seamen, 
within  certain  limits,  as  her  prey.  Show  her  a 
man  in  a  blue  jacket,  and,  figuratively  speaking, 
she  pinned  him  instantly.  Yet,  all  things  con- 
sidered, she  was  .not  of  an  evil  mind  or  an  un- 
kindly disposition.  For,  observe  how  many  things 
were  to  be  considered  according  to  her  own  un- 
fortunate experience.  Show  Pleasant  Riderhood 
a  Wedding  in  the  street,  and  she  only  saw  two 
people  taking  out  a  regular  license  to  quarrel 
and  fight.  Show  her  a  Christening,  and  she 
saw  a  little  heathen  personage  having  a  quite 
superfluous  name  bestowed  upon  it,  inasmuch 
as  it  would  be  commonly  addressed  by  some 
abusive  epithet :  which  little  personage  was  not 
in  the  least  wanted  by  any  body,  and  would  be 
shoved  and  banged  out  of  every  body's  way,  un- 
til it  should  grow  big  enough  to  shove  and  bang. 
Show  her  a  Funeral,  and  she  saw  an  unremun- 
erative  ceremony  in  the  nature  of  a  black  mas- 
querade, conferring  a  temporary  gentility  on  the 
performers,  at  an  immense  expense,  and  repre- 
senting the  only  formal  party  ever  given  by  the 
deceased.  Show  her  a  live  father,  and  she  saw 
but  a  duplicate  of  her  own  father,  who  from  her 
infancy  had  been  taken  with  fits  and  starts  of 
discharging  his  duty  to  her,  which  duty  was  al- 
ways incorporated  in  the  form  of  a  fist  or  a 
leathern  strap,  and  being  discharged  hurt  her. 
All  things  considered,  therefore,  Pleasant  Rid- 
erhood was  not  so  very,  very  bad.  There  was 
even  a  touch  of  romance  in  her- — of  such  ro- 
mance as  could  creep  into  Limehouse  Hole — 
and  maybe  sometimes  of  a  summer  evening, 
when  she  stood  with  folded  arms  at  her  shop- 
door,  looking  from  the  reeking  street  to  the  sky 
where  the  sun  was  setting,  she  may  have  had 
some  vaporous  visions  of  far-off  islands  in  the 
southern  seas  or  elsewhere  (not  being  geograph- 
ically particular),  where  it  would  be  good  to 
roam  with  a  congenial  partner  among  groves  of 
bread-fruit,  waiting  for  ships  to  be  wafted  from 
the  hollow  ports  of  civilization.  For,  sailors  to 
be  got  the  better  of,  were  essential  to  Miss  Pleas- 
ant's  Eden. 

Not  on  a  summer  evening  did  she  come  to  her 
little  shop-door,  when  a. certain  man  standing 
over  against  the  house  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street  took  notice  of  her.     That  was  on  a  cold 


shrewd  windy  evening,  after  dark.  Pleasant 
Riderhood  shared,  with  most  of  the  lady  inhab- 
itants of  the  Hole,  the  peculiarity  that  her  hair 
was  a  ragged  knot,  constantly  coming  down  be- 
hind, and  that  she  never  could  enter  upon  any 
undertaking  without  first  twisting  it  into  place. 
At  that  particular  moment,  being  newly  come  to 
the  threshold  to  take  a  look  out  of  doors,  she 
was  winding  herself  up  with  both  hands  after 
this  fashion.  And  so  prevalent  was  the  fashion, 
that  on  the  occasion  of  a  fight  or  other  disturb- 
ance, in  the  Hole,  the  ladies  would  be  seen  flock- 
ing from  all  quarters  universally  twist-ing  their 
back-hair  as  they  came  along,  and  many  of  them, 
in  the  hurry  of  the  moment,  carrying  their  back- 
combs in  their  mouths.  * 

It  was  a  wretched  little  shop,  with  a  roof  that 
any  man  standing  in  it  could  touch  with  his 
hand ;  little  better  than  a  cellar  or  cave,  down 
three  steps.  Yet  in  its  ill-lighted  window,  among 
a  flaring  handkerchief  or  two,  an  old  peacoat  or 
so,  a  few  valueless  watches  and  compasses,  a  jar 
of  tobacco  and  two  crossed  pipes,  a  bottle  of  wal- 
nut ketchup,  and  some  horrible  sweets — these 
creature  discomforts  serving  as  a  blind  to  the 
main  business  of  the  Leaving  Shop — was  dis- 
played the  inscription  Seaman's  Boarding- 
House. 

Taking  notice  of  Pleasant  Riderhood  at  the 
door,  the  man  crossed  so  quickly  that  she  was 
still  winding  herself  up,  when  he  stood  close  be- 
fore her. 

"  Is  your  father  at  home?"  said  he. 

"  I  think  he  is,"  returned  Pleasant,  dropping 
her  arms  ;    "  come  in." 

It  was  a  tentative  reply,  the  man  having  a 
sea-faring  appearance.  Her  father  was  not  at 
home,  and  Pleasant  knew  it.  "  Take  a  seat  by 
the  fire,"  was  her  hospitable  words,  when  she 
had  got  him  in;  "men  of  your  calling  are  al- 
ways welcome  here." 

"Thankee,"  said  the  man. 

His  manner  was  the  manner  of  a  sailor,  and 
his  hands  were  the  hands  of  a  sailor,  except  that 
they  were  smooth.  Pleasant  had  an  eye  for 
sailors,  and  she  noticed  the  unused  color  and 
texture  of  the  hands,  sunburnt  though  they  were, 
as  sharply  as  she  noticed  their  unmistakable 
looseness  and  suppleness,  as  he  sat  himself  down 
with  his  left  arm  carelessly  thrown  across  his 
left  leg  a  little  above  the  knee,  and  the  right 
arm  as  carelessly  thrown  over  the  elbow  of  the 
wooden  chair,  with  the  hand  curved,  half  open 
and  half  shut,  as  if  it  had  just  let  go  a  rope. 

"Might  you  be  looking  for  a  Boarding-House  ?" 
Pleasant  inquired,  taking  her  observant  stand  on 
one  side  of  the  fire. 

"  I  don't  rightly  know  my  plans  yet,"  returned 
the  man. 

"You  ain't  looking  for  a  Leaving  Shop?" 

"No,"  said  the  man. 

"No,"  assented  Pleasant,  "you've  got  too 
much  of  an  ontfit  on  you  for  that.  But  if  you 
should  want  either,  this  is  both." 

"Ay,  ay  !"  said  the  man,  glancing  round  the 
place.     "I  know.     I've  been  here  before." 

"Did  you  Leave  any  thing  when  you  were 
here  before?"  asked  Pleasant,  with  a  view  to 
principal  and  interest. 

"No."     The  man  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  pretty  sure  you  never  boarded  here?" 

"No."    The  man  again  shook  his  head. 


160 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


MISS   RIDERHOOD  AT  HOME 


"What  did  you  do  here  when  you  were  here 
before ?"  asked  Pleasant;  "for  I  don't  remem- 
ber you." 

"It's  not  at  all  likely  you  should.  I  only 
stood  at  the  door,  one  night — on  the  lower  step 
there — while  a  ship-mate  of  mine  looked  in  to 
speak  to  your  father.  I  remember  the  place 
well."    Looking  very  curiously  round  it. 

"Might  that  have  been  long  ago?" 

"Ay,  a  goodish  bit  ago.  When  I  came  off 
my  last  voyage." 

"Then  you  have  not  been  to  sea  lately?" 

"No.  Been  in  the  sick  bay  since  then,  and 
been  employed  ashore." 

"Then,  to  be  sure,  that  accounts  for  your 
hands." 

The  man  with  a  keen  look,  a  quick  smile,  and 
a  change  of  manner,  caught  her  up.  "You're 
a  good  observer  Yes.  That  accounts  for  my 
hands." 


Pleasant  was  somewhat  disquieted  by  his  look, 
and  returned  it  suspiciously.  Not  only  was  his 
change  of  manner,  though  very  sudden,  quite 
collected,  but  his  former  manner,  which  he  re- 
sumed, had  a  certain  suppressed  confidence  and 
sense  of  power  in  it  that  were  half  threatening. 

"Will  your  father  be  long?"  he  inquired. 

"I  don't  know.     I  can't  say." 

"As  you  supposed  he  was  at  home,  it  would 
seem  that  he  has  jusf  gone  out  ?    How's  that  ?" 

"I  supposed  he  had  come  home,"  Pleasant 
explained. 

"Oh!  You  supposed  he  had  come  home? 
Then  he  has  been  some  time  out  ?  How's  that  ?" 

"I  don't  want  to  deceive  you.  Father's  on 
the  river  in  his  boat." 

"At  the  old  work?"  asked  the  man. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Pleas- 
ant, shrinking  a  step  back.  "What  on  earth 
d've  want  ?" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


1GL 


"I  don't  .want  to  hurt  your  father,  I  don't 
want  to  say  I  might,  if  I  chose.  I  want  to  speak 
to  him.  Not  much  in  that,  is  there?  There 
shall  be  no  secrets  from  you ;  you  shall  be  by. 
And  plainly,  Miss  Riderhood,  there's  nothing  to 
be  got  out  of  me,  or  made  of  me.  I  am  not 
good  for  the  Leaving  Shop,  I  am  not  good  for 
the  Boarding-House,  I  am  not  good  for  any  thing 
in  your  way  to  the  extent  of  sixpenn'orth  of  half- 
pence. Put  the  idea  aside,  and  we  shall  get  on 
together." 

"  But  you're  a  sea-faring  man  ?"  argued  Pleas- 
ant, as  if  that  were  a  sufficient  reason  for  his  be- 
ing good  for  something  in  her  way. 

"  Yes  and  no.  I  have  been,  and  I  may  be 
again.  But  I  am  not  for  you.  Won't  you  take 
my  word  for  it  ?" 

The  conversation  had  arrived  at  a  crisis  to 
justify  Miss  Pleasant's  hair  in  tumbling  down. 
It  tumbled  down  accordingly,  and  she  twisted  it 
up,  looking  from  under  her  bent  forehead  at  the 
man.  In  taking  stock  of  his  familiarly  worn 
rough-weather  nautical  clothes,  piece  by  piece, 
she  took  stock  of  a  formidable  knife  in  a  sheath 
at  his  waist  ready  to  his  hand,  and  of  a  whistle 
hanging  round  his  neck,  and  of  a  short  jagged 
knotted  club  with  a  loaded  head  that  peeped  out 
of  a  pocket  of  his  loos'e  outer  jacket  or  frock.  He 
sat  quietly  looking  at  her ;  but,  with  these  ap- 
pendages partially  revealing  themselves,  and  with 
a  quantity  of  bristling  oakum-colored  head  and 
whisker,  he  had  a  formidable  appearance. 

"Won't  you  take  my  word  for  it?"  he  asked 
again. 

Pleasant  answered  with  a  short  dumb  nod. 
He  rejoined  with  another  short  dumb  nod.  Then 
he  got  up  and  stood  with  his  arms  folded,  in 
front  of  the  fire,  looking  down  into  it  occasion- 
ally, as  she  stood  with  her  arms  folded,  leaning 
against  the  side  of  the  chimney-piece. 

"To  while  away  the  time  till  your  father 
comes,"  he  said — "pray  is  there  much  robbing 
and  murdering  of  seamen  about  the  water-side 
now?" 

"No,"  said  Pleasant. 

"Any?" 

"  Complaints  of  that  sort  are  sometimes  made 
about  Ratcliffe  and  Wapping,  and  up  that  way, 
But  who  knows  how  many  are  true?" 

"To  be  sure.     And  it  don't  seem  necessary." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  observed  Pleasant. 
"Where's  the  reason  for  it?  Bless  the  sailors, 
it  ain't  as  if  they  ever  could  keep  what  they 
have  without  it." 

"You're  right.  Their  money,  may  be  soon 
got  out  of  them,  without  violence,"  said  the  man. 

"Of  course  it  may,"  said  Pleasant;  "and 
then  they  ship  again,  and  get  more.  And  the 
best  thing  for  'em,  too,  to  ship  again  as  soon  as 
ever  they  can  be  brought  to  it.  They're  never 
so  well  off  as  when  they're  afloat." 

"I'll  tell  you  why  I  ask,"  pui-sued  the  visitor, 
looking  up  from  the  fire.  "I  was  once  beset 
that  way  myself,  and  left  for  dead." 

"No?"  said  Pleasant.  "Where  did  it  hap- 
pen?" 

"It  happened,"  returned  the  man,  with  a 
ruminative  air,  as  he  drew  his  right  hand  across 
his  chin,  and  dipped  the  other  in  the  pocket  of 
his  rough 'outer  coat — "it  happened  somewhere 
about  here  as  I  reckon.  I  don't  think  it  can 
have  been  a  mile  from  here." 


"Were  you  drunk?"  asked  Pleasant.   ' 

"  I  was  muddled,  but  not  with  fair  drinking. 
I  had  not  been  drinking,  you  understand.  A 
mouthful  did  it." 

Pleasant  with  a  grave  look  shook  her  head ; 
importing  that  she  understood  the  process,  but 
decidedly  disapproved. 

"Fair  trade  is  one  thing,"  said  she,  "but 
that's  another.  No  one  has  a  right  to  carry  on 
with  Jack  in  that  way." 

"The  sentiment  does  you  credit,"  returned 
the  man,  with  a  grim  smile;  and  added,  in  a 
mutter,  "the  more  so,  as  I  believe  it's  not  your 
father's. — Yes,  I  had  a  bad  time  of  it  that  time. 
I  lost  every  thing,  and  had  a  sharp  struggle  for 
my  life,  weak  as  I  was." 

"Did  you  get  the  parties  punished?"  asked 
Pleasant. 

"A  tremendous  punishment  followed,"  said 
the  man,  more  seriously ;  "  but  it  was  not  of  my 
bringing  about." 

"Of  whose,  then?"  asked  Pleasant. 

The  man  pointed  upward  with  his  forefinger, 
and,  slowly  recovering  that  hand,  settled  his  chin 
in  it  again  as  he  looked  at  the  fire.  Bringing 
her  inherited  eye  to  bear  upon  him,  Pleasant 
Riderhood  felt  more  and  more  uncomfortable, 
his  manner  was  so  mysterious,  so  stern,  so  self- 


"Any  ways,"  said  the  damsel,  "I  am  glad 
punishment  followed,  and  I  say  so.  Fair  trade 
with  sea-faring  men  gets  a  bad  name  through 
deeds  of  violence.  I  am  as  much  against  deeds 
of  violence  being  done  to  sea-faring  men,  as  sea- 
faring men  can  be  themselves.  I  am  of  the 
same  opinion  as  my  mother  was,  when  she  was 
living.  Fair  trade,  my  mother  used  to  say,  but 
no  robbery  and  no  blows."  In  the  way  of  trade 
Miss  Pleasant  would  have  taken — and  indeed 
did  take  when  she  could  —  as  much  as  thirty 
shillings  a  week  for  board  that  would  be  dear  at 
five,  and  likewise  conducted  the  Leaving  busi- 
ness upon  correspondingly  equitable  principles  ; 
yet  she  had  that  tenderness  of  conscience  and 
those  feelings  of  humanity,  that  the  moment  her 
ideas  of  trade  were  overstepped,  she  became  the 
seaman's  champion,  even  against  her  father  whom 
she  seldom  otherwise  resisted. 

But  she  was  here  interrupted  by  her  father's 
voice  exclaiming  angrily,  "Now,  Poll  Parrot!" 
and  by  her  father's  hat  being  heavily  flung  from 
his  hand  and  striking  her  face.  Accustomed  to 
such  occasional  manifestations  of  his  sense  of 
parental  duty,  Pleasant  merely  wiped  her  face 
on  her  hair  (which  of  course  had  tumbled  down) 
before  she  twisted  it  up.  This  was  another  com- 
mon procedure  on  the  part  of  the  ladies  of  the 
Hole,  when  heated  by  verbal  or  fistic  altercation. 

"  Blest  if  I  believe  such  a  Poll  Parrot  as  you 
was  ever  learned  to  speak !"  growled  Mr.  Rider- 
hood,  stooping  to  pick  up  his  hat,  and  making 
a  feint  at  her  with  his  head  and  right  elbow ;  for 
he  took  the  delicate  subject  of  robbing  seamen 
in  extraordinary  dudgeon,  and  was  out  of  hu- 
mor too.  "What  are  you  Poll  Parroting  at 
now?  Ain't  you  got  nothing  to  do  but  fold 
your  arms  and  stand  a  Poll  Parroting  all  night  ?" 

"Let  her  alone,"  urged  the  man.  "  She  was 
only  speaking  to  me." 

"Let  her  alone  too !"  retorted  Mr.  Riderhood, 
eying  him  all  over.  "  Do  you  know  she's  my 
daughter?" 


162 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Yes." 

"And  don't  you  know  that  I  won't  have  no 
Poll  Parroting  on  the  part  of  my  daughter? 
No,  nor  yet  that  I  won't  take  no  Poll  Parroting 
from  no  man  ?  And  who  may  you  be,  and  what 
may  you  want?" 

"How  can  I  tell  you  until  you  are  silent?" 
returned  the  other,  fiercely. 

"  Well, "  said  Mr.  Riderhood,  quailing  a  little, 
"I  am  willing  to  be  silent  for  the  purpose  of 
hearing.     But  don't  Poll  Parrot  me." 

"Are  you  thirsty,  you?"  the  man  asked,  in 
the  same  fierce,  short  way,  after  returning  his 
look. 

''Why  nat'rally,"  said  Mr.  Riderhood,  "  ain't 
I  always  thirsty!"  (Indignant  at  the  absurdity 
of  the  question.) 

"  What  will  you  drink?"  demanded  the  man. 

"Sherry  wine,"  returned  Mr.  Riderhood,  in 
the  same  sharp  tone,  "if  you're  capable  of  it." 

The  man  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  took  out 
half  a  sovereign,  and  begged  the  favor  of  Miss 
Pleasant  that  she  would  fetch  a  bottle.  ' '  With 
the  cork  undrawn,"  he  added,  emphatically, 
looking  at  her  father. 

"I'll  take  my  Alfred  David,"  muttered  Mr. 
Riderhood,  slowly  relaxing  into  a  dark  smile, 
"that  you  know  a  move.  Do  I  know  you? 
N-n-no,  I  don't  know  you." 

The  man  replied,  "No,  you  don't  know  me." 
And  so  they  stood  looking  at  one  another  surli- 
ly enough,  until  Pleasant  came  back. 

"There's  small  glasses  on  the  shelf,"  said 
Riderhood  to  his  daughter.  "  Give  me  the  one 
without  a  foot.  I  gets  my  living  by  the  sweat 
of  my  brow,  and  it's  good  enough  for  me"  This 
had  a  modest  self-denying  appearance;  but  it 
soon  turned  out  that  as,  by  reason  of  the  impos- 
sibility of  standing  the  glass  upright  while  there 
was  any  thing  in  it,  it  required  to  be  emptied'as 
soon  as  filled,  Mr,  Riderhood  managed  to  drink 
in  the  proportion  of  three  to  one. 

With  his  Fortunatus's  goblet  ready  in  his  hand, 
Mr.  Riderhood  sat  down  on  one  side  of  the  table 
before  the  fire,  and  the  strange  man  on  the  oth- 
er :  Pleasant  occupying  a  stool  between  the  lat- 
ter and  the  fireside.  The  back-ground,  com- 
posed of  handkerchiefs,  coats,  shirts,  hats,  and 
other  old  articles  "On  Leaving,"  had  a  general 
dim  resemblance  to  human  listeners ;  especially 
where  a  shiny  black  sou'wester  suit  and  hat  hung, 
looking  very  like  a  clumsy  mariner  with  his  back 
to  the  company,  who  was  so  curious  to  overhear, 
that  he  paused  for  the  purpose  with  his  coat  half 
pulled  on,  and  his  shoulders  up  to  his  ears  in 
the  uncompleted  action. 

The  visitor  first  held  the  bottle  against  the 
light  of  the  candle,  and  next  examined  the  top 
of  the  cork.  Satisfied  that  it  had  not  been  tam- 
pered with,  he  slowly  took  from  his  breast-pocket 
a  rusty  clasp-knife,  and,  with  a  cork-screw  in 
the  handle,  opened  the  wine.  That  done,  he 
looked  at  the  cork,  unscrewed  it  from  the  cork- 
screw, laid  each  separately  on  the  table,  and, 
with  the  end  of  the  sailor's  knot  of  his  necker- 
chief, dusted  the  inside  of  the  neck  of  the  bottle. 
All  this  with  great  deliberation. 

At  first  Riderhood  had  sat  with  his  footless 
glass  extended  at  arm's-length  for  filling,  while 
the  very  deliberate  stranger  seemed  absorbed  in 
his  preparations.  But  gradually  his  arm  re- 
verted home  to  him,  and  his  glass  was  lowered 


and  lowered  until  he  rested  it  upside  down  upon 
the  table.  By  the  same  degrees  his  attention 
became  concentrated  on  the  knife.  And  now, 
as  the  man  held  out  the  bottle  to  fill  all  round, 
Riderhood  stood  up,  leaned  over  the  table  to  look 
closer  at  the  knife,  and  stared  from  it  to  him. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  man. 

"Why,  I  know  that  knife!"  said  Riderhood. 

"Yes,  I  dare  say  you  do." 

He  motioned  to  him  to  hold  up  his  glass,  and 
filled  it.  Riderhood  emptied  it  to  the  last  drop 
and  began  again. 

"That  there  knife—" 

"Stop,"  said  the  man,  composedly.  "I  was 
going  to  drink  to  your  daughter.  Your  health, 
Miss  Riderhood." 

"That  knife  was  the  knife  of  a  seaman  named 
George  Radfoot." 

"It  was." 

"That  seaman  was  well  beknown  to  me." 

"He  was." 

"What's  come  to  him ?" 

"Death  has  come  to  him.  Death  came  to 
him  in  an  ugly  shape.  He  looked,"  said  the 
man,  "very  horrible  after  it." 

"  Arter  what  ?"  said  Riderhood,  with  a  frown- 
ing stare. 

"After  he  was  killed." 

"Killed?     Who  killed  him?" 

Only  answering  with  a  shrug,  the  man  filled 
the  footless  glass,  and  Riderwood  emptied  it : 
looking  amazedly  from  his  daughter  to  his  vis- 
itor. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  a  honest  man — "  he 
was  recommencing  with  his  empty  glass  in  his 
hand,  when  his  eye  became  fascinated  by  the 
stranger's  outer  coat.  He  leaned  across  the  table 
to  see  it  nearer,  touched  the  sleeve,  turned  the 
cuff  to  look  at  the  sleeve-lining  (the  man,  in  his 
perfect  composure,  offering  not  the  least  objec- 
tion), and  exclaimed,  "It's  my  belief  as  this 
here  coat  was  George  Radfoot's  too !" 

"You  are  right.  He  wore  it  the  last  time  you 
evsr  saw  him,  and  the,  last  time  you  ever  will  see 
him — in  this  world." 

"It's  my  belief  you  mean  to  tell  me  to  my 
face  you  killed  him !"  exclaimed  Riderhood ; 
but,  nevertheless,  allowing  his  glass  to  be  filled 
again. 

The  man  only  answered  with  another  shrug, 
and  showed  no  symptom  of  confusion. 

"Wish  I  may  die  if  I  know  what  to  be  up  to 
with  this  chap !"  said  Riderhood,  after  staring  at 
him,  and  tossing  his  last  glassful  down  his  throat. 
"Let's  know  what  to  make  of  you.  Say  some- 
thing plain." 

"I  will,"  returned  the  other,  leaning  forward 
across  the  table,  and  speaking  in  a  low,  impress- 
ive voice.     "  What  a  liar  you  are !" 

The  honest  witness  rose,  and  made  as  though 
he  would  fling  his  glass  in  the  man's  face.  The 
man  not  wincing,  and  merely  shaking  his  fore- 
finger half  knowingly,  half  menacingly,  the  piece 
of  honesty  thought  better  of  it  and  sat  down 
again,  putting  the  glass  down  too. 

"And  when  you  went  to  that  lawyer  yonder 
in  the  Temple  with  that  invented  story,"  said  the 
stranger,  in  an  exasperatingly  comfortable  sort 
of  confidence,  "you  might  have  had  your  strong 
suspicions  of  a  friend  of  your  own,  y*ou  know. 
I  think  you  had,  you  know." 

"  Me  my  suspicions  ?     Of  what  friend  ?" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


163 


"Tell  me  again  whose  knife  was  this?"  de- 
manded the  man. 

"  It  was  possessed  by,  and  was  the  property  of 
— him  as  I  have  made  mention  on,"  said  Rider- 
hood,  stupidly  evading  the  actual  mention  of  the 
name. 

"Tell  me  again  whose  coat  was  this?" 

"That  there  article  of  clothing  likeways  be- 
longed to,  and  was  wore  by — him  as  I  have  made 
mention  on,"  was  again  the  dull  Old  Bailey 
evasion. 

"  I  suspect  that  you  gave  him  the  credit  of  the 
deed,  and  of  keeping  cleverly  out  of  the  way. 
But  there  was  small  cleverness  in  his  keeping 
out  of  the  way.  The  cleverness  would  have 
been,  to  have  got  back  for  one  single  instant  to 
the  light  of  the  sun." 

"Things  is  come  to  a  pretty  pass,"  growled 
Mr.  Riderhood,  rising  to  his  feet,  goaded  to 
stand  at  bay,  "  when  bullyers  as  is  wearing  dead 
men's  clothes,  and  bullyers  as  is'  armed  with 
dead  men's  knives,  is  to  come  into  the  houses 
of  honest  live  men,  getting  their  livings  by  the 
sweats  of  their  brows,  and  is  to  make  these  here 
sort  of  charges  with  no  rhyme  and  no  reason, 
neither  the  one  nor  yet  the  other  !  Why  should 
I  have  had  my  suspicions  of  him  ?" 

"Because  you  knew  him,"  replied  the  man ; 
"because  you  had  been  one  with  him,  and  knew 
his  real  character  under  a  fair  outside ;  because 
on  the  night  which  you  had  afterward  reason  to 
believe  to  be  the  very  night  of  the  murder,  he 
came  in  here,  within  an  hour  of  his  having  left 
his  ship  in  the  docks,  and  asked  you  in  what 
lodgings  he  could  find  room.  Was  there  no 
stranger  with  him  ?" 

"I'll  take  my  world-without-end  everlasting 
Alfred  David  that  you  warn't  with  him,"  an- 
swered Riderhood.  "You  talk  big,  you  do,  but 
things  look  pretty  black  against  yourself,  to  my 
thinking.  You  charge  again'  me  that  George 
Radfoot  got  lost  sight  of,  and  was  no  more 
thought  of.  What's  that  for  a  sailor?  Why 
there's  fifty  such,  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind, 
ten  times  as  long  as  him — through  entering  in 
different  names,  re-shipping  when  the  out'ard 
voyage  is  made,  and  what  not — a  turning  up  to 
light  every  day  about  here,  and  no  matter  made 
of  it.  Ask  my  daughter.  You  could  go  on  Poll 
Parroting  enough  with  her,  when  I  warn't  come 
in:  Poll  Parrot  a  little  with  her  on  this  pint. 
You  and  your  suspicions  of  my  suspicions  of 
him !  What  are  my  suspicions  of  you  ?  You 
tell  me  George  Radfoot  got  killed.  I  ask  you 
who  done  it  and  how  you  know  it.  You  carry 
his  knife  and  you  wear  his  coat.  I  ask  you  how 
you  come  by  'em  ?  Hand  over  that  there  bot- 
tle!" Here  Mr.  Riderhood  appeared  to  labor 
under  a  virtuous  delusion  that  it  was  his  own 
property.  "And  you,"  he  added,  turning  to  his 
daughter,  as  he  filled  the  footless  glass,  "if  it 
warn't  wasting  good  sherry  wine  on  you,  I'd 
chuck  this  at  you,  for  Poll  Parroting  with  this 
man.  It's  along  of  Poll  Parroting  that  such 
like  as  him  gets  their  suspicions,  whereas  I  gets 
mine  by  argueyment,  and  being  nat'rally  a  hon- 
est man,  and  sweating  away  at  the  brow  as  a 
honest  man  ought."  Here  he  filled  the  footless 
goblet  again,  and  stood  chewing  one  half  of  its 
contents  and  looking  down  into  the  other  as  he 
slowly  rolled  the  wine  about  in  the  glass ;  while 
Pleasant,   whose   sympathetic  hair  had  come 


down  on  her  being  apostrophized,  rearranged  it, 
much  in  the  style  of  the  tail  of  a  horse  when 
proceeding  to  market  to  be  sold. 

"Well?  Have  you  finished?"  asked  the 
strange  man. 

"No,"  said  Riderhood,  "I  ain't.  Far  from 
it.  Now  then !  I  want  to  know  how  George 
Radfoot  come  by  his  death,  and  how  you  come 
by  his  kit  ?" 

"  If  you  ever  do  know,  you  won't  know  now." 

"  And  next  I  want  to  know,"  proceeded  Rid- 
erhood, "  whether  you  mean  to  charge  that 
what-you-may-call-it-murder — " 

"Harmon  murder,  father,"  suggested  Pleas- 
ant. 

"  No  Poll  Parroting ! "  he  vociferated,  in  re- 
turn. "Keep  your  mouth  shut!  —  I  want  to 
know,  you  Sir,  whether  you  charge  that  there 
crime  on  George  Radfoot  ?" 

"  If  you  ever  do  know,  you  won't  know  now." 

"Perhaps  you  done  it  yourself?"  said  Rider- 
hood, with  a  threatening  action. 

"I  alone  know,"  returned  the  man,  sternly 
shaking  his  head,  "  the  mysteries  of  that  crime. 
I  alone  know  that  your  trumped-up  story  can 
not  possibly  be  true.  I  alone  know  that  it  must 
be  altogether  false,  and  that  you  must  know  it 
to  be  altogether  false.  I  come  here  to-night  to 
tell  you  so  much  of  what  I  know,  and  no  more." 

Mr.  Riderhood,  with  his  crooked  eye  upon  his 
visitor,  meditated  for  some  moments,  and  then 
refilled  his  glass,  and  tipped  the  contents  down 
his  throat  in  three  tips. 

"Shut  the  shop-door!"  he  then  said  to  his 
daughter,  putting  the  glass  suddenly  down. 
"And  turn  the  key  and  stand  by  it!  If  you 
know  all  this,  you  Sir,"  getting,  as  he  spoke, 
between  the  visitor  and  the  door,  "why  han't 
you  gone  to  Lawyer  Lightwood  ?" 

"That,  also,  is  alone  known  to  myself,"  was 
the  cool  answer. 

"Don't  you  know  that,  if  you  didn't  do  the 
deed,  what  you  say  you  could  tell  is  worth  from 
five  to  ten  thousand  pound  ?"  asked  Riderhood. 

"  I  know  it  very  well,  and  when  I  claim  the 
money  you  shall  share  it." 

The  honest  man  paused,  and  drew  a  little 
nearer  to  the  visitor,  and  a  little  further  from 
the  door. 

"I  know  it,"  repeated  the  man,  quietly,  "as 
well  as  I  know  that  you  and  George  Radfoot 
were  one  together  in  more  than  one  dark  busi- 
ness ;  and  as  well  as  I  know  that  you,  Roger 
Riderhood,  conspired  against  an  innocent  man 
for  blood-money ;  and  as  well  as  I  know  that  I 
can — and  that  I  swear  I  will ! — give  you  up  on 
both  scores,  and  be  proof  against  you  in  my  own 
person,  if  you  defy  me !" 

"Father!"  cried  Pleasant,  from  the  door. 
"Don't  defy  him!  Give  way  to  him!  Don't 
get  into  more  trouble,  father !" 

"Will  you  leave  off  a  Poll  Parroting,  I  ask 
you  ?"  cried  Mr.  Riderhood,  half  beside  himself 
between  the  two.  Then,  propitiatingly  and 
crawlingly ;  "You  Sir!  You  han't  said  what 
you  want  of  me.  Is  it  fair,  is  it  worthy  of  your- 
self, to  talk  of  my  defying  you  afore  ever  you 
say  what  you  want  of  me?" 

"  I  don't  want  much,"  said  the  man.  "  This 
accusation  of  yours  must  not  be  left  half  made 
and  half  unmade.  What  was  done  for  the  blood- 
money  must  be  thoroughly  undone." 


164 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Well;  but  Shipmate—" 

"Don't  call  me  Shipmate,"  said  the  man. 

"Captain,  then,"  urged  Mr.  Riderhood ; 
"there!  You  won't  object  to  Captain.  It's 
an  honorable  title,  and  you  fully  look  it.  Cap- 
tain !  Ain't  the  man  dead  ?  Now  I  ask  you 
fair.  Ain't  Gaffer  dead  ?" 
i  "  Well,"  returned  the  other,  with  impatience, 
'  "  yes,  he  is  dead.     What  then  ?" 

"Can  words  hurt  a  dead  man,  Captain?  I 
only  ask  you  fair." 

"They  can  hurt  the  memory  of  a  dead  man, 
and  they  can  hurt  his  living  children.  How 
many  children  had  this  man  ?" 

"Meaning  Gaffer,  Captain?" 

"Of  whom  else  are  we  speaking?"  returned 
the  other,  with  a  movement  of  his  foot,  as  if 
Rogue  Riderhood  were  beginning  to  sneak  be- 
fore him  in  the  body  as  well  as  the  spirit,  and  he 
spurned  him  off.  "I  have  heard  of  a  daughter 
and  a  son.  I  ask  for  information ;  I  ask  you?- 
daughter ;  I  prefer  to  speak  to  her.  What  chil- 
dren did  Hexam  leave  ?" 

Pleasant,  looking  to  her  father  for  permission 
to  reply,  that  honest  man  exclaimed  with  great 
bitterness : 

"Why  the  devil  don't  you  answer  the  Cap- 
tain? You  can  Poll  Parrot  enough  when  you 
ain't  wanted  to  Poll  Parrot,  you  perwerse  jade !" 

Thus  encouraged,  Pleasant  explained  that 
there  were  only  Lizzie,  the  daughter  in  ques- 
tion, and  the  youth.  Both  very  respectable, 
she  added. 

"  It  is  dreadful  that  any  stigma  should  attach 
to  them,"  said  the  visitor,  whom  the  considera- 
tion rendered  so  uneasy  that  he  rose,  and  paced 
to  and  fro,  muttering,  "Dreadful!  Unfore- 
seen? How  could  it  be  foreseen!"  Then  he 
stopped,  and  asked  aloud:  "Where  do  they  live?" 

Pleasant  further  explained  that  only  the  daugh- 
ter had  resided  with  the  father  at  the  time  of  his 
accidental  death,  and  that  she  had  immediately 
afterward  quitted  the  neighborhood. 

"I  know  that,"  said  the  man,  "for  I  have 
been  to  the  place  they  dwelt  in,  at  the  time  of 
the  inquest.  Could  you  quietly  find  out  for  me 
where  she  lives  now  ?" 

Pleasant  had  no  doubt  she  could  do  that. 
Within  what  time,  did  she  think?  Within  a 
day.  The  visitor  said  that  was  well,  and  he 
would  return  for  the  information,  relying  on  its 
being  obtained.  To  this  dialogue  Riderhood 
had  attended  in  silence,  and  he  now  obsequious- 
ly bespake  the  Captain. 

* '  Captain !  Mentioning  them  unfort'net  words 
of  mine  respecting  Gaffer,  it  is  contrairily  to  be 
bore  in  mind  that  Gaffer  always  were  a  precious 
rascal,  and  that  his  line  were  a  thieving  line. 
Likeways  when  I  went  to  them  two  Governors, 
Lawyer  Lightwood  and  the  t'other  Governor, 
with  my  information,  I  may  have  been  a  little 
over-eager  for  the  cause  of  justice,  or  (to  put  it 
another  way)  a  little  over-stimilated  by  them  feel- 
ings which  rouses  a  man  up,  when  a  pot  of  mon- 
ey is  going  about,  to  get  his  hand  into  that  pot 
of  money  for  his  family's  sake.  Besides  which, 
I  think  the  wine  of  them  two  Governors  was — I 
will  not  say  a  hocussed  wine,  but  fur  from  a 
wine  as  was  elthy  for  the  mind.  And  there's 
another  thing  to  be  remembered,  Captain.    Did 


I  stick  to  them  words  when  Gaffer  was  no  more, 
and  did  I  say  bold  to  them  two  Governors, 
'  Governors  both,  wot  I  informed  I  still  inform  ; 
wot  was  took  down  I  hold  to  ?'  No.  I  says, 
frank  and  open — no  shuffling,  mind  you,  Cap- 
tain!— 'I  may  have  been  mistook,  I've  been  a 
thinking  of  it,  it  mayn't  have  been  took  down 
correct  on  this  and  that,  and  I  won't  swear  to 
thick  and  thin,  I'd  rayther  forfeit  your  good 
opinions  than  do  it.'  And  so  far  as  I  know," 
concluded  Mr.  Riderhood,  by  way  of  proof  and 
evidence  to  character,  "I  have  actiwally  forfeit- 
ed the  good  opinions  of  several  persons  —  even 
your  own,  Captain,  if  I  understand  your  words — 
but  I'd  sooner  do  it  than  be  forswore.  There ; 
if  that's  conspiracy,  call  me  conspirator." 

"  You  shall  sign,"  said  the  visitor,  taking  very 
little  heed  of  this  oration,  "a  statement  that  it 
was  all  utterly  false,  and  the  poor  girl  shall  have 
it.  I  will  bring  it  with  me  for  your  signature 
when  I  come  again." 

"When  might  you  be  expected,  Captain?" 
inquired  Riderhood,  again  dubiously  getting  be- 
tween him  and  the  door. 

"  Quite  soon  enough  for  you.  I  shall  not  dis- 
appoint you  ;  don't  be  afraid." 

"Might  you  be  inclined  to  leave  any  name, 
Captain  ?" 

"No,  not  at  all.     I  have  no  such  intention." 

"  '  Shall'  is  summ'at  of  a  hard  word,  Captain," 
urged  Riderhood,  still  feebly  dodging  between 
him  and  the  door,  as  he  advanced.  "When 
you  say  a  man  'shall'  sign  this  and  that  and 
t'other,  Captain,  you  order  him  about  in  a  grand 
sort  of  a  way.     Don't  it.  seem  so  to  yourself?" 

The  man  stood  still,  and  angrily  fixed  him 
with  his  eyes. 

"Father,  father!"  entreated  Pleasant,  from 
the  door,  with  her  disengaged  hand  nervously 
trembling  at  her  lips;  "don't!  Don't  get  into 
trouble  any  more!" 

"  Hear  me  out,  Captain,  hear  me  out !  All 
I  was  wishing  to  mention,  Captain,  afore  you 
took  your  departer,"  said  the  sneaking  Mr.  Rid- 
erhood, falling  out  of  his  path,  "was,  your  hand- 
some words  relating  to  the  reward." 

"When  I  claim  it,"  said  the  man,  in  a  tone 
which  seemed  to  leave  some  such  words  as  "  you 
dog"  very  distinctly  understood,  "you  shall  share 
it." 

Looking  steadfastly  at  Riderhood,  he  once 
more  said  in  a  low  voice,  this  time  with  a  grim 
sou  of  admiration  of  him  as  a  perfect  piece  of 
evil,  "What  a  liar  you  are!"  and,  nodding  his 
head  twice  or  thrice  over  the  compliment,  passed 
out  of  the  shop.  But  to  Pleasant  he  said  good- 
night kindly. 

The  honest  man  who  gained  his  living  by  the 
sweat  of  his  brow  remained  in  a  state  akin  to 
stupefaction,  until  the  footless  glass  and  the  un- 
finished bottle  conveyed  themselves  into  his  mind. 
From  his  mind  he  conveyed  them  into  his  hands, 
and  so  conveyed  the  last  of  the  wine  into  his 
stomach.  When  that  was  done,  he  awoke  to  a 
clear  perception  that  Poll  Parroting  was  solely 
chargeable  with  what  had  passed.  Therefore, 
not  to  be  remiss  in  his  duty  as  a  father,  he  threw 
a  pair  of  sea-boots  at  Pleasant,  which  she  ducked 
to  avoid,  and  then  cried,  poor  thing,  using  her 
hair  for  a  pocket-handkerchief. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


1G5 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A    SOLO    AND    A    DUET. 

The  wind  was  blowing  so  hard  when  the  vis- 
itor came  out  at  the  shop-door  into  the  darkness 
and  dirt  of  Limehouse  Hole,  that  it  almost  blew 
him  in  again.  Doors  were  slamming  violently, 
lamps  were  flickering  or  blown  out,  signs  were 
rocking  in  their  frames,  the  water  of  the  ken- 
nels, wind-dispersed,  flew  about  in  drops  like 
rain.  Indifferent  to  the  weather,  and  even  pre- 
ferring it  to  better  weather  for  its  clearance  of 
the  streets,  the  man  looked  about  him  with  a 
scrutinizing  glance.  "Thus  much  I  know,"  he 
murmured.  "I  have  never  been  here  since  that 
night,  and  never  was  here  before  that  night,  but 
thus  much  I  recognize.  I  wonder  which  way 
did  we  take  when  we  came  out  of  that  shop. 
We  turned  to  the  right  as  I  have  turned,  but  I 
can  recall  no  more.  Did  we  go  by  this  alley  ? 
Or  down  that  little  lane  ?" 

He  tried  both,  but  both  confused  him  equally, 
and  he  came  straying  back  to  the  same  spot. 
"I  remember  there  were  poles  pushed  out  of 
upper  windows  on  which  clothes  were  drying, 
and  I  remember  a  low  public  house,  and  the 
sound  flowing  down  a  narrow  passage  belong- 
ing to  it  of  the  scraping  of  a  fiddle  and  the  shuf- 
fling of  feet.  But  here  are  all  these  things  in  the 
lane,  and  here  are  all  these  things  in  the  alley. 
And  I  have  nothing  else  in  my  mind  but  a  wall, 
a  dark  doorway,  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  a  room." 

He  tried  a  new  direction,  but  made  nothing 
of  it ;  walls,  dark  doorways,  flights  of  stairs  and 
rooms,  were  too  abundant.  And,  like  most  peo- 
ple so  puzzled,  he  again  and  again  described  a 
circle,  and  found  himself  at  the  point  from  which 
he  had  begun.  "This  is  like  what  I  have  read 
in  narratives  of  escape  from  prison^"  said  he, 
"where  the  little  track  of  the  fugitives  in  the 
night  always  seems  to  take  the  shape  of  the 
great  round  world,  on  which  they  wander;  as 
if  it  were  a  secret  law." 

Here  he  ceased  to  be  the  oakum-headed,  oak- 
um-whiskered man  on  whom  Miss  Pleasant  Rid- 
erhood  had  looked,  and,  allowing  for  his  being 
still  wrapped  in  a  nautical  over-coat,  became  as 
like  that  same  lost  wanted  Mr.  Julius  Hand- 
ford  as  never  man  was  like  another  in  this 
world. .  In  the  breast  of  the  coat  he  stowed  the 
bristling  hair  and  whisker,  in  a  moment,  as  the 
favoring  wind  went  with  him  down  a  solitary 
place  that  it  had  swept  clear  of  passengers.  Yet 
in  that  same  moment  he  was  the  Secretary  also, 
Mr.  Boffin's  Secretary.  For  John  Rokesmith, 
too,  was  as  like  that  same  lost  wanted  Mr.  Ju- 
lius Handford  as  never  man  was  like  another  in 
this  world. 

"I  have  no  clew  to  the  scene  of  my  death," 
said  he.  "Not  that  it  matters  now.  But  hav- 
ing risked  discovery  by  venturing  here  at  all,  I 
should  have  been  glad  to  track  some  part  of  the 
way."  With  which  singular  words  he  aban- 
doned his  search,  came  up  out  of  Limehouse 
Hole,  and  took  the  way  past  Limehouse  Church. 
At  the  great  iron  gate  of  the  church-yard  he 
stopped  and  looked  in.  He  looked  up  at  the 
high  tower  spectrally  resisting  the  wind,  and 
he  looked  round  at'  the  white  tombstones,  like 
enough  to  the  dead  in  their  winding-sheets,  and 
he  counted  the  nine  tolls  of  the  clock-bell. 

"It  is  a  sensation  not  experienced  by  many 


mortals,"  said  he,  "  to  be  looking  into  a  church- 
yard on  a  wild  windy  night,  and  to  feel  that  I  no 
more  hold  a  place  among  the  living  than  these 
dead  do,  and  even  to  know  that  I  lie  buried 
somewhere  else,  as  they  lie  buried  here.  No- 
thing uses  me  to  it.  A  spirit  that  was  once  a 
man  could  hardly  feel  stranger  or  lonelier,  going 
unrecognized  among  mankind,  than  I  feel. 

"  But  this  is  the  fanciful  side  of  the  situation. 
It  has  a  real  side,  so  difficult  that,  though  I 
think  of  it  every  day,  I  never  thoroughly  think 
it  out.  Now  let  me  determine  to  think  it  out  as 
I  walk  home.  I  know  I  evade  it  as  many  men 
— perhaps  most  men — do  evade  thinking  their 
way  through  their  greatest  perplexity.  I  will 
try  to  pin  myself  to  mine.  Don't  evade  it,  John 
Harmon;  don't  evade  it;  think  it  out! 

"When  I  came  back  to  England,  attracted  to 
the  country  with  which  I  had  none  but  most 
miserable  associations,  by  the  accounts  of  my 
fine  inheritance  that  found  me  abroad,  I  came 
back,  shrinking  from  my  father's  money,  shrink- 
ing from  my  father's  memory,  mistrustful  of  be- 
ing forced  on  a  mercenary  wife,  mistrustful  of 
my  father's  intention  in  thrusting  that  marriage 
on  me,  mistrustful  that  I  was  already  growing 
avaricious,  mistrustful  that  I  was  slackening  in 
gratitude  to  the  two  dear  noble  honest  friends 
who  had  made  the  only  sunlight  in  my  childish 
life  or  that  of  my  heart-broken  sister.  I  came 
back,  timid,  divided  in  my  mind,  afraid  of  my- 
self and  every  body  here,  knowing  of  nothing 
but  wretchedness  that  my  father's  wealth  had 
ever  brought  about.  Now,  stop,  and  so  far 
think  it  out,  John  Harmon.  Is  that  so  ?  That 
is  exactly  so. 

"  On  board  serving  as  third  mate  was  George 
Radfoot.  I  knew  nothing  of  him.  His  name 
first  became  known  to  me  about  a  week  before 
we  sailed,  through  my  being  accosted  by  one  of 
the  ship-agent's  clerks  as  'Mr.  Radfoot.'  It 
was  one  day  when  I  had  gone  aboard  to  look  to 
my  preparations,  and  the  clerk,  coming  behind 
me  as  I  stood  on  deck,  tapped  me  on  the  shoul- 
der and  said,  '  Mr.  Radfoot,  look  here,'  referring 
to  some  papers  that  he  had  in  his  hand.  And 
my  name  first  became  known  to  Radfoot,  through 
another  clerk  within  a  day  or  two,  and  while  the 
ship  was  yet  in  port,  coming  up  behind  him,  tap- 
ping him  on  the  shoulder  and  beginning,  '  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Mr.  Harmon — '  I  believe  we 
were  alike  in  bulk  and  stature  but  not  other- 
wise, and  that  we  were  not  strikingly  alike,  even 
in  those  respects,  when  we  were  together  and 
could  be  compared. 

"However,  a  sociable  word  or  two  on  these 
mistakes  became  an  easy  introduction  between 
us,  and  the  weather  was  hot,  and  he  helped  me 
to  a  cool  cabin  on  deck  along-side  his  own,  and 
his  first  school  had  been  at  Brussels  as  mine  had 
been,  and  he  had  learned  French  as  I  had  learned 
it,  and  he  had  a  little  history  of  himself  to  re- 
late— God  only  knows  how  much  of  it  true,  and 
how  much  of  it  false — that  had  its  likeness  to 
mine.  I  had  been  a  seaman  too.  So  we  got  to 
be  confidential  together,  and  the  more  easily 
yet,  because  he  and  every  one  on  board  had 
known  by  general  rumor  what  I  was  making  the 
voyage  to  England  for.  By  such  degrees  and 
means  he  came  to  the  knowledge  of  my  uneasi- 
ness of  mind,  and  of  its  setting  at  that  time  in 


166 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


the  direction  of  desiring  to  see  and  form  some 
judgment  of  my  allotted  wife,  before  she  could 
possibly  know  me  for  myself;  also  to  try  Mrs. 
Boffin  and  give  her  a  glad  surprise.  So  the 
plot  was  made  out  of  our  getting  common  sail- 
ors' dresses  (as  he  was  able  to  guide  me  about 
London),  and  throwing  ourselves  in  Bella  Wil- 
fer's  neighborhood,  and  trying  to  put  ourselves 
in  her  way,  and  doing  whatever  chance  might 
favor  on  the  spot,  and  seeing  what  came  of  it. 
If  nothing  came  of  it  I  should  be  no  worse  off, 
and  there  would  merely  be  a  short  delay  in  my 
presenting  myself  to  Lightwood.  I  have  all 
these  facts  right  ?  Yes.  They  are  all  accurate- 
ly right. 

"His  advantage  in  all  this  was,  that  for  a 
time  I  was  to  be  lost.  It  might  be  for  a  day  or 
for  two  days,  but  I  must  be  lost  sight  of  on  land- 
ing, or  there  would  be  recognition,  anticipation, 
and  failure.  Therefore,  I  disembarked  with  my 
valise  in  my  hand — as  Potterson  the  steward 
and  Mr.  Jacob  Kibble  my  fellow-passenger  af- 
terward remembered — and  waited  for  him  in  the 
dark  by  that  very  Limehouse  Church  which  is 
now  behind  me. 

"As  I  had  always  shunned  the  port  of  Lon- 
don, I  only  knew  the  church  through  his  point- 
ing out  its  spire  from  on  board.  Perhaps  I 
might  recall,  if  it  were  any  good  to  try,  the  way 
by  which  I  went  to  it  alone  from  the  river;  but 
how  we  two  went  from  it  to  Riderhood's  shop  I 
don't  know — any  more  than  I  know  what  turns 
we  took  and  doubles  we  made  after  we  left  it. 
The  way  was  purposely  confused,  no  doubt. 

"But  let  me  go  on  thinking  the  facts  out, 
and  avoid  confusing  them  with  my  speculations. 
Whether  he  took  me  by  a  straight  way  or  a 
crooked  way,  what  is  that  to  the  purpose  now  ? 
Steady,  John  Harmon. 

"When  we  stopped  at  Riderhood's,  and  he 
asked  that  scoundrel  a  question  or  two,  purport- 
ing to  refer  only  to  the  lodging-houses  in  which 
there  was  accommodation  for  us  had  I  the  least 
suspicion  of  him  ?  None.  Certainly  none  until 
afterward  when  I  held  the  clew.  I  think  he 
must  have  got  from  Riderhood  in  a  paper  the 
drug,  or  whatever  it  was,  that  afterward  stupe- 
fied me,  but  I  am  far  from  sure.  All  I  felt  safe 
in  charging  on  him  to-night  was  old  companion- 
ship in  villainy  between  them.  Their  undis- 
guised intimacy,  and  the  character  I  now  know 
Riderhood  to  bear,  made  that  not  at  all  adven- 
turous. But  I  am  not  clear  about  the  drug. 
Thinking  out  the  circumstances  on  which  I  found 
my  suspicion,  they  are  only  two.  One:  I  re- 
member his  changing  a  small  folded  paper  from 
one  pocket  to  another  after  we  came  out,  which 
he  had  not  touched  before.  Two :  I  now  know 
Riderhood  to  have  been  previously  taken  up  for 
being  concerned  in  the  robbery  of  an  unlucky  sea- 
man, to  whom  some  such  poison  had  been  given. 

"  It  is  my  conviction  that  we  can  not  have 
gone  a  mile  from  that  shop  before  we  came  to 
the  wall,  the  dark  doorway,  the  flight  of  stairs, 
and  the  room.  The  night  was  particularly  dark, 
and  it  rained  hard.  As  I  think  the  circumstances 
back  I  hear  the  rain  splashing  on  the  stone  pave- 
ment of  the  passage,  which  was  not  under  cover. 
The  room  overlooked  the  river,  or  a  dock,  or  a 
creek,  and  the  tide  was  out.  Being  possessed 
of  the  time  down  to  that  point,  I  know  by  the 
hour  that  it  must  have  been  about  low  water ; 


but  while  the  coffee  was  getting  ready  I  drew 
back  the  curtain  (a  dark-brown  curtain),  and, 
looking  out,  knew  by  the  kind  of  reflection  be- 
low, of  the  few  neighboring  lights,  that  they 
were  reflected  in  tidal  mud. 

"  He  had  carried  under  his  arm  a  canvas  bag, 
containing  a  suit  of  his  clothes.  I  had  no  change 
of  under-clothes  with  me,  as  I  was  to  buy  slops.  - 
'  You  are  very  wet,  Mr.  Harmon' — I  can  hear 
him  saying — 'and  I  am  quite  dry  under  this 
good  water-proof  coat.  Put  on  these  clothes  of 
mine.  You  may  find  on  trying  them  that  they 
will  answer  your  purpose  to-morrow,  as  well  as 
the  slops  you  mean  to  buy,  or  better.  While 
you  change,  I'll  hurry  the  hot  coffee.'  When  he 
came  back  I  had  his  clothes  on,  and  there  was 
a  black  man  with  him,  wearing  a  linen  jacket, 
like  a  steward,  who  put  the  smoking  coffee  on 
the  table  in  a  tray  and  never  looked  at  me.  I 
am  so  far  literal  and  exact  ?  Literal  and  exact, 
I  am  certain. 

"Now  I  pass  to  sick  and  deranged  impres- 
sions ;•  they  are  so  strong,  that  I  rely  upon  them  ; 
but  there  are  spaces  between  them  that  I  know 
nothing  about,  and  they  are  not  pervaded  by  any 
idea  of  time. 

"I  had  drank  some  coffee,  when  to  my  sense 
of  sight  he  began  to  swell  immensely,  and  some- 
thing urged  me  to  rush  at  him.  We  had  a  strug- 
gle near  the  door.  He  got  from  me,  through  my 
not  knowing  where  to  strike,  in  the  whirling 
round  of  the  room,  and  the  flashing  of  flames 
of  fire  between  us.  I  dropped  down.  Lying 
helpless  on  the  ground,  I  was  turned  over  by  a 
foot.  I  was  dragged  by  the  neck  into  a  corner. 
I  heard  men  speak  together.  I  was  turned  over 
by  other  feet.  I  saw  a  figure  like  myself  lying 
dressed  in  my  clothes  on  a  bed.  What  might 
have  been,  for  any  thing  I  knew,  a  silence  of 
days,  weeks,  months,  years,  was  broken  by  a  vio- 
lent wrestling  of  men  all  over  the  room.  The 
figure  like  myself  was  assailed,  and  my  valise 
was  in  its  hand.  I  was  trodden  upon  and  fallen 
over.  I  heard  a  noise  of  blows,  and  thought  it 
was  a  wood-cutter  cutting  down  a  tree.  I  could 
not  have  said  that  my  name  was  John  Harmon 
— I  could  not  have  thought  it-— I  didn't  know  it 
— but  when  I  heard  the  blows,  I  thought  ot  the 
wood-cutter  and  his  axe,  and  had  some  dead  idea 
that  I  was  lying  in  a  forest. 

"This  is  still  correct?  Still  correct,  with  the 
exception  that  I  can  not  possibly  express  it  to 
myself  without  using  the  word  I.  But  it  was 
not  I.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  I,  within  my 
knowledge. 

"  It  was  only  after  a  downward  slide  through 
something  like  a  tube,  and  then  a  great  noise 
and  a  sparkling  and  crackling  as  of  fires,  that 
the  consciousness  came  upon  me,  'This  is  John 
Harmon  drowning !  John  Harmon,  struggle  for 
your  life.  John  Harmon,  call  on  Heaven  and 
save  yourself!'  I  think  I  cried  it  out  aloud  in  a 
great  agony,  and  then  a  heavy  horrid  unintelli- 
gible something  vanished,  and  it  was  I  who  was 
struggling  there  alone  in  the  water. 

"I  was  very  weak  and  faint,  frightfully  op- 
pressed with  drowsiness,  and  driving  fast  with 
the  tide.  Looking  over  the  black  water,  I  saw 
the  lights  racing  past  me  on  the  two  banks  of 
the  river,  as  if  they  were  eager  to  be  gone  and 
leave  me  dying  in  the  dark.  The  tide  was  run- 
ning down,  but  I  knew  nothing  of  up  or  down 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


167 


. 


MORE   DEAD   THAN  ALIVE. 


then.  When,  guiding  myself  safely  with  Heav- 
en's assistance  before  the  tierce  set  of  the  water, 
I  at  last  caught  at  a  boat  moored,  one  of  a  tier 
of  boats  at  a  causeway,  I  was  sucked  under 
her,  and  came  up,  only  just  alive,  on  the  other 
side. 

"Was  I  long  in  the  water?  Long  enough  to 
be  chilled  to  the  heart,  but  I  don't  know  how 
long.  Yet  the  cold  was  merciful,  for  it  was  the 
cold  night  air  and  the  rain  that  restored  me  from 
a  swoon  on  the  stones  of  the  causeway.  They 
naturally  supposed  me  to  have  toppled  in,  drunk, 
when  I  crept  to  the  public  house  it  belonged  to ; 
for  I  had  no  notion  where  I  was,  and  could  not 
articulate — through  the  poison  that  had  made 
me  insensible  having  affected  my  speech — and  I 
supposed  the  night  to  be  the  previous  night,  as  it 
was  still  dark  and  raining.  But  I  had  lost  twen- 
ty-four hours. 

"  I  have  checked  the  calculation  often,  and  it 
must  have  been  two  nights  that  I  lay  recovering 


in  that  public  house.  Let  me  see.  Yes.  I  am 
sure  it  was  while  I  lay  in  that  bed  there,  that  the 
thought  entered  my  head  of  turning  the  danger 
I  had  passed  through  to  the  account  of  being 
for  some  time  supposed  to  have  disappeared  mys- 
teriously, and  of  proving  Bella.  The  dread  of 
our  being  forced  on  one  another,  and  perpetuat- 
ing the  fate  that  seemed  to  have  fallen  on  my 
1  father's  riches — the  fate  that  they  should  lead  to 
nothing  but  evil — was  strong  upon  the  moral 
timidity  that  dates  from  my  childhood  with  my 
poor  sister. 

"  As  to  this  hour  I  can  not  understand  that 
side  of  the  river  where  I  recovered  the  shore, 
being  the  opposite  side  to  that  on  which  I  was 
ensnared,  I  shall  never  understand  it  now.  Even 
at  this  moment,  while  I  leave  the  river  behind 
me,  going  home,  I  can  not  conceive  that  it  rolls 
between  me  and  that  spot,  or  that  the  sea  is 
wh^ere  it  is.  But  this  is  not  thinking  it  out; 
this  is  making  a  leap  to  the  present  time. 


168 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"I  could  not  have  done  it,  but  for  the  fortune 
in  the  water-proof  belt  round  my  body.  Not  a 
great  fortune,  forty  and  odd  pounds,  for  the  in- 
heritor of  a  hundred  and  odd  thousand !  But  it 
was  enough.  Without  it  I  must  have  disclosed 
myself.  Without  it  I  could  never  have  gone 
to  the  Exchequer  Coffee-house,  or  taken  Mrs. 
Wilfer's  lodgings. 

"  Some  twelve  days  I  lived  at  that  hotel,  be- 
fore the  night  when  I  saw  the  corpse  of  Radfoot 
tt  the  Police  Station.  The  inexpressible  mental 
orror  that  I  labored  under,  as  one  of  the  conse- 
quences of  the  poison,  makes  the  interval  seem 
greatly  longer,  but  I  know  it  can  not  have  been 
longer.  That  suffering  has  gradually  weakened 
and  weakened  since,  and  has  only  come  upon 
me  by  starts,  and  I  hope  I  am  free  from  it  now ; 
but  even  now  I  have  sometimes  to  think,  con- 
strain myself,  and  step  before  speaking,  or  I 
could  not  say  the  words  I  want  to  say. 

"Again  I  ramble  away  from  thinking  it  out 
to  the  end.  It  is  not  so  far  to  the  end  that  I  need 
be  tempted  to  break  off.     Now,  on  straight ! 

"  I  examined  the  newspapers  every  day  for 
tidings  that  I  was  missing,  but  saw  none.  Going 
out  that  night  to  walk  (for  I  kept  retired  while 
it  was  light),  I  found  a  crowd  assembled  round 
a  placard  posted  at  Whitehall.  It  described  my- 
self, John  Harmon,  as  found  dead  and  mutilated 
in  the  river  under  circumstances  of  strong  sus- 
picion, described  my  dress,  described  the  papers 
in  my  pockets,  and  stated  where  I  was  lying  for 
recognition.  In  a  wild  incautious  way  I  hurried 
there,  and  there — with  the  horror  oithe  death  I 
had  escaped,  before  my  eyes  in  its  most  appall- 
ing shape,  added  to  the  inconceivable  horror  tor- 
menting me  at  that  time  when  the  poisonous 
stuff  was  strongest  on  me — I  perceived  that  Rad- 
foot had  been  murdered  by  some  unknown  hands 
for  the'  money  for  which  he  would  have  mur- 
dered me,  and  that  probably  we  had  both  been 
shot  into  the  river  from  the  same  dark  place  into 
the  same  dark  tide,  when  the  stream  ran  deep 
and  strong. 

"That  night  I  almost  gave  up  my  mystery, 
though  I  suspected  no  one,  could  offer  no  in- 
formation, knew  absolutely  nothing  save  that  the 
murdered  man  was  not  I,  but  Radfoot.  Next 
day  while  I  hesitated,  and  next  day  while  I  hes- 
itated, it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  country  were 
determined  to  have  me  dead.  The  Inquest  de- 
clared me  dead,  the  Government  proclaimed  me 
dead ;  I  could  not  listen  at  my  fireside  for  five 
minutes  to  the  outer  noises  but  it  was  borne  into 
my  ears  that  I  was  dead. 

"So  John  Harmon  died,  and  Julius  Hand- 
ford  disappeared,  and  John  Rokesmith  was  born. 
John  Rokesmith's  intent  to-night  has  been  to 
repair  a  wrong  that  he  could  never  have  imag- 
ined possible,  coming  to  his  ears  through  the 
Lightwood  talk  related  to  him,  and  which  he  is 
bound  by  every  consideration  to  remedy.  In 
that  intent  John  Rokesmith  will  persevere,  as 
his  duty  is. 

"  Now,  is  it  all  thought  out  ?  All  to  this  time  ? 
Nothing  omitted?  No,  nothing.  But  beyond 
this  time  ?  To  think  it  out  through  the  future 
is  a  harder  though  a  much  shorter  task  than  to 
think  it  out  through  the  past.  John  Harmon  is 
dead.     Should  John  Harmon  come  to  life  ? 

' '  If  yes,  why  ?     If  no,  why  ? 

"Take  yes/first.     To  enlighten  human  Jus- 


tice 'concerning  the  offense  of  one  far  beyond  it 
who  may  have  a  living  mother.  To  enlighten  it 
with  the  lights  of  a  stone  passage,  a  flight  of 
stairs,  a  brown  window-curtain,  and  a  black 
man.  To  come  into  possession  of  my  father's 
money,  and  with  it  sordidly  to  buy  a  beautiful 
creature  whom  I  love — I  can  not  help  it ;  reason 
has  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  I  love  her  against 
reason — but  who  would  as  soon  love  me  for  my 
own  sake  as  she  would  love  the  beggar  at  the 
corner.  What  a  use  for  the  money,  and  how 
worthy  of  its  old  misuses ! 

M  Now,  take  no.  The  reasons  why  John  Har- 
mon should  not  come  to  life.  Because  he  has 
passively  allowed  these  dear  old  faithful  friends 
to  pass  into  possession  of  the  property.  Because 
he  sees  them  happy  with  it,  making  a  good  use 
of  it,  effacing  the  old  rust  and  tarnish  on  the 
money.  Because  they  have  virtually  adopted 
Bella,  and  will  provide  for  her.  Because  there 
is  affection  enough  in  her  nature,  and  warmth 
enough  in  her  heart,  to  develop  into  something 
enduringly  good,  under  favorable  conditions. 
Because  her  faults  have  been  intensified  by  her 
place  in  my  father's  will,  and  she  is  already 
growing  better.  Because  her  marriage  with 
John  Harmon,  after  what  I  have  heard  from 
her  own  lips,  would  be  a  shocking  mockery,  of 
which  both  she  and  I  must  always  be  conscious, 
and  which  would  degrade  her  in  her  mind,  and 
me  in  mine,  and  each  of  us  in  the  other's.  Be- 
cause if  John  Harmon  comes  to  life  and  does 
not  marry  her,  the  property  falls  into  the  very 
hands  that  hold  it  now. 

"What  would  I  have?  Dead,  I  have  found 
the  true  friends  of  my  lifetime  still  as  true  as 
tender,  and  as  faithful  as  when  I  was  alive,  and 
making  my  memory  an  incentive  to  good  ac- 
tions done  in  my  name.  Dead,  I  have  found 
them  when  they  might  have  slighted  my  name, 
and  passed  greedily  over  my  grave  to  ease  and 
wealth,  lingering  by  the  way,  like  single-hearted 
children,  to  recall  their  love  for  me  when  I  was 
a  poor  frightened  child.  Dead,  I  have  heard 
from  the  woman  who  would  have  been  my  wife 
if  I  had  lived  the  revolting  truth  that  I  should 
have  purchased  her,  caring  nothing  for  me,  as  a 
Sultan  buys  a  slave. 

"What  would  I  have?  If  the  dead  could 
know,  or  do  know,  how  the  living  use  them,  who 
among  the  hosts  of  dead  has  found  a  more  dis- 
interested fidelity  on  earth  than  I  ?  Is  not  that 
enough  for  me  ?  If  I  had  come  back,  these  no- 
ble creatures  would  have  welcomed  me,  wept 
over  me,  given  up  every  thing  to  me  with  joy. 
I  did  not  come  back,  and  they  have  passed  un- 
spoiled into  my  place.  Let  them  rest  in  it,  and 
let  Bella  rest  in  hers. 

"What  course  for  me  then?  This.  To  live 
the  same  quiet  Secretary  life,  carefully  avoiding 
chances  of  recognition,  until  they  shall  have  be- 
come more  accustomed  to  their  altered  state, 
and  until  the  great  swarm  of  swindlers  under 
many  names  shall  have  found  newer  prey.  By 
that  time,  the  method  I  am  establishing  through 
all  the  affairs,  and  with  which  I  will  every  day 
take  new  pains  to  make  them  both  familiar,  will 
be,  I  may  hope,  a  machine  in  such  working  or- 
der as  that  they  can  keep  it  going.  I  know  I 
need  but  ask  of  their  generosity  to  have.  When 
the  right* time  comes,  I  will  ask  no  more  than 
will  replace  me  in  my  former  path  of  life,  and 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


169 


John  Rokesmith  shall  tread  it  as  contentedly  as 
he  may.  But  John  Harmon  shall  come  back 
no  more. 

"That  I  may  never,  in  the  days  to  come  afar 
off,  have  any  weak  misgiving  that  Bella  might, 
in  any  contingency,  have  taken  me  for  my  own 
sake  if  I  had  plainly  asked  her,  I  will  plainly 
ask  her ;  proving  beyond  all  question  what  I  al- 
ready know  too  well.  And  now  it  is  all  thought 
out,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  and  my  mind 
is  easier." 

So  deeply  engaged  had  the  living-dead  man 
been,  in  thus  communing  with  himself,  that  he 
had  regarded  neither  the  wind  nor  the  way,  and 
had  resisted  the  former  as  instinctively  as  he  had 
pursued  the  latter.  But  being  now  come  into 
the  City,  where  there  was  a  coach-stand,  he  stood 
irresolute  whether  to  go  to  his  lodgings,  or  to  go 
first  to  Mr.  Boffin's  house.  He  decided  to  go 
round  by  the  house,  arguing,  as  he  carried  his 
over-coat  upon  his  arm,  that  it  was  less  likely  to 
attract  notice  if  left  there  than  if  taken  to  Hol- 
loway :  both  Mrs.  Wilfer  and  Miss  Lavinia  be- 
ing ravenously  curious  touching  every  article  of 
which  the  lodger  stood  possessed. 

Arriving  at  the  house,  he  found  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Boffin  were  out,  but  that  Miss  Wilfer  was 
in  the  drawing-room.  Miss  Wilfer  had  remain- 
ed at  home,  in  consequence  of  not  feeling  very 
well,  and  had  inquired  in  the  evening  if  Mr. 
Rokesmith  were  in  his  room. 

"  Make  my  compliments  to  Miss  Wilfer,  and 
say  I  am  here  now." 

Miss  Wilfer's  compliments  came  down  in  re- 
turn, and,  if  it  were  not  too  much  trouble,  would 
Mr.  Rokesmith  be  so  kind  as  to  come  up  before 
he  went  ? 

It  was  not  too  much  trouble,  and  Mr.  Roke- 
smith came  up. 

Oh  she  looked  very  pretty,  she  looked  very, 
very  pretty !  If  the  father  of  the  late  John  Har- 
mon had  but  left  his  money  unconditionally  to 
his  son,  and  if  his  son  had  but  lighted  on  this 
lovable  girl  for  himself,  and  had  the  happiness 
to  make  her  loving  as  well  as  lovable ! 

"Dear  me!  Are  you  not  well,  Mr.  Roke- 
smith ?" 

"Yes,  quite  well.  I  was  sorry  to  hear,  when 
I  came  in,  that  you  were  not." 

"A  mere  nothing.  I  had  a  headache — gone 
now — and  was  not  quite  fit  for  a  hot  theatre,  so 
I  staid  at  home.  I  asked  you  if  you  were  not 
well,  because  you  look  so  white." 

" Do  I?     I  have  had  a  busy  evening." 

She  was  on  a  low  ottoman  before  the  fire,  with 
a  little  shining  jewel  of  a  table,  and  her  book 
and  her  work,  beside  her.  Ah !  what  a  differ- 
ent life  the  late  John  Harmon's,  if  it  had  been 
his  happy  privilege  to  take  his  place  upon  that 
ottoman,  and  draw  his  arm  about  that  waist, 
and  say,  "I  hope  the  time  has  been  long  with- 
out me  ?  What  a  Home  Goddess  you  look,  my 
darling!" 

But  the  present  John  Rokesmith,  far  removed 
from  the  late  John  Harmon,  remained  standing 
at  a  distance.  A  little  distance  in  respect  of 
space,  but  a  great  distance  in  respect  of  separa- 
tion. 

"Mr.  Rokesmith,"  said  Bella,  taking  up  her 
work,  and  inspecting  it  all  round  the  corners, 
"  I  wanted  to  say  something  to  you  when  I  could 


have  the  opportunity,  as  an  explanation  why  I 
was  rude  to  you  the  other  day.  You  have  "no 
right  to  think  ill  of  me,  Sir." 

The  sharp  little  way  in  which  she  darted  a 
look  at  him,  half  sensitively  injured,  and  half 
pettishly,  would  have  been  very  much  admired 
by  the  late  John  Harmon. 

"You  don't  know  how  well  I  think  of  you, 
Miss  Wilfer." 

"Truly  you  must  have  a  very  high  opinion 
of  me,  Mr.  Rokesmith,  when  you  believe  that  in 
prosperity  I  neglect  and  forget  my  old  home." 

"  Do  I  believe  so  ?" 

"You  did,  Sir,  at  any  rate,"  returned  Bella. 

"I  took  the  liberty  of  reminding  you  of  a  lit- 
tle omission  into  which  you  had  fallen — insens- 
ibly and  naturally  fallen.  It  was  no  more  than 
that." 

"And  I  beg  leave  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Rokesmith," 
said  Bella,  "  why  you  took  that  liberty  ? — I  hope 
there  is  no  offense  in  the  phrase ;  it  is  your  own, 
remember." 

"Because  I  am  truly,  deeply,  profoundly  in- 
terested in  you,  Miss  Wilfer.  Because  I  wish  to 
see  you  always  at  your  best.  Because  I— shall 
I  go  on?" 

"No,  Sir,"  returned  Bella,  with  a  burning 
face,  "you  have  said  more  than  enough.  I  beg 
that  you  will  not  go  on.  If  you  have  any  gen- 
erosity, any  honor,  you  will  say  no  more." 

The  late  John  Harmon,  looking  at  the  proud 
face  with  the  downcast  eyes,  and  at  the  quick 
breathing  as  it  stirred  the  fall  of-  bright  brown 
hair  over  the  beautiful  neck,  would  probably  have 
remained  silent. 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  you,  Sir,"  said  Bella, 
"once  for  all,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  do  it. 
I  have  sat  here  all  this  evening,  wishing  to  speak 
to  you,  and  determining  to  speak  to  you,  and 
feeling  that  I  must.    I  beg  for  a  moment's  time." 

He  remained  silent,  and  she  remained  with 
her  face  averted,  sometimes  making  a  slight 
movement  as  if  she  would  turn  and  speak.  At 
length  she  did  so. 

"You  know  how  I  am  situated  here,  Sir,  and 
you  know  how  I  am  situated  at  home.  I  must 
speak  to  you  for  myself,  since  there  is  no  one 
about  me  whom  I  could  ask  to  do  so.  It  is  not 
generous  in  you,  it  is  not  honorable  in  you,  to 
conduct  yourself  toward  me  as  you  do." 

"Is  it  ungenerous  or  dishonorable  to  be  de- 
voted to  you ;  fascinated  by  you  ?" 

"Preposterous!"  said  Bella. 

The  late  John  Harmon  might  have  thought  it 
rather  a  contemptuous  and  lofty  word  of  repudi- 
ation. 

"I  now  feel  obliged  to  go  on,"  pursued  the 
Secretary,  "though  it  were  only  in  self-explana- 
tion and  self-defense.  I  hope,  Miss  Wilfer,  that 
it  is  not  unpardonable — even  in  me — to  make  an 
honest -declaration  of  an  honest  devotion  to  you." 

"An  honest  declaration!"  repeated  Bella, 
with  emphasis. 

"Is  it  otherwise?" 

"I  must  request,  Sir,"  said  Bella,  taking  ref- 
uge in  a  touch  of  timely  resentment,  "that  I 
may  not  be  questioned.  You  must  excuse  me 
if  I  decline  to  be  cross-examined." 

"Oh,  Miss  Wilfer,  this  is  hardly  charitable. 
I  ask  you  nothing  but  what  your  own  emphasis 
suggests.  However,  I  waive  even  that  question. 
But  what  I  have  declared  I  take  my  stand  by. 


170 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


I  can  not  recall  the  avowal  of  my  earnest  and 
deep  attachment  to  you,  and  I  do  not  recall  it." 
"I  reject  it,  Sir,"  said  Bella.. 
**  I  should  be  blind  and  deaf  if  I  were  not  pre- 
pared for  the  reply.  Forgive  my  offense,  for  it 
carries  its  punishment  with  it." 

"What  punishment?"  asked  Bella. 
"Is  my  present  endurance  none?     But  ex. 
cuse  me ;  I  did  not  mean  to  cross-examine  you 
again." 

"You  take  advantage  of  a  hasty  word  of 
mine,"  said  Bella,  with  a  little  sting  of  self-re- 
proach, "  to  make  me  seem — I  don't  know  what. 
I  spoke  without  consideration  when  I  used  it. 
If  that  was  bad,  I  am  sorry;  but  you  repeat  it 
after  consideration,  and  that  seems  to  me  to  be 
at  least  no  better.  For  the  rest,  I  beg  it  may 
be  understood,  Mr.  Rokesmith,  that  there  is  an 
end  of  this  between  us,  now  and  forever." 

"Now  and  forever,"  he  repeated. 

"  Yes.  I  appeal  to  you,  Sir,"  proceeded  Bel- 
la with  increasing  spirit,  "  not  to  pursue  me.  I 
appeal  to  you  not  to  take  advantage  of  your  po- 
sition in  this  house  to  make  my  position  in  it 
distressing  and  disagreeable.  I  appeal  to  you 
to  discontinue,  your  habit  of  making  your  mis- 
placed attentions  as  plain  to  Mrs.  Boffin  as  to 
me." 

"Have  I  done  so?" 

"I  should  think  you  have,"  replied  Bella. 
"  In  any  case  it  is  not  your  fault  if  you  have 
not,  Mr.  Rokesmith." 

"I  hope  you  are  wrong  in  that  impression. 
I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  justified  it.  I 
think  I  have  not.  For  the  future  there  is  no 
apprehension.     It  is  all  over." 

"I  am  much  relieved  to  hear  it,"  said  Bella. 
"I  have  far  other  views  in  life,  and  why  should 
you  waste  your  own  ?" 

"  Mine !"  said  the  Secretary.     "  My  life !" 

His  curious  tone  caused  Bella  to  glance  at  the 
curious  smile  with  which  he  said  it.  It  was 
gone  as  he  glanced  back.  "Pardon  me,  Miss 
Wilfer,"  he  proceeded,  when  their  eyes  met; 
"you  have  used  some  hard  words,  for  which  I 
do  not  doubt  you  have  a  justification  in  your 
mind  that  I  do  not  understand.  Ungenerous 
and  dishonorable  !     In  what?" 

"I  would  rather  not  be  asked,"  said  Bella, 
haughtily  looking  down. 

"I  would  rather  not  ask,  but  the  question  is 
imposed  upon  me.  Kindly  explain ;  or  if  not 
kindly,  justly." 

"  Oh,  Sir  f"  said  Bella,  raising  her  eyes  to  his, 
after  a  little  struggle  to  forbear,  "is  it  generous 
and  honorable  to  use  the  power  here  which  your 
favor  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  and  your  ability 
in  your  place  give  you  against  me?" 

"Against  you?" 

"Is  it  generous  and  honorable  to  form  a  plan 
for  gradually  bringing  their  influence  Jo  bear 
upon  a  suit  which  I  have  shown  you  that  I  do 
not  like,  and  which  I  tell  you  that  I  utterly  re- 
ject?" 

The  late  John  Harmon  could  have  borne  a 
good  deal,  but  he  would  have  been  cut  to  the 
heart  by  such  a  suspicion  as  this. 

"  Would  it  be  generous  and  honorable  to  step 
into  your  place — if  you  did  so,  for  I  don't  know 
that  you  did,  and  I  hope  you  did  not — antici- 


pating, or  knowing  beforehand,  that  I  should 
come  here,  and  designing  to  take  me  at  this  dis- 
advantage?" 

"This  mean  and  cruel  disadvantage,"  said 
the  Secretary. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Bella. 

The  Secretary  kept  silence  for  a  little  while  ; 
then  merely  said,  "You  are  wholly  mistaken, 
Miss  Wilfer ;  wonderfully  mistaken.  I  can  not 
say,  however,  that  it  is  your  fault.  If  I  deserve 
better  things  of  you,  you  do  not  know  it." 
^  "At  least,  Sir,"  retorted  Bella,  with  her  old 
indignation  rising,  "you  know  the  history  of  my 
being  here  at  all.  l"have  heard  Mr.  Boffin  say 
that  you  are  master  of  every  line  and  word  of 
that  will,  as  you  are  master  of  all  his  affairs. 
And  was  it  not  enough  that  I  should  have  been 
willed  away,  like  a  horse,  or  a  dog,  or  a  bird  ; 
but  must  you  too  begin  to  dispose  of  me  in  your 
mind,  and  speculate  in  me,  as  soon  as  I  had 
ceased  to  be  the  talk  and  the  laugh  of  the  town  ? 
Am  I  forever  to  be  made  the  property  of  stran- 
gers?" 

"Believe  me,"  returned  the  Secretary,  "you 
are  wonderfully  mistaken." 

"I  should  be  glad  to  know  it,"  answered 
Bella.   • 

"  I  doubt  if  you  ever  will.  Good-night.  Of 
course  I  shall  be  careful  to  conceal  any  traces 
of  this  interview  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  as 
long  as  I  remain  here.  Trust  me,  what  you 
have  complained  of  is  at  an  end  forever." 

"I  am  glad  I  have  spoken,  then,  Mi\  Roke- 
smith. It  has  been  painful  and  difficult,  but  it 
is  done.  If  I  have  hurt  you,  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  me.  I  am  inexperienced  and  impetu- 
ous, and  I  have  been  a  little  spoiled  j  but  I  real- 
ly am  not  so  bad  as  I  dare  say  I  appear,  or  as 
you  think  me." 

He  quitted  the  room  when  Bella  had  said  this, 
relenting  in  her  willful  inconsistent  way.  Left 
alone,  she  threw  herself  back  on  her  ottoman, 
and  said,  "I  didn't  know  the  lovely  woman  was 
such  a  Dragon!"  Then  she  got  up  and  looked 
in  the  glass,  and  said  to  her  image,  "You  have 
been  positively  swelling  your  features,  you  little 
fool!"  Then  she  took  an  impatient  walk  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room  and  back,  and  said,  "I 
wish  Pa  was  here  to  have  a  talk  about  an  avari- 
cious marriage ;  but  he  is  better  away,  poor  dear, 
for  I  know  I  should  pull  his  hair  if  he  was  here." 
And  then  she  threw  her  work  away,  and  threw 
her  book  after  it,  and  sat  down  and  hummed  a 
tune,  and  hummed  it  out  of  tune,  and  quarreled 
with  it. 

And  John  Rokesmith,  what  did  he  ? 

He  went  down  to  his  room,  and  buried  John 
Harmon  many  additional  fathoms  deep.  He 
took  his  hat  and  walked  out,  and,  as  he  went  to 
Holloway  or  any  where  else — not  at  all  minding 
where — heaped  mounds  upon  mounds  of  earth 
over  John  Harmon's  grave.  His  walking  did 
not  bring  him  home  until  the  dawn  of  day.  And 
so  busy  had  he  been  all  night,  piling  and  piling 
weights  upon  weights  of  earth  above  John  Har- 
mon's grave,  that  by  that  time  John  Harmon  lay 
buried  under  a  whole  Alpine  range;  and  still 
the  Sexton  Rokesmith  accumulated  mountains 
over  him,  lightening  his  labor  with  the  dirge, 
"Cover  him,  crush  him,  keep  him  down!" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


171 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

STRONG    OF    PURPOSE. 

The  sexton-task  of  piling  earth  above  John 
Harmon  all  night  long  was  not  conducive  to 
sound  sleep ;  but  Rokesmith  had  some  broken 
morning  rest,  and  rose  strengthened  in  his  pur- 
pose. It  was  all  over  now.  No  ghost  should 
trouble  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin's  peace;  invisible 
and  voiceless,  the  ghost  should  look  on  for  a  lit- 
tle while  longer  at  the  state  of  existence  out  of 
which  it  had  departed,  and  then  should  forever 
cease  to  haunt  the  scenes  in  which  it  had"  no 
place. 

He  went  over  it  all  again.  He  had  lapsed 
into  the  condition  in  which  he  found  himself,  as 
many  a  man  lapses  into  many  a  condition,  with- 
out perceiving  the  accumulative  power  of  its 
separate  circumstances.  When  in  the  distrust 
engendered  by  his  wretched  childhood  and  the 
action  for  evil — never  yet  for  good  within  his 
knowledge  then — of  his  father  and  his  father's 
wealth  on  all  within  their  influence,  he  conceived 
the  idea  of  his  first  deception,  it  was  meant  to 
be  harmless,  it  was  to  last  but  a  few  hours  or 
days,  it  was  to  involve  in  it  only  the  girl  so  ca- 
priciously forced  upon  him,  and  upon  whom  he 
was  so  capriciously  forced,  and  it  was  honestly 
meant  well  toward  her.  For  if  he  had  found 
her  unhappy  in  the  prospect  of  that  marriage 
(through  her  heart  inclining  to  another  man  or 
for  any  other  cause),  he  would  seriously  have 
said :  "  This  is  another  of  the  old  perverted  uses 
of  the  misery-making  money.  I  will  let  it  go  to 
my  and  my  sister's  only  protectors  and  friends." 
When  the  snare  into  which  he  fell  so  outstripped 
his  first  intention  as  that  he  found  himself  pla- 
carded by  the  police  authorities  upon  the  London 
walls  for  dead,  he  confusedly  accepted  the  aid 
that  fell  upon  him,  without  considering  how 
firmly  it  must  seem  to  fix  the  Boffins  in  their 
accession  to  the  fortune.  When  he  saw  them, 
and  knew  them,  and  even  from  his  vantage- 
ground  of  inspection  could  find  no  flaw  in  them, 
he  asked  himself,  "  And  shall  I  come  to  life  to 
dispossess  such  people  as  these?"  There  was 
no  good  to  set  against  the  putting  of  them  to 
that  hard  proof.  He  had  heard  from  Bella's 
own  lips  when  he  stood  tapping  at  the  door  on 
that  night  of  his  taking  the  lodgings,  that  the 
marriage  would  have  been  on  her  part  thorough- 
ly mercenary.  He  had  since  tried  her,  in  his 
own  unknown  person  and  supposed  station,  and 
she  not  only  rejected  his  advances  but  resented 
them.  Was  it  for  him  to  have  the  shame  of 
buying  her,  or  the  meanness  of  punishing  her  ? 
Yet,  by  coming  to  life,  and  accepting  the  condi- 
tion of  the  inheritance,  he  must  do  the  former  ; 
and  by  coming  to  life  and  rejecting  it,  he  must 
do  the»latter. 

Another  consequence  that  he  had  never  fore- 
shadowed, was  the  implication  of  an  innocent 
man  in  his  supposed  murder.  He  would  obtain 
complete  retractation  from  the  accuser,  and  set 
the  wrong  right;  but  clearly  the  wrong  could 
never  have  been  done  if  he  had  never  planned  a 
deception.  Then,  whatever  inconvenience  or 
distress  of  mindj  the  deception  cost  him,  it  was 
manful  repentantly  to  accept  as  among  its  con- 
sequences, and  make  no  complaint. 

Thus  John  Rokesmith  in  the  morning,  and  it 


buried  John  Harmon  still  many  fathoms  deeper 
than  he  had  been  buried  in  the  night. 

Going  out  earlier  than  he  was  accustomed  to 
do,  he  encountered  the  cherub  at  the  door.  The 
cherub's  way  was  for  a  certain  space  his  way, 
and  they  walked  together. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  notice  the  change  in 
the  cherub's  appearance.  The  cherub  felt  very 
conscious  of  it,  and  modestly  remarked:  "A 
present  from  my  daughter  Bella,  Mr.  Roke- 
smith." 

The  words  gave  the  Secretary  a  stroke  of 
pleasure,  for  he  remembered  the  fifty  pounds, 
and  he  still  loved  the  girl.  No  doubt  it  was 
very  weak — it  always  is  very  weak,  some  author- 
ities hold — but  he  loved  the  girl. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  happen  to  have 
read  many  books  of  African  Travel,  Mr.  Roke- 
smith ?"  said  R.  W. 

"I  have  read  several." 

"Well,  you  know,  there's  usually  a  King 
George,  or  a  King  Boy,  or  a  King  Sambo,  or  a 
King  Bill,  or  Bull,  or" Rum,  or  Junk,  or  what- 
ever name  the  sailors  may  have  happened  to 
give  him." 

"Where  ?"  asked  Rokesmith. 

"  Any  where.  Any  where  in  Africa,  I  mean. 
Pretty  well  every  where,  I  may  say ;  for  black 
kings  are  cheap — and  I  think" — said  R.  W., 
with  an  apologetic  air,  "nasty." 

"I  am  much  of  your  opinion,  Mr.  Wilfer. 
You  were  going  to  say — ?" 

"I  was  going  to  say,  the  king  is  generally 
dressed  in  a  London  hat  only,  or  a  Manches- 
ter pair  of  braces,  or  one  epaulet,  or  a  uniform 
coat  with  his  legs  in  the  sleeves,  or  something 
of  that  kind." 

"Just  so,"  said  the  Secretary. 

"  In  confidence,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Rokesmith," 
observed  the  cheerful  cherub,  "  that  when  more 
of  my  family  were  at  home  and  to  be  provided 
for,  I  used  to  remind  myself  immensely  of  that 
king.  You  have  no  idea,  as  a  single  man,  of 
the  difficulty  I  have  had  in  wearing  more  than 
one  good  article  at  a  time."   • 

"  I  can  easily  believe  it,  Mr.  Wilfer." 

' '  I  only  mention  itf"  said  R.  W.  in  the  warmth 
of  his  heart,  "  as  a  proof  of  the  amiable,  delicate, 
and  considerate  aflection  of  my  daughter  Bella. 
If  she  had  been  a  little  spoiled,  I  couldn't  have 
thought  so  very  much  of  it,  under  the  circum- 
stances. But  no,  not  a  bit.  And  she  is  so  very 
pretty !  I  hope  you  agree  with  me  in  finding 
her  very  pretty,  Mr.  Rokesmith  ?" 

"  Certainly'l  do.     Every  one  must." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  the  cherub.  "Indeed,  I 
have  no  doubt  of  it.  This  is  a  great  advance- 
ment for  her  in  life,  Mr.  Rokesmith.  A  great 
opening  of  her  prospects." 

"Miss  Wilfer  could  have  no  better  friends 
than  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin." 

"Impossible!"  said  the  grateful  cherub. 
"Really  I  begin  to  think  things  are  very  well 
as  they  are.     If  Mr.  John  Harmon  had  lived — " 

"He  is  better  dead,"  said  the  Secretary. 

"  No,  I  won't  go  so  far  as  to  say  that,"  urged 
the  cherub,  a  little  remonstrant  against  the  very 
decisive  and  unpitying  tone  ;  "  but  he  mightn't 
have  suited  Bella,  or  Bella  mightn't  have  suited 
him,  or  fifty  things,  whereas  now  I  hope  she  can 
choose  for  herself." 

"  Has  she — as  you  place  the  confidence  in  me 


172 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


of  speaking  on  the  subject,  you  will  excuse  my 
asking— has  she — perhaps  —  chosen?"  faltered 
the  Secretary. 

"  Oh  dear  no !"  returned  R.  W. 

"Young  ladies  sometimes,"  Rokesmith  hint- 
ed, "choose  without  mentioning  their  choice  to 
their  fathers." 

"Not  in  this  case,  Mr.  Rokesmith.  Between 
my  daughter  Bella  and  me  there  is  a  regular 
league  and  covenant  of  confidence.  It  was  rati- 
fied only  the  other  day.  The  ratification  dates 
from — these,"  said  the  cherub,  giving  a  little  pull 
at  the  lappels  of  his  coat  and  the  pockets  of  his 
trowsers.  "  Oh  no,  she  has  not  chosen.  To  be 
sure,  young  George  Sampson,  in  the  days  when 
Mr.  John  Harmon — " 

"  Who  I  wish  had  never  been  born !"  said  the 
Secretary,  with  a  gloomy  brow. 

R.  W.  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  as  think- 
ing he  had  contracted  an  unaccountable  spite 
against  the  poor  deceased,  and  continued  :  "In 
the  days  when  Mr.  John  Harmon  was  being 
sought  out,  young  George  Sampson  certainly 
was  hovering  about  Bella,  and  Bella  let  him 
hover.  But  it  never  was  seriously  thought  of, 
and  it's  still  less  than  ever  to  be  thought  of  now. 
For  Bella  is  ambitious,  Mr.  Rokesmith,  and  I 
think  I  may  predict  will  marry  fortune.  This 
time,  you  see,  she  will  have  the  person  and  the 
property  before  her  together,  and  will  be  able  to 
make  her  choice  with  her  eyes  open.  This  is  my 
road.  I  am  very  sorry  to  part  company  so  soon. 
Good-morning,  Sir !" 

The  Secretary  pursued  his  way,  not  very  much 
elevated  in  spirits  by  this  conversation,  and,  ar- 
riving at  the  Boffin  mansion,  found  Betty  Hig- 
den  waiting  for  him. 

"I  should  thank  you  kindly,  Sir,"  said  Bet- 
ty, "  if  I  might  make  so  bold  as  have  a  word  or 
two  wi'  you." 

She  should  have  as  many  words  as  she  liked, 
he  told  her ;  and  took  her  into  his  room,  and 
made  her  sit  down. 

"  'Tis  concerning  Sloppy,  Sir,"  said  Betty. 
"And  that's  how  I  come  here  by  myself.  Not 
wishing  him  to  know  what  I'm  a-going  to  say  to 
you,  I  got  the  start  of  lfim  early  and  walked 
up." 

"You  have  wonderful  energy,"  returned  Roke- 
smith.    "  You  are  as  young  as  I  am." 

Betty  Higden  gravely  shook  her  head.  "  I 
am  strong  for  my  time  of  life,  Sir,  but  not  young, 
thank  the  Lord !" 

"  Are  you  thankful  for  not  being  young  ?" 

"Yes,  Sir.  If  I  was  young,  it  would  all  have 
to  be  gone  through  again,  and  the  end  would  be 
a  weary  way  off,  don't  you  see?  But  never 
mind  me ;  'tis  concerning  Sloppy. " 

"  And  what  about  him,  Betty  ?" 

"  'Tis  just  this,  Sir.  It  can't  be  reasoned  out 
of  his  head  by  any  powers  of  mine  but  what  that 
he  can  do  right  by  your  kind  lady  and  gentle- 
man and  do  his  work  for  me,  both  together. 
Now  he  can't.  To  give  himself  up  to  being  put 
in  the  way  of  arning  a  good  living  and  getting 
on,  he  must  give  me  up.    "Well ;  he  won't." 

"I  respect  him  for  it,"  said  Rokesmith. 

"Do  ye,  Sir?  I  don't  know  but  what  I  do 
myself.  Still  that  don't  make  it  right  to  let  him 
have  his  way.  So  as  he  won't  give  me  up,  I'm 
a-going  to  give  him  up." 

"How,  Bettv?" 


"  I'm  a-going  to  run  away  from  him." 

With  an  astonished  look  at  the  indomitable 
old  face  and  the  bright  eyes  the  Secretary  re- 
peated, "Run  away  from  him?" 

"Yes,  Sir,"  said  Betty,  with  one  nod.  And 
in  the  nod  and  in  the  firm  set  of  her  mouth 
there  was  a  vigor  of  purpose  not  to  be  doubted. 

"Come,  come!"  said  the  Secretary.  "We 
must  talk  about  this.  Let  us  take  our  time  over 
it,  and  try  to  get  at  the  true  sense  of  the  case 
and  the  true  course,  by  degrees." 

"  Now,  lookee  here,  my  dear,"  returned  old 
Betty — "asking  your  excuse  for  being  so  fa- 
miliar, but  being  of  a  time  of  life  a'most  to  be 
your  grandmother  twice  over.  Now,  lookee 
here.  'Tis  a  poor  living  and  a  hard  as  is  to  be 
got  out  of  this  work  that  I'm  a  doing  now,  and 
but  for  Sloppy  I  don't  know  as  I  should  have 
held  to  it  this  long.  But  it  did  just  keep  us  on, 
the  two  together.  Now  that  I'm  alone — with 
even  Johnny  gone — I'd  far  sooner  be  upon  my 
feet  and  tiring  of  myself  out,  than  a  sitting  fold- 
ing and  folding  by  the  fire.  And  I'll  tell  you 
why.  There's  a  deadness  steals  over  me  at 
times,  that  the  kind  of  life  favors  and  I  don't 
like.  Now,  I  seem  to  have  Johnny  in  my  arms 
— now,  his  mother — now,  his  mother's  mother — 
now,  I  seem  to  be  a  child  myself,  a  lying  once 
again  in  the  arms  of  my  own  mother — then  I 
get  numbed,  thought  and  senses,  till  I  start  out 
of  my  seat,  afeerd  that  I'm  a  growing  like  the 
poor  old  people  that  they  brick  up  in  the  Unions, 
as  you  may  sometimes  see  when  they  let  'em  out 
of  the  four  walls  to  have  a  warm  in  the  sun, 
crawling  quite  scared  about  the  streets.  I  was 
a  nimble  girl,  and  have  always  been  a  active 
body,  as  I  told  your  lady,  first  time  ever  I  see 
her  good  face.  I  can  still  walk  twenty  mile  if  I 
am  put  to  it.  I'd  far  better  be  a  walking  than  a 
getting  numbed  and  dreary.,  I'm  a  good  fair 
knitter,  and  can  make  many  little  things  to  sell. 
The  loan  from  your  lady  and  gentleman  of 
twenty  shillings  to  fit  out  a  basket  with  would 
be  a  fortune  for  me.  Trudging  round  the  coun- 
try and  tiring  of  myself  out,  I  shall  keep  the 
deadness  off,  and  get  my  own  bread  by  my  own 
labor.     And  what  more  can  I  want  ?" 

"  And  this  is  your  plan,"  said  the  Secretary, 
"for  running  away?" 

"  Show  me  a  better!  My  deary,  show  me  a 
better !  Why,  I  know  very  well,"  said  old  Betty 
Higden,  "and  you  know  very  well,  that  your 
lady  and  gentleman  would  set  me  up  like  a 
queen  for  the  rest  of  my  life,  if  so  be  that  we 
could  make  it  right  among  us  to  have  it  so. 
But  we  can't  make  it  right  among  us  to  have  it 
so.  I've  never  took  charity  yet,  nor  yet  has  any 
one  belonging  to  me.  And  it  would  be  forsak- 
ing of  myself  indeed,  and  forsaking  of  my  chil- 
dren dead  and  gone,  and  forsaking  of  their  chil- 
dren dead  and  gone,  to  set  up  a  contradiction 
now  at  last." 

"  It  might  come  to  be  justifiable  and  unavoid- 
able at  last,"  the  Secretary  gently  hinted,  with  a 
slight  stress  on  the  word. 

"  I  hope  it  never  will !  It  ain't  that  I  mean 
to  give  offense  by  being  anyways  proud,"  said 
the  old  creature,  simply,  "but  that  I  want  to 
be  of  a  piece  like,  and  helpft^  of  myself  right 
through  to  my  death." 

"And  to  be  sure,"  added  the  Secretary,  as  a 
comfort  for  her,  "  Sloppy  will  be  eagerly  looking 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


173 


forward  to  his  opportunity  of  being  to  you  what 
you  have  been  to  him." 

"Trust  him  for  that,  Sir !"  said  Betty,  cheer- 
fully. "  Though  he  had  need  to  be  something 
quick  about  it,  for  I'm  a  getting  to  be  an  old 
one.  But  I'm  a  strong  one  too,  and  travel  and 
weather  never  hurt  me  yet !  Now,  be  so  kind 
as  speak  for  me  to  your  lady  and  gentleman, 
and  tell  'em  what  I  ask  of  their  good  friendli- 
ness to  let  me  do,  and  why  I  ask  it." 

The  Secretary  felt  that  there  was  no  gain- 
saying what  was  urged  by  this  brave  old  heroine, 
and  he  presently  repaired  to  Mrs.  Boffin  and  rec- 
ommended her  to  let  Betty  Higden  have  her 
way,  at  all  events  for  the  time.  "It  would  be 
far  more  satisfactory  to  your  kind  heart,  I  know," 
he  said,  "to  provide  for  her,  but  it  may  be  a 
duty  to  respect  this  independent  spirit."  Mrs. 
Boffin  was  not  proof  against  the  consideration 
set  before  her.  She  and  her  husband  had 
worked  too,  and  had  brought  their  simple  faith 
and  honor  clean  out  of  dust-heaps.  If  they 
owed  a  duty  to  Betty  Higden,  of  a  surety  that 
duty  must  be  done. 

"But,  Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  when  she  ac- 
companied John  Rokesmith  back  to  his  room, 
and  shone  upon  her  with  the  light  of  her  radiant 
face,  "  granted  all  else,  I  think  I  wouldn't  run 
away." 

"'Twould  come  easier  to  Sloppy,"  said  Mrs. 
Higden,  shaking  her  head.  "'Twould  come 
easier  to  me  too.     But  'tis  as  you  please." 

"  When  would  you  go?" 

"Now,"  was  the  bright  and  ready  answer. 
"To-day,  my  deary,  to-morrow.  Bless  ye,  I 
am  used  to  it.  I  know  many  parts  of  the  coun- 
try well.  When  nothing  else  was  to  be  done  I 
have  worked  in  many  a  market-garden  afore 
now,  and  in  many  a  hop-garden  too." 

"  If  I  give  my  consent  to  your  going,  Betty — 
which  Mr.  Rokesmith  thinks  I  ought  to  do — " 

Betty  thanked  him  with  a  grateful  courtesy. 

' '  — We  must  not  lose  sight  of  you.  We  must 
not  let  you  pass  out  of  our' knowledge.  We 
must  know  all  about  you." 

"Yes,  my  deary,  but  not  through  letter- 
writing,  because  letter-writing — indeed,  writing 
of  most  sorts — hadn't  much  come  up  for  such  as 
me  when  I  was  young.  But  I  shall  be  to  and 
fro.  No  fear  of  my  missing  a  chance  of  giving 
myself  a  sight  of  your  reviving  face.  Besides," 
said  Betty,  with  logical  good  faith,  "I  shall  have 
a  debt  to  pay  off,  by  littles,  and  naturally  that 
would  bring  me  back  if  nothing  else  would." 

"Must  it  be  done?"  asked  Mrs.  Boffin,  still 
reluctant,  of  the  Secretary. 

"  I  think  it  must." 

After  more  discussion  it  was  agreed  that  it 
should  be  done,  and  Mrs.  Boffin  summoned 
Bella  to  note  down  the  little  purchases  that  were 
necessary  to  set  Betty  up  in  trade.  ' '  Don't  ye 
be  timorous  for  me,  my  dear,"  said  the  stanch 
old  heart,  observant  of  Bella's  face:  "when  I 
take  my  seat  with  my  work,  clean  and  busy  and 
fresh,  in  a  country  market-place,  I  shall  turn  a 
sixpence  as  sure  as  ever  a  farmer's  wife  fhere. " 

The  Secretary  took  that  opportunity  of  touch- 
ing on  the  practical  question  of  Mr.  Sloppy's 
capabilities.  He  would  have  made  a  wonderful 
cabinet-maker,  said  Mrs.  Higden,  "if  there  had 
been  the  money  to  put  him  to  it."  She  had  seen 
him  handle  tools  that  he  had  borrowed  to  mend 
M 


the  mangle,  or  to  knock  a  broken  piece  of  furni- 
ture together,  in  a  surprising  manner.  As  to 
constructing  toys  for  the  Minders,  out  of  no- 
thing, he  had  done  that  daily.  And  once  as 
many  as  a  dozen  .people  had  got  together  in  the 
lane  to  see  the  neatness  with  which  he  fitted  the 
broken  pieces  of  a  foreign  monkey's  musical  in- 
strument. "That's  well,"  said  the  Secretary. 
"It  will  not  be  hard  to  find  a  trade  for  him." 

John  Harmon  being  buried  under  mountains 
now,  the  Secretary  that  very  same  day  set  him- 
self to  finish  his  affairs  and  have  done  with  him. 
He  drew  up  an  ample  declaration,  to  be  signed 
by  Rogue  Riderhood  (knowing  he  could  get  his 
signature  to'  it,  by  making  him  another  and 
much  shorter  evening  call),  and  then  considered 
to  whom  should  he  give  the  document?  To 
Hexam's  son,  or  daughter  ?  Resolved  speedily, 
to  the  daughter.  But  it  wTould  be  safer  to  avoid 
seeing  the  daughter,  because  the  son  had  seen 
Julius  Handford,  and — he  could  not  be  too  care- 
ful— there  might  possibly  be  some  comparison 
of  notes  between  the  son  and  daughter,  which 
would  awaken  slumbering  suspicion  and  lead  to 
consequences.  "I  might  even,"  he  reflected, 
"be  apprehended  as  having  been  concerned  in 
my  own  murder !"  Therefore,  best  to  send  it  to 
the  daughter  under  cover  by  the  post.  Pleasant 
Riderhood  had  undertaken  to  find  out  where 
she  lived,  and  it  was  not  necessary  that  it  should 
be  attended  by  a  single  word  of  explanation.  So 
far,  straight. 

But  all  that  he  knew  of  the  daughter  he  de- 
rived from  Mrs.  Boffin's  accounts  of  what  she 
heard  from  Mr.  Lightwood,  who  seemed  to  have 
a  reputation  for  his  manner  of  relating  a  story, 
and  to  have  made  this  story  quite  his  own.  It 
interested  him,  and  he  would  like  to  have  the 
means  of  knowing  more — as,  for  instance,  that 
she  received  the  exonerating  paper,  and  that  it 
satisfied  her — by  opening  some  channel  alto- 
gether independent  of  Lightwood :  who  likewise 
had  seen  Julius  Handford,  who  had  publicly  ad- 
vertised for  Julius  Handford,  and  whom  of  all 
men  he,  the  Secretary,  most  avoided.  "But 
with  whom  the  common  course  of  things  might 
bring  me  in  a  moment  face  to  face  any  day  in 
the  week  or  any  hour  in  the  day." 

Now,  to  cast  about  for  some  likely  means  of 
opening  such  a  channel.  The  boy,  Hexam,  was 
training  for  and  with  a  schoolmaster.  The  Sec- 
retary-knew  it,  because  his  sister's  share  in  that 
disposal  of  him  seemed  to  be  the  best  part  of 
Lightwood's  account  of  the  family.  This  young 
fellow,  Sloppy,  stood  in  need  of  some  instruction. 
If  he,  the  Secretary,  engaged  that  schoolmaster 
to  impart  it  to  him  the  channel  might  be  opened. 
The  next  point  was,  did  Mrs.  Boffin  know  the 
schoolmaster's  name  ?  No,  but  she  knew  where 
the  school  was.  Quite  enough.  Promptly  the 
Secretary  wrote  to  the  master  of  that  school, 
and  that  very  evening  Bradley  Headstone  an- 
swered in  person. 

The  Secretary  stated  to  the  schoolmaster  how 
the  object  was,  to  send  to  him  for  certain  occa- 
sional evening  instruction,  a  youth  whom  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Boffin  wished  to  help  to  an  industri- 
ous and  useful  place  in  life.  The  schoolmaster 
was  willing  to  undertake  the  charge  of  such  a 
pupil.  The  Secretary  inquired  on  what  terms  ? 
The  schoolmaster  stated  on  what  terms.  Agreed 
and  disposed  of. 


174 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"May  I  ask,  Sir,"  said  Bradley  Headstone, 
"to  whose  good  opinion  I  owe  a  recommenda- 
tion to  you?" 

"You  should  know  that  I  am  not  the  princi- 
pal here.  I  am  Mr.  Boffin's  Secretary.  Mr. 
Boffin  is  a  gentleman  who  inherited  a  property 
of  which  you  may  have  heard  some  public  men- 
tion :  the  Harmon  property. " 

"Mr.  Harmon,"  said  Bradley:  who  would 
haAre  been  a  great  deal  more  at  a  loss  than  he 
was,  if  he  had  known  to  whom  he  spoke :  "  was 
murdered,  and  found  in  the  river." 

"Was  murdered,  and  found  in  the  river." 

"It  was  not — " 

"No,"  interposed  the  Secretary,  smiling,  "it 
was  not  he  who  recommended  you.  Mr.  Boffin 
heard  of  you  through  a  certain  Mr.  Lightwood. 
I  think  you  know  Mr.  Lightwood,  or  know  of 
him  ?" 

"I  know  as  much  of  him  as  I  wish  to  know, 
Sir.  I  have  no  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Light- 
wood, and  I  desire  none.  I  have  no  objection 
to  Mr.  Lightwood,  but  I  have  a  particular  ob- 
jection to  some  of  Mr.  Lightwood  s  friends — in 
short,  to  one  of  Mr.  Lightwood's  friends.  His 
great  friend." 

He  could  hardly  get  the  words  out,  even  then 
and  there,,  so  fierce  did  he  grow  (though  keep- 
ing himself  down  with  infinite  pains  of  repres- 
sion), when  the  careless  and  contemptuous  bear- 
ing of  Eugene  Wrayburn  rose  before  his  mind. 

The  Secretary  saw  there  was  a  strong  feeling 
here  on  some  sore  point,  and  he  would  have 
made  a  diversion  from  it,  but  for  Bradley's  hold- 
ing to  it  in  his  cumbersome  way. 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  mention  the  friend  by 
name,"  he  said,  doggedly.  "The  person  I  ob- 
ject to  is  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn." 

The  Secretary  remembered  him.  In  his  dis- 
turbed recollection  of  that  night  when  he  was 
striving  against  the  drugged  drink,  there  was 
but  a  dim  image  of  Eugene's  person  ;  but  he  re- 
membered his  name,  and  his  manner  of  speak- 
ing^ and  how  he  had  gone  with  them  to  view  the 
body,  and  where  he  had  stood,  and  what  he  had 
said. 

"Pray,  Mr.  Headstone,  what  is  the  name," 
he  asked,  again  trying  to  make  a  diversion, 
"of  young  Hexam's  sister?" 

"Her  name  is  Lizzie,"  said  the  schoolmaster, 
with  a  strong  contraction  of  his  whole  face. 

"  She  is  a  young  woman  of  a  remarkable' char- 
acter; is  she  not?" 

"  She  is  sufficiently  remarkable  to  be  very 
superior  to  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn — though  an 
ordinary  person  might  be  that,"  said  the  school- 
master ;  "  and  I  hope  you  will  not  think  it  im- 
pertinent in  me,  Sir,  to  ask  why  you  put  the  two 
names  together  ?" 

"By  mere  accident,"  returned  the  Secretary. 
"Observing  that  Mr.  Wrayburn  was  a  disagree- 
able subject  with  you,  I  tried  to  get  away  from 
it:  though  not  very  successfully,  it  would  ap- 
pear." 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  Wrayburn,  Sir ?" 

"No." 

"Then  perhaps  the  names  can  not  be  put  to- 
gether on  the  authority  of  any  representation  of 
his?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"I  took  the  liberty  to  ask,"  said  Bradley,  aft- 
er casting  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  "because  he 


is  capable  of  making  any  representation,  in  the 
swaggering  levity  of  his  insolence.  I — I  hope 
you  will  not  misunderstand  me,  Sir.  I — I  am 
much  interested  in  this  brother  and  sister,  and 
the  subject  awakens  very  strong  feelings  within 
me.  Very,  very  strong  feelings."  With  a  shak- 
ing hand  Bradley  took  out  his  handkerchief  and 
wiped  his  brow. 

The  Secretary  thought,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
schoolmaster's  face,  that  he  had  opened  a  chan- 
nel here  indeed,  and  that  it  was  an  unexpect- 
edly dark  and  deep  and  stormy  one,  and  diffi- 
cult to  sound.  All  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  his 
turbulent  emotions,  Bradley  stopped  and  seemed 
to  challenge  his  look.  Much  as  though  he  sud- 
denly asked  him,  "  What  do  you  see  in  me?" 

"The  brother,  young  Hexam,  was  your  real 
recommendation  here,"  said  the  Secretary,  quiet- 
ly going  back  to  the  point;  "Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Boffin  happening  to  know,  through  Mr.  Light- 
wood,  that  he  was  your  pupil.  Any  thing  that 
I  ask  respecting  the  brother  and  sister,  or  either 
of  them,  I  ask  for  myself,  out  of  my  own  inter- 
est in  the  subject,  and  not  in  my  official  char- 
acter, or  on  Mr.  Boffin's  behalf.  How  I  come 
to  be  interested  I  need  not  explain.  You  know 
the  father's  connection  with  the  discovery  of  Mr. 
Harmon's  body."  * 

"  Sir,"  replied  Bradley,  very  restlessly  indeed, 
"I  know  all  the  circumstances  of  that  case." 

"Pray  tell  me,  Mr.  Headstone,"  said  the 
Secretary.  "Does  the  sister  suffer  under  any 
stigma  because  of  the  impossible  accusation — 
groundless  would  be  a  better  word — that  was 
made  against  the  father,  and  substantially  with- 
drawn ?" 

"No,  Sir,"  returned  Bradley,  with  a  kind  of 
anger. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it." 

"The  sister,"-  said  Bradley,  separating  his 
words  over-cai-efully,  and  speaking  as  if  he  were 
repeating  them  from  a  book,  "suffers  under  no 
reproach  that  repels  a  man  of  unimpeachable 
character,  who  has  made  for  himself  every  step 
of  his  way  in  life,  from  placing  her  in  his  own , 
station.  I  will  not  say,  raising  her  to  his  own 
station ;  I  say,  placing  her  in  it.  The  sister  la- 
bors under  no  reproach,  unless  she  should  un- 
fortunately make  it  for  herself.  When  such  a 
man  is  not  deterred  from  regarding  her  as  his 
equal,  and  when  he  has  convinced  himself  that 
there  is  no  blemish  on  her,  I  think  the  fact  must 
be  taken  to  be  pretty  expressive." 

"And  there  is  such  a  man?"  said  the  Secre- 
tary. 

Bradley  Headstone  knotted  his  brows,  and 
squared  his  large  lower  jaw,  and  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  ground  with  an  air  of  determination  that 
seemed  unnecessary  to  the  occasion,  as  he  re- 
plied :  "And  there  is  such  a  man." 

The  Secretary  had  no  reason  or  excuse  for 
prolonging  the  conversation,  and  it  ended  here. 
Within  three  hours  the  oakum-headed  appari- 
tion once  more  dived  into  the  Leaving  Shop, 
and  that  night  Rogue  Riderhood's  recantation 
lay  in  the  post-office,  addressed  under  cover  to 
Lizzie  Hexam  at  her  right  address. 

All  these  proceedings  occupied  John  Roke- 
smith  so  much  that  it  was  not  until  the  follow- 
ing day  that  he  saw  Bella  again.  It  seemed 
then  to  be  tacitly  understood  between  them  that 
they  were  to  be  as  distantly  easy  as  they  could, 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


175 


without  attracting  the  attention  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Boffin  to  any  marked  change  in  their  manner. 
The  fitting  out  of  old  Betty  Higden  was  favora- 
ble to  this,  as  keeping  Bella  engaged  and  inter- 
ested, and  as  occupying  the  general  attention. 

"I  think,"  said  Rokesmith,  when  they  all 
stood  about  her,  while  she  packed  her  tidy  bask- 
et— except  Bella,  who  was  busily  helping  on  her 
knees  at  the  chair  on  which  it  stood;  "that  at 
least  you  might  keep  a  letter  in  your  pocket, 
Mrs.  Higden,  which  I  would  Write  for  you  and 
date  from  here,  merely  stating,  in  the  names  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  that  they  are  your  friends ; 
— I  won't  say  patrons,  because  they  wouldn't  like 
it." 

"No,  no,  no,"  said  Mr.  Boffin;  "no  patron- 
izing !  Let's  keep  out  of  that,  whatever  we  come 
to." 

"There's  more  than  enough  of  that  about, 
without  us ;  ain't  there,  Noddy  ?"  said  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin. 

"I  believe  you,  old  lady !"  returned  the  Gold- 
en D ustman.     ' '  Overmuch  indeed ! " 

"But  people  sometimes  like  to  be  patronized ; 
don't  they,  Sir?"  asked  Bella,  looking  up. 

"/don't.  And  if  they  do,  my  dear,  they  ought 
to  learn  better,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "  Patrons  and 
Patronesses,  and  Vice-Patrons  and  Vice-Patron- 
esses, 4and  Deceased  Patrons  and  Deceased  Pa- 
trones'ses,  and  Ex- Vice- Patrons  and  Ex- Vice- 
Patronesses,  what  does  it  all  mean  in  the  books 
of  the  Charities  that  come  pouring  in  on  Roke- 
smith as  he  sits  among  'em  pretty  well  up  to  his 
neck!  If  Mr.  Tom  Noakes  gives  his  five  shil- 
lings ain't  he  a  Patron,  and  if  Mrs.  Jack  Styles 
gives  her  five  shillings  ain't  she  a  Patroness? 
What  the  deuce  is  it  all  about?  If  it  ain't  stark 
staring  impudence,  what  do  you  call  it?" 

"Don't  be  warm,  Noddy,"  Mrs.  Boffin  urged. 
"Warm!"  cried  Mr.  Boffin.  "It's  enough 
to  make  a  man  smoking  hot.  I  can't  go  any 
where  without  being  Patronized.  I  don't  want 
to  be  Patronized.  If  I  buy  a  ticket  for  a  Flower 
Show,  or  a  Music  Show,  or  any  sort  of  Show, 
and  pay  pretty  heavy  for  it,  why  am  I  to  be  Pa- 
troned  and  Patronessed  as  if  the  Patrons  and 
Patronesses  treated  me  ?  If  there's  a  good  thing 
to  be  done,  can't  it  be  done  on  its  own  merits  ? 
If  there's  a  bad  thing  to  be  done,  can  it  ever  be 
Patroned  and  Patronessed  right  ?  Yet  when  a 
new  Institution's  going  to  be  built,  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  bricks  and  mortar  ain't  made  of 
half  so  much  consequence  as  the  Patrons  and 
Patronesses;  no,  nor  yet  the  objects.  I  wish 
somebody  would  tell  me  whether  other  countries 
get  Patronized  to  any  thing  like  the  extent  of 
this  one!  And  as  to  the  Patrons  and  Patron- 
esses themselves,  I  wonder  they're  not  ashamed 
of  themselves.  They  ain't  Pills,  or  Hair- Wash- 
es, or  Invigorating  Nervous  Essences,  to  be  puffed 
in  that  way !" 

Having  delivered  himself  of  these  remarks, 
Mr.  Boffin  took  a  trot,  according  to  his  usual 
custom,  and  trotted  back  to  the  spot  from  which 
he  had  started. 

"As  to  the  letter,  Rokesmith,"  said  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, ' '  you're  as  right  as  a  trivet.  Give  her  the 
letter,  make  her  take  the  letter,  put  it  in  her 
pocket  by  violence.  She  might  fall  sick. — You 
know  you  might  fall  sick,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 
"Don't  deny  it,  Mrs.  Higden,  in  your  obstinacy ; 
you  know  you  might." 


Old  Betty  laughed,  and  said  that  she  would 
take  the  letter  and  be  thankful. 

"That's  right!"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "Come! 
That's  sensible.  And  don't  be  thankful  to  us 
(for  we  never  thought  of  it),  but  to  Mr.  Roke- 
smith." 

The  letter  was  written,  and  read  to  her,  and 
given  to  her. 

"Now,  how  do  you  feel?"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 
"Do  you  like  it?" 

"The  letter,  Sir?"  said  Betty.  "Ay,  it's  a 
beautiful  letter!" 

"No,  no,  no;  not  the  letter,"  said  Mr.  Bof- 
fin; "the  idea.  Are  you  sure  you're  strong 
enough  to  carry  out  the  idea?" 

"I  shall  be  stronger,  and  keep  the  deadness 
off  better,  this  way,  than  any  way  left  open  to 
me,  Sir." 

"Don't  say  than  any  way  left  open,  you 
know,"  urged  Mr.  Boffin;  "because  there  are 
ways  without  end.  A  housekeeper  would  be 
acceptable  over  yonder  at  the  Bower,  for  in- 
stance. Wouldn't  you  like  to  see  the  Bower, 
and  know  a  retired  literary  man  of  the  name  of 
Wegg  that  lives  there — with  a  wooden  leg?" 

Old  Betty  was  proof  even  against  this  tempt- 
ation, and  fell  to  adjusting  her  black  bonnet  and 
shawl. 

"  I  wouldn't  let  you  go,  now  it  comes  to  this, 
after  all,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "  if  I  didn't  hope  that 
it  may  make  a  man  and  a  workman  of  Sloppy, 
in  as  short  a  time  as  ever  a  man  and  a  work- 
man was  made  yet.  Why,  what  have  you  got 
there,  Betty  ?     Not  a  doll  ? ' ' 

It  was  the  man  in  the  Guards  who  had  been 
on  duty  over  Johnny's  bed.  The  solitary  old 
woman  showed  what  it  was,  and  put  it  up  qui- 
etly in  her  dress.  Then  shd  gratefully  took, 
leave  of  Mrs.  Boffin,  and  of  Mr.  Boffin,  and  of 
Rokesmith,  and  then  put  her  old  withered  arms 
round  Bella's  young  and  blooming  neck,  and 
said,  repeating  Johnny's  words :  "A  kiss  for  the 
boofer  lady." 

The  Secretary  looked  on  from  a  doorway  at 
the  boofer  lady  thus  encircled,  and  still  looked 
on  at  the  boofer  lady  standing  alone  there,  when 
the  determined  old  figure  with  its  steady  bright 
eyes  was  trudging  through  the  streets,  away  from 
paralysis  and  pauperism. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   WHOLE  CASE    SO   FAR. 

Bradley  Headstone  held  fast  by  that  other 
interview  he  was  to  have  with  Lizzie  Hexam. 
In  stipulating  for  it  he  had  been  impelled  by  a 
feeling  little  short  of  desperation,  and  the  feel- 
ing abided  by  him.  It  was  very  soon  after  his 
interview  with  the  Secretary  that  he  and  Char- 
ley Hexam  set  out  one  leaden  evening,  not  un- 
noticed by  Miss  Peecher,  to  have  this  desperate 
interview  accomplished. 

"That  dolls'  dress-maker,"  said  Bradley,  "is 
favorable  neither  to  me  nor  to  you,  Hexam." 

"  A  pert  crooked  little  chit,  Mr.  Headstone ! 
I  knew  she  would  put  herself  in  the  way,  if  she 
could,  and  would  be  sure  to  strike  in  with  some- 
thing impertinent.  It  was  on  that  account  that 
I  proposed  our  going  to  the  City  to-night  and 
meeting  my  sister." 

"So  I  supposed,"  said  Bradley,  getting  his 


176 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


gloves  on  his  nervous  hands  as  he  walked.  "  So 
I  supposed." 

"Nobody  but  my  sister,"  pursued  Charley, 
' '  would  have  found  out  such  an  extraordinary 
companion.  She  has  done  it  in  a  ridiculous 
fancy  of  giving  herself  up  to  another.  She  told 
me  so  that  night  when  we  went  there." 

"Why  should  she  give  herself  up  to  the  dress- 
maker?" asked  Bradley. 

"  Oh !"  said  the  boy,  coloring.  "One  of  her 
romantic  ideas !  I  tried  to  convince  her  so,  but 
I  didn't  succeed.  However,  what  we  have  got 
to  do,  is,  to  succeed  to-night,  Mr.  Headstone, 
and  then  all  the  rest  follows." 

"You  are  still  sanguine,  Hexam." 

"Certainly  I  am,  Sir.  Why,  we  have  every 
thing  on  our  side." 

"Except  your  sister,  perhaps,"  thought  Brad- 
ley. But  he  only  gloomily  thought  it,  and  said 
nothing. 

"/Every  thing  on  our  side,"  repeated  the  boy 
with  boyish  confidence.  ' '  Respectability,  an  ex- 
cellent connection  for  me,  common  sense,  every 
thing!" 

"To  be  sure,  your  sister  has  always  shown 
herself  a  devoted  sister,"  said  Bradley,  willing 
to  sustain  himself  on  even  that  low  ground  of 
hope. 

"Naturally,  Mr.  Headstone,  I  have  a  good 
deal  of  influence  with  her.  And  now  that  you 
have  honored  me  with  your  confidence  and  spoken 
to  me  first,  I  say  again,  we  have  every  thing  on 
our  side." 

And  Bradley  thought  again,  "Except  your 
sister,  perhaps." 

A  gray  dusty  withered  evening  in  London  city 
has  not  a  hopeful  aspect.  The  closed  warehouses 
and  offices  have  an  air  of  death  about  them,  and 
the  national  dread  of  color  has  an  air  of  mourn- 
ing. The  towers  and  steeples  of  the  many  house- 
encompassed  churches,  dark  and  dingy  as  the 
sky  that  seems  descending  on  them,  are  no  re- 
lief to  the  general  gloom ;  a  sun-dial  on  a  church- 
wall  has  the  look,  in  its  useless  black  shade,  of 
having  failed  in  its  business  enterprise  and  stopped 
payment  forever:  melancholy  waifs  and  strays 
of  housekeepers  and  porters  sweep  melancholy 
waifs  and  strays  of  papers  and  pins  into  the  ken- 
nels, and  other  more  melancholy  waifs  and  strays 
explore  them,  searching  and  stooping  and  poking 
for  any  thing  to  sell.  The  set  of  humanity  out- 
ward from  the  City  is  as  a  set  of  prisoners  de- 
parting from  jail,  and  dismal  Newgate  seems 
quite  as  fit  a  stronghold  for  the  mighty  Lord 
Mayor  as  his  own  state-dwelling. 

On  such  an  evening,  when  the  city  grit  gets 
into  the  hair  and  eyes  and  skin,  and  when  the 
fallen  leaves  of  the  few  unhappy  city  trees  grind 
down  in  corners  under  wheels  of  wind,  the  school- 
master and  the  pupil  emerged  upon  the  Leaden- 
hall  Street  region,  spying  eastward  for  Lizzie. 
Being  something  too  soon  in  their  arrival  they 
lurked  at  a  corner,  waiting  for  her  to  appear. 
The  best-looking  among  us  will  not  look  very 
well  lurking  at  a  corner,  and  Bradley  came  dut 
of  that  disadvantage  very  poorly  indeed. 

"Here  she  comes,  Mr.  Headstone!  Let  us 
go  forward  and  meet  her. " 

As  they  advanced  she  saw  them  coming,  and 
seemed  rather  troubled.  But  she  greeted  her 
brother  with  the  usual  warmth,  and  touched  the 
extended  hand  of  Bradley. 


"Why,  where  are  you  going,  Charley,  dear?" 
she  asked  him  then. 

"Nowhere.  We  came  on  purpose  to  meet 
you." 

"To  meet  me,  Charley?" 

' '  Yes.  We  are  going  to  walk  with  you.  But 
don't  let  us  take  the  great  leading  streets  where 
every  one  walks,  and  we  can't  hear  ourselves 
speak.  Let  us  go  by  the  quiet  backways.  Here's 
a  large  paved  court  by  this  church,  and  quiet, 
too.     Let  us  go  up  here." 

"But  it's  not  in  the  way,  Charley." 

"Yes  it  is,"  said  the  boy,  petulantly.  "It's 
in  my  way,  and  my  way  is  yours." 

She  had  not  released  his  hand,  and,  still  hold- 
ing it,  looked  at  him  with  a  kind  of  appeal.  He 
avoided  her  eyes,  under  pretense  of  saying, 
"  Come  along,  Mr.  Headstone."  Bradley  walked 
at  his  side — not  at  hers — and  the  brother  and 
sister  walked  hand  in  hand.  The  court  brought 
them  to  a  church-yard ;  a  paved  square  court, 
with  a  raised  bank  of  earth  about  breast  high,  in 
the  middle,  inclosed  by  iron  rails.  Here,  con- 
veniently and  healthfully  elevated  above  the  level 
of  the  living,  were  the  dead,  and  the  tombstones ; 
some  of  the  latter  droopingly  inclined  from  the 
perpendicular,  as  if  they  were  ashamed  of  the 
lies  they  told. 

They  paced  the  whole  of  this  place  once,  in  a 
constrained  and  uncomfortable  manner,  when 
the  boy  stopped  and  said  : 

"Lizzie,  Mr.  Headstone  has  something  to  say 
to  you.  I  don't  wish  to  be  an  interruption  either 
to  him  or  to  you,  and  so  I'll  go  and  take  a  little 
stroll  and  come  back.  I  know  in  a  general  way 
what  Mr.  Headstone  intends  to  say,  and  I  very 
highly  approve  of  it,  as  I  hope — and  indeed  I  do 
not  doubt — you  will.  I  needn't  tell  you,  Lizzie, 
that  I  am  under  great  obligations  to  Mr.  Head- 
stone, and  that  I  am  very  anxious  for  Mr.  Head- 
stone to  succeed  in  all  he  undertakes.  As  I  hope 
— and  as,  indeed,  I  don't  doubt — you  must  be." 

"Charley,"  returned  his  sister,  detaining  his 
hand  as  he  withdrew  it,  "I  think  you  had  bet- 
ter stay.  I  think  Mr.  Headstone  had  better  not 
say  what  he  thinks  of  saying." 

"Why,  how  do  you  know  what  it  is?"  re- 
turned the  boy. 

"Perhaps  I  don't,  but—" 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  ?  No,  Liz,  I  should  think 
not.  If  you  knew  what  it  was  you  would  give 
me  a  very  different  answer.  There  ;  let  go ;  be 
sensible.  I  wonder  you  don't  remember  that  Mr. 
Headstone  is  looking  on." 

She  allowed  him  to  separate  himself  from  her, 
and  he,  after  saying,  "Now,  Liz,  be  a  rational 
girl  and  a  good  sister,"  walked  away.  She  re- 
mained standing  alone  with  Bradley  Headstone, 
and  it  was  not  until  she  raised  her  eyes  that  he 
spoke. 

"I  said,"  he  began,  "when  I  saw  you  last, 
that  there  was  something  unexplained,  which 
might  perhaps  influence  you.  I  have  come  this 
evening  to  explain  it.  I  hope  you  will  not  judge 
of  me  by  my  hesitating  manner  when  I  speak  to 
you.  You  see  me  at  my  greatest  disadvantage. 
It  is  most  unfortunate  for  me  that  I  wish  you  to 
see  me  at  my  best,  and  that  I  know  you  see  me 
at  my  worst." 

She  moved  slowly  on  when  he  paused,  and  he 
moved  slowly  on  beside  her. 

"  It  seems,  egotistical  to  begin  by  saying  so 


OUK  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


177 


much  about  myself,"  he  resumed,  "  but  whatever 
I  say  to  you  seems,  even  in  my  own  ears,  below 
what  I  want  to  say,  and  different  frOm  what  I 
want  to  say.  I  can't  help  it.  So  it  is.  You  are 
the  ruin  of  me." 

She  started  at  the  passionate  sound  of  the  last 
words,  and  at  the  passionate  action  of  his  hands, 
with  which  they  were  accompanied. 

"  Yes !  you  are  the  ruin — the  ruin — the  ruin — 
of  me.  I  have  no  resources  in  myself,  I  have  no 
confidence  in  myself,  I  have  no  government  of 
myself  when  you  are  near  me  or  in  my  thoughts. 
And  you  are  always  in  my  thoughts  now.  I 
have  never  been  quit  of  you  since  I  first  saw  you. 
Oh,  that  was  a  wretched  day  for  me !  That  was 
a  wretched,  miserable  day  !" 

A  touch  of  pity  for  him  mingled  with  her  dis- 
like of  him,  and  she  said :  "Mr.  Headstone,  I  am 
grieved  to  have  done  you  any  harm,  but  I  have 
never  meant  it." 

"There!"  he  cried,  despairingly.  "Now  I 
seem  to  have  reproached  you,  instead  of  reveal- 
ing to  you  the  state  of  my  own  mind !  Bear 
with  me.  I  am  always  wrong  when  you  are  in 
question.     It  is  my  doom." 

Struggling  with  himself,  and  by  times  looking 
up  at  the  deserted  windows  of  the  houses  as  if 
there  could  be  any  thing  written  in  their  grimy 
panes  that  would  help  him,  he  paced  the  whole 
pavement  at  her  side  before  he  spoke  again. 

"I  must  try  to  give  expression  to  what  is  in 
my  mind ;  it  shall  and  must  be  spoken.  Though 
you  see  me  so  confounded — though  you  strike 
me  so  helpless — I  ask  you  to  believe  that  there 
are  many  people  who  think  well  of  me ;  that 
there  are  some  people  who  highly  esteem  me  ; 
that  I  have  in  my  way  won  a  station  which  is 
considered  worth  winning." 

"Surely,  Mr.  Headstone,  I  do  believe  it. 
Surely  I  have  always  known  it  from  Charley." 

"  I  ask  you  to  believe  that  if  I  were  to  offer 
my  home  such  as  it  is,  my  station  such  as  it  is, 
my  affections  such  as  they  are,  to  any  one  of  the 
best  considered,  and  best  qualified,  and  most 
distinguished,  among  the  young  women  engaged 
in  my  calling,  they  would  probably  be  accepted. 
Even  readily  accepted." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,"  said  Lizzie,  with  her  eyes 
upon  the  ground. 

"I  have  sometimes  had  it  in  my  thoughts  to 
make  that  offer  and  to  settle  down  as  many  men 
of  my  class  do :  I  on  the  one  side  of  a  school, 
my  wife  on  the  other,  both  of  us  interested  in 
the  same  work." 

"Why  have  you  not  done  so?"  asked  Lizzie 
Hexam.     "Why  do  you  not  do  so ?" 

"Far  better  that  I  never  did !  The  only  one 
grain  of  comfort  I  have  had  these  many  weeks," 
he  said,  always  speaking  passionately,  and,  when 
most  emphatic,  repeating  that  former  action  of 
his  hands,  which  was  like  flinging  his  heart's- 
blood  down  before  her  in  drops  upon  the  pave- 
ment stones  ;  "  the  only  one  grain  of  comfort  I 
have  had  these  many  weeks  is,  that  I  never  did. 
For  if  I  had,  and  if  the  same  spell  had  come  upon 
me  for  my  ruin,  I  know  I  should  have  broken 
that  tie  asunder  as  if  it  had  been  thread." 

She  glanced  at  him  with  a  glance  of  fear,  and 
a  shrinking  gesture.  He  answered,  as  if  she  had 
spoken. 

"No!  It  would  not  have  been  voluntary  on 
my  part,  any  more  than  it  is  voluntary  in  me  to 


be  here  now.  You  draw  me  to  you.  If  I  were 
shut  up  in  a  strong  prison  you  would  draw  me 
out.  I  should  break  through  the  wall  to  come 
to  you.  If  I  were  lying  on  a  sick  bed  you  would 
draw  me  up — to  stagger  to  your  feet  and  fall 
there." 

The  wild  energy  of  the  man,  now  quite  let 
loose,  was  absolutely  terrible.  He  stopped  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  a  piece  of  the  coping  of  the 
burial-ground  inclosure,  as  if  he  would  have 
dislodged  the  stone. 

"No  man  knows  till  the  time  comes  what 
depths  are  within  him.  To  some  men  it  never 
comes ;  let  them  rest  and  be  thankful !  To  me, 
you  brought  it ;  on  me,  you  forced  it ;  and  the 
bottom  of  this  raging  sea,"  striking  himself  upon 
the  breast,  "has  been  heaved  up  ever  since." 

"  Mr.  Headstone,  I  have  heard  enough.  Let 
me  stop  you  here.  It  will  be  better  for  you  and 
better  for  me.     Let  us  find  my  brother." 

"Not  yet.  It  shall  and  must  be  spoken.  I 
have  been  in  torments  ever  since  I  stopped  short 
of  it  before.  You  are  alarmed.  It  is  another  of 
my  miseries  that  I  can  not  speak  to  you  or  speak 
of  you  without  stumbling  at  every  syllable,  unless 
I  let  the  check  go  altogether  and  run  mad.  Here 
is  a  man  lighting  the  lamps.  He  will  be  gone 
directly.  I  entreat  of  you  let  us  walk  round  this 
place  again.  You  have  no  reason  to  look  alarm- 
ed ;  I  can  restrain  myself,  and  I  will." 

She  yielded  to  the  entreaty — how  could  she  do 
otherwise ! — and  they  paced  the  stones  in  silence. 
One  by  one  the  lights  leaped  up,  making  the  cold 
gray  church-tower  more  remote,  and  they  were 
alone  again.  He  said  no  more  until  they  had 
regained  the  spot  where  he  had  broken  off; 
there,  he  again  stood  still,  and  again  grasped 
the  stone.  In  saying  what  he  said  then  he  never, 
looked  at  her ;  but  looked  at  it  and  wrenched  at1 
it. 

"You  know  what  I  am  going  to  say.  I  love 
you.  What  other  men  may  mean  when  they 
use  that  expression  I  can  not  tell ;  what  /  mean 
is,  that  I  am  under  the  influence  of  some  tre- 
mendous attraction  which  I  have  resisted  in 
vain,  and  which  overmasters  me.  You  could 
draw  me  to  fire,  you  could  draw  me  to  water, 
you  could  draw  me  to  the  gallows,  you  could 
draw  me  to  any  death,  you  could  draw  me  to 
any  thing  I  have  most  avoided,  you  could  draw 
me  to  any  exposure  and  disgrace.  This  and 
the  confusion  of  my  thoughts,  so  that  I  am  fit 
for  nothing,  is  what  I  mean  by  your  being  the 
ruin  of  me.  But  if  you  would  return  a  favora- 
ble answer  to  my  offer  of  myself  in  marriage, 
you  could  draw  me  to  any  good — every  good — 
with  equal  force.  My  circumstances  are  quite 
easy,  and  you  would  want  for  nothing.  My 
reputation  stands  quite  high,  and  would  be  a 
shield  for  yours.  If  you  saw  me  at  my  work, 
able  to  do  it  well  and  respected  in  it,  you  might 
even  come  to  take  a  sort  of  pride  in  me ; — I 
would  try  hard  that  you  should.  Whatever 
considerations  I  may  have  thought  of  against 
this  offer  I  have  conquered,  and  I  make  it  with 
all  my  heart.  Your  brother  favors  me  to  the 
utmost,  and  it  is  likely  that  we  might  live  and 
work  together;  any  how,  it  is  certain  that  he 
would  have  my  best  influence  and  support.  I 
don't  know  that  I  could  say  more  if  I  tried.  I 
might  only  weaken  what  is  ill  enough  said  as  it 
is.     I  only  add  that  if  it  is  any  claim  on  you  to 


178 


OUK  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


be  in  earnest,  I  am  in  thorough  earnest^  dread- 
ful earnest." 

The  powdered  mortar  from  under  the  stone 
at  which  he  wrenched  rattled  on  the  pavement 
to  confirm  his  words. 

"Mr.  Headstone—" 

"Stop!  I  implore  you,  before  you  answer 
me,  to  walk  round  this  place  once  more.  It 
will  give  you  a  minute's  time  to  think,  and  me 
a  minute's  time  to  get  some  fortitude  together." 

Again  she  yielded  to  the  entreaty,  and  again 
they  came  back  to  the  same  place,  and  again  he 
worked  at  the  stone. 

"Is  it,"  he  said,  with  his  attention  apparently 
engrossed  by  it,  "yes.  or  no?" 

"Mr.  Headstone,  I  *hank  you  sincerely,  I 
thank  you  gratefully,  and  hope  you  may  find  a 
worthy  wife  before  long  and  be  very  happy.  But 
it  is  no. " 

"Is  no  short  time  necessary  for  reflection; 
no  weeks  ov  days  ?"  he  asked,  in  the  same  half- 
suffocated  way. 

"None  whatever." 

"Are  you  quite  decided,  and  is  there  no 
chance  of  any  change  in  my  favor?" 

"I  am  quite  decided,  Mr.  Headstone,  and  I 
am  bound  to  answer  I  am  certain  there  is 
none." 

"Then,"  said  he,  suddenly  changing  his  tone 
and  turning  to  her,  and  bringing  his  clenched 
hand  down  upon  the  stone  with  a  force  that  laid 
the  knuckles  raw  and  bleeding;  "then  I  hope 
that  I  may  never  kill  him !" 

The  dark  look  of  hatred  and  revenge  with 
which  the  words  broke  from  his  livid  lips,  and 
with  which  he  stood  holding  out  his  smeared 
hand  as  if  it  held  some  weapon  and  had  just 
struck  a  mortal  blow,  made  her  so  afraid  of  him 
that  she  turned  to  run  away.  But  he  caught 
her  by  the  arm. 

"  Mr.  Headstone,  let  me  go.  Mr.  Headstone, 
I  must  call  for  help ! " 

"It  is  I  who  should  call  for  help,"  he  said; 
"you  don't  know  yet  how  much  I  need  it." 

The  working  of  his  face  as  she  shrank  from 
it,  glancing  round  for  her  brother  and  uncertain 
what  to  do,  might  have  extorted  a  cry  from  her 
in  another  instant;  but  all  at  once  he  sternly 
stopped  it  and  fixed  it,  as  if  Death  itself  had 
done  so. 

"There!  You  see  I  have  recovered  myself. 
Hear  me  out." 

With  much  of  the  dignity  of  courage,  as  she 
recalled  her  self-reliant  life  and  her  right  to  be 
free  from  accountability  to  this  man,  she  re- 
leased her  arm  from  his  grasp  and  stood  look- 
ing full  at  him.  She  had  never  been  so  hand- 
some, in  his  eyes.  A  shade  came  over  them 
while  he  looked  back  at  her,  as  if  she  drew  the 
very  light  out  of  them  to  herself. 

"  This  time,  at  least,  I  will  leave  nothing  un- 
said," he  went  on,  folding  his  hands  before  him, 
clearly  to  prevent  his  being  betrayed  into  any 
impetuous  gesture;  "this  last  time  at  least  I 
will  not  be  tortured  with  after- thoughts  of  a  lost 
opportunity.     Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn." 

"  Was  it  of  him  you  spoke  in  your  ungovern- 
able rage  and  violence  ?"  Lizzie  Hexam  de- 
manded with  spirit. 

He  bit  his  lip,  and  looked  at  her,  and  said 
never  a  word. 

"Was  it  Mr.  Wrayburn  that  you  threatened  ?" 


He  bit  his  lip  again,  and  looked  at  her,  and 
said  never  a  word. 

"You  asked  me  to  hear  you  out,  and  you 
will  not  speak.    Let  me  find  my  brother. 

"  Stay !     I  threatened  no  one." 

Her  look  dropped  for  an  instant  to  his  bleed- 
ing hand.  He  lifted  it  to  his  mouth,  wiped  it 
on  his  sleeve,  and  again  folded  it  over  the  other. 
"  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn,"  he  repeated. 

"  Why  do  you  mention  that  name  again  and 
again,  Mr.  Headstone  ?" 

"Because  it  is  the  text  of  the  little  I  have 
left  to  say.  Observe !  There  are  no  threats  in 
it.  If  I  utter  a  threat,  stop  me,  and  fasten  it 
upon  me.     Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn." 

A  worse  threat  than  was  conveyed  in  his  man- 
ner of  uttering  the  name  could  hardly  have  es- 
caped him. 

"He  haunts  you.  You  accept  favors  from 
him.  You  are  willing  enough  to  listen  to  him. 
I  know  it,  as  well  as  he  does." 

"Mr.  Wrayburn  has  been  considerate  and 
good  to  me,  Sir,"  said  Lizzie,  proudly,  "in  con- 
nection with  the  death  and  with  the  memory  of 
my  poor  father. " 

"No  doubt.  He  is  of  course  a  very  consid- 
erate and  a  very  good  man,  Mr.  Eugene  Wray- 
burn." 

"He  is  nothing  to  you,  I  think,"  said  Lizzie, 
with  an  indignation  she  could  not  repress. 

"  Oh  yes,  he  is.  There  you  mistake.  He  is 
much  to  me." 

"  What  can  he  be  to  you  ?" 

' \  He  can  be  a  rival  to  me  among  other  things, " 
said  Bradley. 

"Mr.  Headstone,"  returned  Lizzie,  with  a 
burning  face,  "  it  is  cowardly  in  you  to  speak  to 
me  in  this  way.  But  it  makes  me  able  to  tell 
you  that  I  do  not  like  you,  and  that  I  never 
have  liked  you  from  the  first,  and  that  no  oth- 
er living  creature  has  any  thing  to  do  with  the 
effect  you  have  produced  upon  me  for  your- 
self." 

His  head  bent  for  a  moment,  as  if  under  a 
weight,  and  he  then  looked  up  again,  moisten- 
ing his  lips.  "I  was  going  on  with  the  little  I 
had  left  to  say.  I  knew  all  this  about  Mr.  Eu- 
gene Wrayburn,  all  the  while  you  were  drawing 
me  to  you.  I  strove  against  the  knowledge,  but 
quite  in  vain.  It  made  no  difference  in  me. 
With  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn  in  my  mind,  I  went 
on.  With  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn  in  my  mind, 
I  spoke  to  you  just  now.  With  Mr.  Eugene 
Wrayburn  in  my  mind,  I  have  been  set  aside 
and  I  have  been  cast  out." 

"If  you  give  those  names  to  my  thanking  you 
for  your  proposal  and  declining  it,  is  it  my  fault, 
Mr.  Headstone?"  said  Lizzie,  compassionating 
the  bitter  struggle  he  could  not  conceal,  almost 
as  much  as  she  was  repelled  and  alarmed  by  it. 

"I  am  not  complaining,"  he  returned,  "I  am 
only  stating  the  case.  I  had  to  wrestle  with  my 
self-respect  when  I  submitted  to  be  drawn  to  you 
in  spite  of  Mr.  Wrayburn.  You  may  imagine 
how  low  my  self-respect  lies  now." 

She  was  hurt  and  angry ;  but  repressed  her- 
self in  consideration  of  his  suffering,  and  of  his 
being  her  brother's  friend. 

"And  it  lies  under  his  feet,"  said  Bradley,  un- 
folding -his  hands  in  spite  of  himself,  and  fierce- 
ly motioning  with  them  both  toward  the  stones 
of  the  pavement.     "Remember  that!     It  lies 


OUK  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


179 


under  that  fellow's  feet,  and  he  treads  upon  it 
and  exults  above  it." 

"He  does  not !"  said  Lizzie. 

"He  does!"  said  Bradley.  "I  have  stood 
before  him  face  to  face,  and  he  cru  she'd  me  down 
in  the  dirt  of  his  contempt,  and  walked  over  me. 
Why  ?  Because  he  knew  with  triumph  what 
was  in  store  for  me  to-night." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Headstone,  you  talk  quite  wildly." 

"Quite  collectedly.  I  know  what  I  say  too 
well.  Now  I  have  said  all.  I  have  used  no 
threat,  remember ;  I  have  done  no  more  than 
show  you  how  the  case  stands ; — how  the  case 
stands,  so  far." 

At  this  moment  her  brother  sauntered  into  view 
close  by.  She  darted  to  him,  and  caught  him 
by  the  hand.  Bradley  followed,  and  laid  his 
heavy  hand  on  the  boy's  opposite  shoulder. 

"  Charley  Hexam,  I  am  going  home.  I  must 
walk  home  by  myself  to-night,  and  get  shut  up 
in  my  room  without  being  spoken  to.  Give  me 
half  an  hour's  start,  and  let  me  be,  till  you  find 
me  at  my  work  in  the  morning.  I  shall  be  at 
my  work  in  the  morning  just  as  usual." 

Clasping  his  hands,  he  uttered  a  short  un- 
earthly broken  cry,  and  went  his  way.  The 
brother  and  sister  were  left  looking  at  one  an- 
other near  a  lamp  in  the  solitary  church-yard, 
and  the  boy's  face  clouded  and  darkened  as  he 
said,  in  a  rough  tone:  "What  is  the  meaning 
of  this  ?  What  have  you  done  to  my  best  friend  ? 
Out  with  the  truth !" 

"  Charley  !"  said  his  sister.  "  Speak  a  little 
more  considerately !" 

"  I  am  not  in  the  humor  for  consideration, 
or  for  nonsense  of  any  sort,"  replied  the  boy. 
"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  Why  has  Mr. 
Headstone  gone  from  us  in  that  way  ?" 

"He  asked  me — you  know  he  asked  me — to 
be  his  wife,  Charley." 

"Well?"  said  the  boy,  impatiently. 

"And  I  was  obliged  to  tell  him  that  I  could 
not  be  his  wife." 

"  You  were  obliged  to  tell  him,"  repeated  the 
boy  angrily,  between  his  teeth,  and  rudely  push- 
ing her  away.  "  You  were  obliged  to  tell  himj 
Do  you  know  that  he  is  worth  fifty  of  you  ?" 

* '  It  may  easily  be  so,  Charley,  but  I  can  not 
marry  him." 

"You  mean  that  you  are  conscious  that  you 
can't  appreciate  him,  and  don't  deserve  him,  I 
suppose?" 

"I  mean  that  I  do  not  like  him,  Charley,  and 
that  I  will  never  marry  him." 

"Upon  my  soul,"  exclaimed  the  boy,  "you 
are  a  nice  picture  of  a  sister !  Upon  my  soul, 
you  are  a  pretty  piece  of  disinterestedness !  And 
so  all  my  endeavors  to  cancel  the  past  and  to 
raise  myself  in  the  world,  and  to  raise  you  with 
me,  are  to  be  beaten  down  by  your  low  whims ; 
are  they  ?" 

"I  will  not  reproach  you,  Charley." 

"Hear  her!"  exclaimed,  the  boy,  looking 
round  at  the  darkness.  "  She  won't  reproach 
me !  She  does  her  best  to  destroy  my  fortunes 
and  her  own,  and  she  won't  reproach  me !  Why, 
you'll  tell  me,  next,  that  you  won't  reproach  Mr. 
Headstone  for  coming  out  of  the  sphere  to  which 
he  is  an  ornament,  and  putting  himself  at  your 
feet,  to  be  rejected  by  you  /" 

"No,  Charley,  I  will  only  tell  you,  as  I  told 
himself,  that  I  thank  him  for  doing  so,  that  I  am 


sorry  he  did  so,  and  that  I  hope  he  will  do  much 
better,  and  be  happy." 

Some  touch  of  compunction  smote  the  boy's 
hardening  heart  as  he  looked  upon  her,  his  patient 
little  nurse  in  infancy,  his  patient  friend,  ad- 
viser, and  reclaimer  in  boyhood,  the  self-forget- 
ting sister  who  had  done  every  thing  for  him.  His 
tone  relented,  and  he  drew  her  arm  through  his. 

"Now,  come,. Liz;  don't  let  us  quarrel;  let 
us  be  reasonable,  and  talk  this  over  like  brother 
and  sister.     Will  you  listen  to  me  ?" 

"Oh,  Charley!"  she  replied,  through  hei- 
st arting  tears;  "do  I  not  listen  to  you,  and 
hear  many  hard  things?" 

"Then  I'm  sorry.  There,"  Liz!  I  am  un- 
feignedly  sorry.  Only  you  do  put  me  out  so. 
Now  see.  Mr.  Headstone  is  perfectly  devoted  to 
you.  He  has  told  me  in  the  strongest  manner 
that  he  has  never  been  his  old  self  for  one  single 
minute  since  I  first  brought  him  to  see  you. 
Miss  Peecher,  our  schoolmistress — pretty  and 
young,  and  all  that — is  known  to  be  very  much 
attached  to  him,  and  he  wori't  so  much  as  look 
at  her  or  hear  of  her.  Now,  his  devotion  to  you 
must  be  a  disinterested  one ;  mustn't  it?  If  he 
married  Miss  Peecher,  he  would  be  a  great  deal 
better  off  in  all  worldly  respects  than  in  marry- 
ing you.  Well  then ;  he  has  nothing  to  get  by 
it,  has  he?" 

"Nothing,  Heaven  knows !" 

"Very  well  then,"  said  the  boy;  "that's 
something  in  his  favor,  and  a  great  thing.  Then 
/  come  in.  Mr.  Headstone  has  always  got  me 
on,  and  he  has  a  good  deal  in  his  power,  and  of 
course  if  he  was  my  brother-in-law  he  wouldn't 
get  me  on  less,  but  would  get  me  on  more.  Mr. 
Headstone  comes  and  confides  in  me,  in  a  very 
delicate  way,  and  says,  'I  hope  my  marrying 
your  sister  would  be  agreeable  to  you,  Hexam, 
and  useful  to  you  ?'  I  say,  '  There's  nothing  in 
the  world,  Mr.  Headstone,  that  I  could  be  bet- 
ter pleased  with.'  Mr.  Headstone  says,  '  Then 
I  may  rely  upon  your  intimate  knowledge  of  me 
for  your  good  word  with  your  sister,  Hexam  ?' 
And  I  say,  '  Certainly,  Mr.  Headstone,  and  nat- 
urally I  have  a  good  deal  of  influence  with  her.' 
So  I  have ;  haven't  I,  Liz  ?" 

"  Yes,  Charley." 

"  Well  said !  Now,  you  see,  we  begin  to  get 
on,  the  moment  we  begin  to  be  really  talking  it 
over,  like  brother  and  sister.  Very  well.  Then 
you  come  in.  As  Mr.  Headstone's  wife  you 
would  be  occupying  a  most  respectable  station, 
and  you  would  be  holding  a  far  better  place  in 
society  than  you  hold  now,  and  you  would  at 
length  get  quit  of  the  river-side  and  the  old  dis- 
agreeables belonging  to  it,  and  you  would  be  rid 
for  goad  of  dolls'  dress-makers  and  their  drunk- 
en fathers,  and  the  like  of  that.  Not  that  I  want 
to  disparage  Miss  Jenny  Wren :  I  dare  say  she 
is  all  very  well  in  her  way ;  but  her  way  is  not 
your  way  as  Mr.  Headstone's  wife.  Now,  you 
see,  Liz,  on  all  three  accounts — on  Mr.  Head- 
stone's, on  mine,  on  yours — nothing  could  be  bet- 
ter or  more  desirable." 

They  were  walking  slowly  as  the  boy  spoke, 
and  here  he  stood  still  to  see  what  effect  he  had 
made.  His  sister's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him ; 
but  as  they  showed  no  yielding,  and  as  she  re- 
mained silent,  he  walked  her  on  again.  There 
was  some  discomfiture  in  his  tone  as  he  resumed, 
though  he  tried  to  conceal  it. 


180 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  Having  so  much  influence  with  you,  Liz,  as 
I  have,  perhaps  I  should  have  done  better  to  have 
had  a  little  chat  with  you  in  the  first  instance, 
before  Mr.  Headstone  spoke  for  himself.  But 
really  all -this  in  his  favor  seemed  so  plain  and 
undeniable,  and  I  knew  you  to  have  always  been 
so  reasonable  and  sensible,  that  I  didn't  consider 
it  worth  while.  Very  likely  that  was  a  mistake 
of  mine.  However,  it's  soon  set  right.  All  that 
need  be  done  to  set  it  right,  is  for  you  to  tell  me 
at  once  that  I  may  go  home  and  tell  Mr.  Head- 
stone that  what  has  taken  place  is  not  final,  and 
that  it  will  all  come  round  by-and-by." 

He  stopped  again.  The  pale  face  looked  anx- 
iously and  lovingly  at  him,  but  she  shook  her 
head. 

"  Can't  you  speak  ?"  said  the  boy,  sharply. 

"I  am  very  unwilling  to  speak,  Charley.  If 
I  must,  I  must.  I  can  not  authorize  you  to  say 
any  such  thing  to  Mr.  Headstone :  I  can  not  al- 
low you  to  say  any  such  thing  to  Mr.  Headstone. 
Nothing  remains  to  be  said  to  him  from  me, 
after  what  I  have  said  for  good  and  all  to- 
night." 

"And  this  girl,"  cried  the  boy,  contemptu- 
ously throwing  her  off  again,  "  calls  herself  a 
sister !" 

"  Charley,  dear,  that  is  the  second  time  that 
you  have  almost  struck  me.  Don't  be  hurt  by 
my  words.  I  don't  mean — Heaven  forbid! — 
that  you  intended  it ;  but  you  hardly  know  with 
what  a  sudden  swing  you  removed  yourself  from 
me." 

"However!"  said  the  boy,  taking  no  heed  of 
the  remonstrance,  and  pursuing  his  own  morti- 
fied disappointment,  "I know  what  this  means, 
and  you  shall  not  disgrace  me." 

"It  means  what  I  have  told  you,  Charley, 
and  nothing  more." 

"  That's  not  true,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  violent 
tone,  "and  you  know  it's  not.  It  means  your 
precious  Mr.  Wrayburn ;  that's  what  it  means." 

"  Charley !  If  you  remember  any  old  days  of 
ours  together,  forbear !" 

"But  you  shall  not  disgrace  me,"  doggedly 
pursued  the  boy.  "I  am  determined  that  after 
I  have  climbed  up  out  of  the  mire  you  shall  not 
pull  me  down.  You  can't  disgrace  me  if  I  have 
nvOthing  to  do  with  you,  and  I  will  have  nothing 
to  do  with  you  for  the  future." 

"Charley  !  On  many  a  night  like  this,  and 
many  a  worse  night,  I  have  sat  on  the  stones  of 
the  s'treet,  hushing  you  in  my  arms.  Unsay  those 
words  without  even  saying  you  are  sorry  for 
them,  and  my  arms  are  open  to  you  still,  and 
so  is  my  heart." 

"  I'll  not  unsay  them.  I'll  say  them  again. 
You  are  an  inveterately  bad  girl,  and  a  false  sis- 
ter, and  I  have  done  with  you.  Forever,  I  have 
done  with  you !" 

He  threw  up  his  ungrateful  and  ungracious 
hand  as  if  it  set  up  a  barrier  between  them,  and 
flung  himself  upon  his  heel  and  left  her.  She 
remained  impassive  on  the  same  spot,  silent  and 
motionless,  until  the  striking  of  the  church  clock 
roused  her,  and  .she  turned  away.  But  then, 
with  the  breaking  up  of  her  immobility  came 
the  breaking  up  of  the  waters  that  the  cold  heart 
of  the  selfish  boy  had  frozen.  And  "  O  that  I 
were  lying  here  with  the  dead!"  and  "O  Char- 
ley, Charley,  that  this  should  be  the  end  of  our 
pictures  in  the  fire  !"  were  ail  the  words  she  said, 


as  she  laid  her  face  in  her  hands  on  the  stone 
coping. 

A  figure  passed  by,  and  passed  on,  but  stopped 
and  looked  round  at  her.  It  was  the  figure 
of  an  old  man  with  a  bowed  head,  wearing  a 
large  brimmed  low-crowned  hat,  and  a  long- 
skirted  coat.  After  hesitating  a  little  the  fig- 
ure turned  back,  and,  advancing  with  an  air  of 
gentleness  and  compassion,  said  : 

"Pardon  me,  young  woman,  for  speaking  to 
you,  but  you  are  under  some  distress  of  mind. 
I  can  not  pass  upon  my  way  and  leave  you  weep- 
ing here  alone,  as  if  there  was  nothing  in  the 
place.  Can  I  help  you  ?  Can  I  do  any  thing 
to  give  you  comfort?" 

She  raised  her  head  at  the  sound  of  these  kind 
words,  and  answered  gladly,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Rial),  is 
it  you  ?" 

"My  daughter,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  stand 
amazed!  I  spoke  as  to  a  stranger.  Take  my 
arm,  take  my  arm.  What  grieves  you  ?  Who 
has  done  this ?     Poor  girl,  poor  girl!" 

"My  brother  has  quarreled  with  me,"  sobbed 
Lizzie,  "and  renounced  me." 

"He  is  a  thankless  dog,"  said  the  Jew,  an- 
grily. "Let  him  go.  Shake  the  dust  from  thy 
feet  and  let  him  go.  Come,  daughter!  Come 
home  with  me — it  is  but  across  the  road — and 
take  a  little  time  to  recover  your  peace  and  to 
make  your  eyes  seemly,  and  then  I  will  bear  you 
company  through  the  streets.  For  it  is  past 
your  usual  time,  and  will  soon  be  late,  and  the 
way  is  long,  and  there  is  much  company  out  of 
doors  to-night." 

She  accepted  the  support  he  offered  her,  and 
they  slowly  passed  out  of  the  church-yard.  They 
were  in  the  act  of  emerging  into  the  main  thor- 
oughfare, when  another  figure  loitering  discon- 
tentedly by,  and  looking  up  the  street  and  down 
it,  and  all  about,  started  and  exclaimed,  "Liz- 
zie !  why,  where  have  you  been  ?  Why,  what's 
the  matter?" 

As  Eugene  Wrayburn  thus  addressed  her  she 
drew  closer  to  the  Jew  and  bent  her  head.  The 
Jew  having  taken  in  the  whole  of  Eugene  at  one 
sharp  glance,  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  and 
stood  mute. 

"Lizzie,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Mr.  Wrayburn,  I  can  not  tell  you  now.  I 
can  not  tell  you  to-night,  if  I  ever  can  tell  you. 
Pray  leave  me." 

"But,  Lizzie,  I  came  expressly  to  join  you. 
I  came  to  walk  home  with  you,  having  dined 
at  a  coffee-house  in  this  neighborhood  and  know- 
ing your  hour.  And  I  have  been  lingering 
about,"  added  Eugene,  "like  a  bailiff;  or," 
with  a  look  at  Riah,  "an  old  clothesman." 

The  Jew  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  took  in  Eu- 
gene more  at  another  glance. 

"Mr.  Wrayburn,  pray,  pray  leave  me  with 
this  protector.  And  one  thing  more.  Pray, 
pray  be  careful  of  yourself." 

"  Mysteries  of  Udolpho !"  said  Eugene,  with  a 
look  of  wonder.  "May  I  be  excused  for  ask- 
ing, in  the  elderly  gentleman's  presence,  who  is 
this  kind  protector?" 

"  A  trust- worthy  friend,"  said  Lizzie. 

"  I  will  relieve  him  of  his  trust,"  returned  Eu- 
gene. "But  you  must  tell  me,  Lizzie,  what  is 
the  matter?" 

"Her  brother  is  the  matter,"  said  the  old 
man,  lifting  up  his  eyes  again. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


181 


"  Our  brother  the  matter?"  returned  Eugene, 
with  airy  contempt.  "  Our  brother  is  not  worth 
a  thought,  far  less  a  tear.  What  has  our  broth- 
er done  ?" 

The  old  man  lifted  up  his  eyes  again,  with 
one  grave  look  at  Wrayburn,  and  one  grave 
glance  at  Lizzie,  as  she  stood  looking  down. 
Both  were  so  full  of  meaning  that  even  Eugene 
was  checked  in  his  light  career,  and  subsided 
into  a  thoughtful  "Humph !" 

With  an  air  of  perfect  patience  the  old  man, 
remaining  mute  and  keeping  his  eyes  cast  down, 
stood,  retaining  Lizzie's  arm,  as  though,  in  his 
habit  of  passive  endurance,  it  would  be  all  one 
to  him  if  he  had  stood  there  motionless  all  night. 
"If  Mr.  Aaron,"  said  Eugene,  who  soon  found 
this  fatiguing,  "will  be  good  enough  to  relin- 
quish his  charge  to  me,  he  will  be  quite  free 
for  any  engagement  he  may  have  at  the  Syna- 
gogue. Mr.  Aaron,  will  you  have  the  kind- 
ness?" 
But  the  old  man  stood  stock  still. 
"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Aaron,"  said  Eugene, 
politely;  "we  need  not  detain  you."  Then 
turning  to  Lizzie,  "Is  our  friend  Mr.  Aaron  a 
little  deaf?" 

"My  hearing  is  very  good,  Christian  gentle- 
man," replied  the  old  man,  calmly,  "but  I  will 
hear  only  one  voice  to-night  desiring  me  to  leave 
this  damsel  before  I  have  conveyed  her  to  her 
home.  If  she  requests  it,  I  will  do  it.  I  will  do 
it  for  no  one  else." 

"May  I  ask  why  so,  Mr.  Aaron?"  said  Eu- 
gene, quite  undisturbed  in  his  ease. 

"Excuse  me.  If  she  asks  me,  I  will  tell  her," 
replied  the  old  man.  "I  will  tell  no  one  else." 
"I  do  not  ask  you,"  said  Lizzie,  "and  I  beg 
you  to  take  me  home.  Mr.  Wrayburn,  I  have 
had  a  bitter  trial  to-night,  and  I  hope  you  will 
not  think  me  ungrateful,  or  mysterious,  or  change- 
able. I  am  neither ;  I  am  wretched.  Pray  re- 
member what  I  said  to  you.  Pray,  pray  take 
care." 

"My  dear  Lizzie,"  he  returned,  in  alow  voice, 
bending  over  her  on  the  other  side ;  "of  what? 
Of  whom  ?" 

"  Of  any  one  you  have  lately  seen  and  made 
angry." 

He  snapped  his  fingers  and  laughed.  "Come," 
said  he,  "since  no  better  may  be,  Mr.  Aaron 
and  I  will  divide  this  trust,  and  see  you  home 
together.  Mr.  Aaron  on  that  side ;  I  on  this. 
If  perfectly  agreeable  to  Mr.  Aaron,  the  escort 
will  now  proceed." 

He  knew  his  power  over  her.  He  knew  that 
she  would  not  insist  upon  his  leaving  her.  He 
knew  that,  her  fears  for  him  being  aroused,  she 
would  be  uneasy  if  he  were  out  of  her  sight. 
For  all  his  seeming  levity  and  carelessness  he 
knew  whatever  he  chose  to  know  of  the  thoughts 
of  her  heart. 

And  going  on  at  her  side,  so  gayly,  regard- 
less of  all  that  had  been  urged  against  him ;  so 
superior  in  his  sallies  and  self-possession  to  the 
gloomy  constraint  of  her  suitor  and  the  selfish 
petulance  of  her  brother ;  so  faithful  to  her,  as 
it  seemed,  when  her  own  stock  was  faithless; 
what  an  immense  advantage,  what  an  overpow- 
ering influence,  were  his  that  night !  Add  to  the 
rest,  poor  girl,  that  she  had  heard  him  vilified 
for  her  sake,  and  that  she  had  suffered  for  his, 
and  where  the  wonder  that  his  occasional  tones 


of  serious  interest  (setting  off  his  carelessness,  as 
if  it  were  assumed  to  calm  her),  that  his  lightest 
touch ,  Jiis  lightest  look,  his  very  presence  beside 
her  in  the  dark  common  street,  Avere  like  glimpses 
of  an  enchanted  world,  which  it  was  natural  for 
jealousy  and  malice  and  all  meanness  to  be  un- 
able to  bear  the  brightness  of,  and  to  gird  at  as 
bad  spirits  might. 

Nothing  more  being  said  of  repairing  to  Riah's, 
they  went  direct  to  Lizzie's  lodging.  A  little 
short  of  the  house-door  she  parted  from  them, 
and  went  in  alone. 

"Mr.  Aaron,"  said  Eugene,  when  they  were 
left  together  in  the  street,  "with  many  thanks 
for  your  company,  it  remains  for  me  unwillingly 
to  say  Farewell." 

"  Sir,"  returned  the  other,  "I  give  you  good- 
night, and  I  wish  that  you  were  not  so  thought- 
less." 

"Mr.  Aaron,"  returned  Eugene,  "I  give  you 
good-night,  and  I  wish  (for  you  are  a  little  dull) 
that  you  were  not  so  thoughtful." 

But  now,  that  his  part  was  played  out  for  the 
evening,  and  when  in  turning  his  back  upon  the 
Jew  he  came  off  the  stage,  he  was  thoughtful 
himself.  "How  did  Lightwood's  catechism  run?" 
he  murmured,  as  he  stopped  to  light  his  cigar. 
' '  What  is  to  come  of  it  ?  What  are  you  doing  ? 
Where  are  you  going?  We  shall  soon  know 
now.     Ah ! "  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

The  heavy  sigh  was  repeated  as  if  by  an  echo, 
an  hour  afterward,  when  Riah,  who  had  been 
sitting  on  some  dark  steps  in  a  corner  over  against 
the  house,  arose  and  went  his  patient  way ;  steal- 
ing through  the  streets  in  his  ancient  dress,  like 
the  ghost  of  a  departed  Time. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AN   ANNIVERSARY   OCCASION. 

The  estimable  Twemlow,  dressing  himself  in 
his  lodgings  over  the  stable-yard  in  Duke  Street, 
<Saint  James's,  and  hearing  the  horses  at  their 
toilet  below,  finds  himself  on  the  whole  in  a  dis- 
advantageous position  as  compared  with  the  no- 
ble animals  at  livery.*  For  whereas,  on  the  one 
hand,  he  has  no  attendant  to  slap  him  sounding- 
ly  and  require  him  in  gruff  accents  to  come  up 
and  come  over,  still,  on  "the  other  hand,  he  has 
no  attendant  at  all ;  and  .the  mild  gentleman's 
finger-joints  and  other  joints  working  rustily  in 
the  morning,  he  could  deem  it  agreeable  even  to 
be  tied  up  by  the  countenance  at  his  chamber- 
door,  so  he  were  there  skillfully  rubbed  down 
and  slushed  and  sluiced  and  polished  and  clothed, 
while  himself  taking  merely  a  passive  part  in 
these  trying  transactions. 

How  the  fascinating  Tippins  gets  on  when  ar- 
raying herself  for  the  bewilderment  of  the  senses 
of  men,  is  known  only  to  the  Graces  and  her 
maid ;  but  perhaps  even  that  engaging  creature, 
though  not  reduced  to  the  self-dependence  of 
Twemlow,  could  dispense  with  a  good  deal  of  the 
trouble  attendant  on  the  daily  restoration  of  her 
charms,  seeing  that  as  to  her  face  and  neck  this 
adorable  divinity  is,  as  it  were,  a  diurnal  species 
of  lobster — throwing  off  a  sh^ell  every  forenoon, 
and  needing  to  keep  in  a  retired  spot  until  the 
new  crust  hardens. 

Howbeit,  Twemlow  doth  at  length  invest  him- 


182 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


self  with  collar  and  cravat  and  wristbands  to  his 
knuckles,  and  goeth  forth  to  breakfast.  And  to 
breakfast  with  whom  but  his  near  neighbors,  the 
Lammles  of  Sackville  Street,  who  have  imparted 
to  him  that  he  will  meet  his  distant  kinsman, 
Mr.  Fledgeby.  The  awful  Snigsworth  might 
taboo  and  prohibit  Fledgeby,  but  the  peaceable 
Tvvemlow  reasons,  "  If  he  is  my  kinsman  I  didn't 
make  him  so,  and  to  meet  a  man  is  not  to  know 
him." 

It  is  the  first  anniversary  of  the  happy  mar- 
riage of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle,  and  the  celebra- 
tion is  a-  breakfast,  because  a  dinner  on  the  de- 
sired scale  of  sumptuosity  can  not  be  achieved 
within  less  limits  than  those  of  the  non-existent 
palatial  residence  of  which  so  many  people  are 
madly  envious.  So  Twemlow  trips  with  not  a 
little  stiffness  across  Piccadilly,  sensible  of  hav- 
ing once  been  more  upright  in  figure  and  less  in 
danger  of  being  knocked  down  by  swift  vehicles. 
To  be  sure  that  was  in  the  days  when  he  hoped 
for  leave  from  the  dread  Snigsworth  to  do  some- 
thing, or  be  something,  in  life,  and  before  that 
magnificent  Tartar  issued  the  ukase,  "As  he 
will  never  distinguish  himself,  he  must  be  a  poor 
gentleman-pensioner  of  mine,  and  let  him  here- 
by consider  himself  pensioned." 

Ah!  my  Twemlow!  Say,  little  feeble  gray 
personage,  what  thoughts  are  in  thy  breast  to- 
day, of  the  Fancy — so  still  to  call  her  who  bruised 
thy  heart  when  it  was  green  and  thy  head  brown 
— and  whether  it  be  better  or  worse,  more  pain- 
ful or  less,  to  believe  in  the  Fancy  to  this  hour, 
than  to  know  her  for  a  greedy  armor-plated 
crocodile,  with  no  more  capacity  of  imagining 
the  delicate  and  sensitive  and  tender  spot  behind 
thy  waistcoat,  than  of  going  straight  at  it  with 
a  knitting-needle.  Say  likewise,  my  Twemlow, 
whether  it  be  the  happier  lot  to  be  a  poor  rela- 
tion of  the  great,  or  to  stand  in  the  wintry  slush 
giving  the  hack  horses  to  drink  out  of  the  shal- 
low tub  at  the  coach-stand,  into  which  thou  hast 
so  nearly  set  thy  uncertain  foot.  Twemlow  says 
nothing,  and  goes  on. 

As  he  approaches  the  Lammles'  door,  drives* 
up  a  little  one-horse  carriage,  containing  Tip- 
pins  the  divine.  Tippins,  letting  down  the  win- 
dow, playfully  extols  the  vigilance  of  her  cava- 
lier in  being  in  waiting  there  to  hand  her  out. 
Tvvemlow  hands  her  out  with  as  much  polite 
gravity  as  if  she  were  any  thing  real,  and  they 
proceed  up  stairs :  Tippins  all  abroad  about  the 
legs,  and  seeking  to  express  that  those  unsteady 
articles  are  only  skipping  in  their  native  buoy- 
ancy. 

And  dear  Mrs.  Lammle  and  dear  Mr.  Lammle, 
how  do  you  do,  and  when  are  you  going  down 
to  what's-its-name  place — Guy,  Earl  of  Warwick, 
you  know — what  is  it  ? — Dun  Cow — to  claim  the 
flitch  of  bacon  ?  And  Mortimer,  whose  name  is 
forever  blotted  out  from  my  list  of  lovers,  by  rea- 
son first  of  fickleness  and  then  of  base  desertion, 
how  do  you  do,  wretch?  And  Mr.  Wrayburn, 
you  here  f  What  can  you  come  for,  because  we 
are  all  very  sure  beforehand  that  you  are  not 
going  to  talk!  And  Veneering,  M.P.,  how  are 
things  going  on  down  at  the  House,  and  when 
will  you  turn  out  those  terrible  people  for  us  ? 
And  Mrs.  Veneering,  my  dear,  can  it  positively 
be  true  that  you  go  down  to  that  stifling  place 
night  after  night,  to  hear  those  men  prose? 
Talking  of  which,  Veneering,   why  don't  you 


prose,  for  you  haven't  opened  your  lips  there  yet, 
and  we  are  dying  to  hear  what  you  have  got  to 
say  to  us !  Miss  Podsnap,  charmed  to  see  you. 
Pa,  here?  No!  Ma,  neither?  Oh!  Mr. 
Boots!  Delighted.  Mr.  Brewer!  This  is  a 
gathering  of  the  clans.  Thus  Tippins,  and  sur- 
veys Fledgeby  and  outsiders  through  golden  glass, 
murmuring  as  she  turns  about  and  about,  in 
her  innocent  giddy  way,  Any  body  else  I  know  ? 
No,  I  think  not.  Nobody  there.  Nobody  there. 
Nobody  any  where ! 

Mr.  Lammle,  all  a-glitter,  produces  his  friend 
Fledgeby,  as  dying  for  the  honor  of  presentation 
to  Lady  Tippins.  Fledgeby  presented,  has  the 
air  of  going  to  say  something,  has  the  air  of 
going  to  say  nothing,  has  an  air  successively  of 
meditation,  of  resignation,  and  of  desolation, 
backs  on  Brewer,  makes  the  tour  of  Boots,  and 
fades  into  the  extreme  back-ground,  feeling  for 
his  whisker,  as  if  it  might  have  turned  up  since 
he  was  there  five  minutes  ago. 

But  Lammle  has  him  out  again  before  he  has 
so  much  as  completely  ascertained  the  bareness 
of  the  land.  He  would  seem  to  be  in  a  bad  way, 
Fledgeby ;  for  Lammle  represents  him  as  dying 
again.  He  is  dying  now,  of  want  of  presenta- 
tion to  Twemlow. 

Twemlow  offers  his  hand.  Glad  to  see  him. 
"Your  mother,  Sir,  was  a  connection  of  mine." 

"I  believe  so,"  says  Fledgeby,  "but  my  mo- 
ther and  her  family  were  two." 

"Are  you  staying  in  town?"  asks  Twemlow. 

"  I  always  am,"  says  Fledgeby. 

' '  You  like  town, "  says  Twemlow.  But  is  felled 
fiat  by  Fledgeby's  taking  it  quite  ill,  and  reply- 
ing, No,  he  don't  like  town.  Lammle  tries  to 
break  the  force  of  the  fall  by  remarking  that 
some  people  do  not  like  town.  Fledgeby  retort- 
ing that  he  never  heard  of  any  such  case  but  his 
own,  Twemlow  goes  down  again  heavily. 

"There  is  nothing  new  this  morning,  I  sup- 
pose?" says  Twemlow,  returning  to  the  mark 
with  great  spirit. 

Fledgeby  has  not  heard  of  any  thing. 

f     "No,  there's  not  a  word  of  news,"  says 
J  Lammle. 

]      "Not  a  particle,"  adds  Boots. 

I     "Not  an  atom,"  chimes  in  Brewer. 

Somehow  the  execution  of  this  little  concert- 
ed piece  appears  to  raise  the  general  spirits  as 
with  a  sense  of  duty  done,  and  sets  the  company 
agoing.  Every  body  seems  more  equal  than  be- 
fore to  the  calamity  of  being  in  the  society  of 
every  body  else.  Even  Eugene  standing  in  a 
window,  moodily  swinging  the  tassel  of  a  blind, 
gives  it  a  smarter  jerk  now,  as  if  he  found  him- 
self in  better  case. 

Breakfast  announced.  Every  thing  on  table 
showy  and  gaudy,  but  with  a  self-assertingly  tem- 
porary and  nomadic  air  on  the  decorations,  as 
boasting  that  they  will  be  much  more  showy  and 
gaudy  in  the  palatial  residence.  Mr.  Lammle  s 
own  particular  servant  behind  his  chair ;  the  An- 
alytical behind  Veneering's  chair ;  instances  in 
point  that  such  servants  fall  into  two  classes: 
one  mistrusting  the  master's  acquaintances,  and 
the  other  mistrusting  the  master.  Mr.  Lammle's 
servant,  of  the  second  class.  Appearing  to  be 
lost  in  wonder  and  low  spirits  because  the  police 
are  so  long  in  coming  to  take  his  master  up  on 
some  charge  of  the  first  magnitude. 

Veneering,  M.P.,  on  the  right  of  Mrs.  Lam- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


183 


mle ;  Twemlow  on  her  left ;  Mrs.  Veneering, 
W.M.P.  (wife  of  Member  of  Parliament),  and 
Lady  Tippins  on  Mr.  Lammle's  right  and  left. 
But  be  sure  that  well  within  the  fascination  of 
Mr.  Lammle's  eye  and  smile  sits  little  Georgiana. 
And  be  sure  that  close  to  little  Georgiana,  also 
under  inspection  by  the  same  gingerous  gentle- 
man,, sits  Fledgeby. 

Oftener  than  twice  or  thrice  while  breakfast 
is  in  progress  Mr.  Twemlow  gives  a  little  sud- 
den turn  toward  Mrs.  Lammle,  and  then  says  to 
her,  "I  beg  your  pardon!"  This  not  being 
Twemlow's  usual  way,  why  is  it  his  way  to-day  ? 
Why,  the  truth  is,  Twemlow  repeatedly  labors 
under  the  impression  that  Mrs.  Lammle  is  going 
to  speak  to  him,  and  turning  finds  that  it  is  not 
so,  and  mostly  that  she  has  her  eyes  upon  Ve- 
neering. Strange  that  this  impression  so  abides 
by  Twemlow  after  being  corrected,  yet  so  it 
is. 

Lady  Tippins  partaking  plentifully  of  the  fruits 
of  the  earth  (including  grape-juice  in  the  cate- 
gory) becomes  livelier,  and  applies  herself  to 
elicit  sparks  from  Mortimer  Lightwood.  It  is 
always  understood  among  the  initiated,  that  that 
faithless  lover  must  be  planted  at  table  opposite 
to  Lady  Tippins,  who  will  then  strike  conversa- 
tional fire  out  of  him.  In  a  pause  of  mastica- 
tion and  deglutition,  Lady  Tippins,  contempla- 
ting Mortimer,  recalls  that  it  was  at  our  dear 
Veneerings,  and  in  the  presence  of  a  party  who 
are  surely  all  here,  that  he  told  them  his  story 
of  the  man  from  somewhere,  which  afterward 
became  so  horribly  interesting  and  vulgarly  pop- 
ular. 

"Yes,  Lady  Tippins,"  assents  Mortimer ;  "  as 
they  say  on  the  stage,  'Even  so !'" 

"Then  we  expect  you,"  retorts  the  charmer, 
"  to  sustain  your  reputation,  and  tell  us  some- 
thing else." 

"Lady  Tippins,  I  exhausted  myself  for  life 
that  day,  and  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  got 
out  of  me." 

Mortimer  parries  thus,  with  a  sense  upon  him 
that  elsewhere  it  is  Eugene  and  not  he  who  is 
the  jester,  and  that  in  these  circles  where  Eugene 
persists  in  being  speechless,  he,  Mortimer,  is 
but  the  double  of  the  friend  on  whom  he  has 
founded  himself. 

"But," quoth  the  fascinating  Tippins,  "I  am 
resolved  on  getting  something  more  out  of  you. 
Traitor !  what  is  this  I  hear  about  another  dis- 
appearance ?" 

"As  it  is  you  who  have  heard  it,"  returns 
Lightwood,  "perhaps  you'll  tell  us." 

"Monster,  away!"  retorts  Lady  Tippins. 
"Your  own  Golden  Dustman  referred  me*  to 
you." 

Mr.  Lammle  striking  in  here,  proclaims  aloud 
that  there  is  a  sequel  to  the  story  of  the  man 
from  somewhere.  Silence  ensues  upon  the  proc- 
lamation. 

"I  assure  you,"  says  Lightwood,  glancing 
round  the  table,  "  I  have  nothing  to  tell."  But 
Eugene  adding  in  a  low  voice,  "There,  tell  it, 
tell  it !"  he  corrects  himself  with  the  addition, 
"Nothing  worth  mentioning." 

Boots  and  Brewer  immediately  perceive  that 
it  is  immensely  worth  mentioning,  and  become 
politely  clamorous.  Veneering  is  also  visited  by 
a  perception  to  the  same  effect.  But  it  is  under- 
stood that  his  attention  is  now  rather  used  up, 


and  difficult  to  hold,  that  being  the  tone  of  the 

House  of  Commons. 

"Pray  don't  be  at  the  trouble  of  composing 

yourselves  to  listen,"  says  Mortimer  Lightwood, 

"because  I  shall  have  finished  long  before  you 

have   fallen   into   comfortable  attitudes.      It's 

like—" 

"It's  like,"  impatiently  interrupts   Eugene, 

"  the  children's  narrative : 

"Til  tell  you  a  story 

'"Of  Jack  a  Manory, 

44  'And  now  my  story's  begun ; 

u '  I'll  tell  you  another 

4l*  Of  Jack  and  his  brother, 

44 '  And  now  my  story  is  done.' 

— Get  on,  and  get  it  over !"  ' 

Eugene  says  this  with  a  sound  of  vexation  in 
his  voice,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  looking 
balefully  at  Lady  Tippins,  who  nods  to  him  as 
her  dear  Bear,  and  playfully  insinuates  that  she 
(a  self-evident  proposition)  is  Beauty,  and  he 
Beast. 

"The  reference,"  proceeds  Mortimer,  "  which 
I  suppose  to  be  made  by  my  honorable  and  fair 
enslaver  opposite,  is  to  the  following  circum- 
stance. Very  lately,  the  young  woman,  Lizzie 
Hexam,  daughter  of  the  late  Jesse  Hexam,  oth- 
erwise Gaffer,  who  will  be  remembered  to  have 
found  the  body  of  the  man  from  somewhere,  mys- 
teriously received,  she  knew  not  from  whom,  an 
explicit  retractation  of  the  charges  made  against 
her  father  by  another  water-side  character  of  the 
name  of  Riderhood.  Nobody  believed  them,  be- 
cause little  Rogue  Riderhood — I  am  tempted  into 
the  paraphrase  by  remembering  the  charming 
wolf  who  would  have  rendered  society  a  great 
service  if  he  had  devoured  Mr.  Riderhood's  fa- 
ther and  mother  in  their  infancy — had  previous- 
ly played  fast  and  loose  with  the  said  charges, 
and,  in  fact,  abandoned  them.  However,  the 
retractation  I  have  mentioned  found  its  way  into 
Lizzie  Hexam's  hands,  with  a  general  flavor  on 
it  of  having  been  favored  by  some  anonymous 
messenger  in  a  dark  cloak  and  slouched  hat, 
and  was  by  her  forwarded,  in  her  father's  vindi- 
cation, to  Mr.  Boffin,  my  client.  You  will  ex- 
cuse the  phraseology  of  the  shop,  but  as  I  never 
had  another  client,  and  in  all  likelihood  never 
shall  have,  I  am  rather  proud  of  him  as  a  natu- 
ral curiosity  probably  unique." 

Although  as  easy  as  usual  on  the  surface, 
Lightwood  is  not  quite  as  easy  as  usual  below 
it.  With  an  air  of  not  minding  Eugene  at  all, 
he  feels  that  the  subject  is  not  altogether  a  safe 
one  in  that  connection. 

"The  natural  curiosity  which  forms  the  sole 
ornament  of  my  professional  museum,"  he  re- 
sumes, "hereupon  desires  his  Secretary — an  in- 
dividual of  the  hermit-crab  or  oyster  species, 
and  whose  name,  I  think,  is  Chokesmith — but 
it  doesn't  in  the  least  matter — say  Artichoke — 
to  put  himself  in  communication  with  Lizzie 
Hexam.  Artichoke  professes  his  readiness  so 
to  do,  endeavors  to  do  so,  but  fails." 

"Why  fails?"  asks  Boots. 

"  How  fails  ?"  asks  Brewer. 

"Pardon  me,"  returns  Lightwood,  "I  must 
postpone  the  reply  for  one  moment,  or  we  shall 
have  an  anti-climax.  Artichoke  failing  sig- 
nally, my  client  refers  the  task  to  me :  his  pur- 
pose being  to  advance  the  interests  of  the  object 
of  his  search.  I  proceed  to  put  myself  in  com- 
munication with  her ;  I  even  happen  to  possess 


184 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


some  special  means,"  with  a  glance  at  Eugene, 
"of  putting  myself  in  communication  with  her; 
lw.it  I  fail  too,  because  she  has  vanished." 

"Vanished  !"  is  the  general  echo. 

"Disappeared,"  says  Mortimer.  "Nobody 
knows  how,  nobody  knows  when,  nobody  knows 
where.  And  so  ends  the  story  to  which  my  hon- 
orable and  fair  enslaver  opposite  referred." 

Tippins,with  a  bewitching  little  scream,  opines 
that  we  shall  every  one  of  us  be  murdered  in 
our  beds.  Eugene  eyes  her  as  if  some  of  us 
would  be  enough  for  him.  Mrs.  Veneering, 
W.M.P.,  remarks  that  these  social  mysteries 
make  one  afraid  of  leaving  Baby.  Veneering, 
M*.P.,  wishes  to  be  informed  (with  something  of 
a  second-hand  air  of  seeing  the  Right  Honora- 
ble Gentleman  at  the  head  of  the  Home  Depart- 
ment in  his  place)  whether  it  is  intended  to  be 
conveyed  that  the  vanished  person  has  been  spir- 
ited away  or  otherwise  harmed  ?  Instead  of 
Lightwood's  answering,  Eugene  answers,  and 
answers  hastily  and  vexedly :  "No,  no,  no  ;  he 
doesn't  mean  that ;  he  means  voluntarily  van- 
ished— but  utterly — completely. " 

However,  the  great  subject  of  the  happiness 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle  must  not  be  allowed 
to  vanish  with  the  other  vanishmentsr— with  the 
vanishing  of  the  murderer,  the  vanishing  of  Ju- 
lius Handford,  the  vanishing  of  Lizzie  Hexam — 
and  therefore  Veneering  must  recall  the  present 
sheep  to  the  pen  from  which  they  have  strayed. 
Who  so  fit  to  discourse  of  the  happiness  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Lammle,  they  being  the  dearest  and 
oldest  friends  he  has  in  the  world ;  or  what  au- 
dience so  fit  for  him  to  take  info  his  confidence 
as  that  audience,  a  noun  of  multitude  or  signi- 
fying many,  who  are  all  the  oldest  and  dearest 
friends  he  has  in  the  world?  So  Veneering, 
without  the  formality  of  rising,  launches  into  a 
familiar  oration,  gradually  toning  into  the  Par- 
liamentary sing-song,  in  which  he  sees  at  that 
board  his  dear  friend  Twemlow,  who  on  that 
day  twelvemonth  bestowed  on  his  dear  friend 
Lammle  the  fair  hand  of  his  dear  friend  So- 
phronia,  and  in  which  he  also  sees  at  that  board 
his  dear  friends  Boots  and  Brewer,  whose  rally- 
ing round  him  at  a  period  when  his  dear  friend 
Lady  Tippins  likewise  rallied  round  him — ay, 
and  in  the  foremost  rank — he  can  never  forget 
while  memory  holds  her  seat.  But  he  is  free  to 
confess  that  he  misses  from  thai  board  his  dear 
old  friend  Podsnap,  though  he  is  well  represent- 
ed by  his  dear  young  friend  Georgiana.  And 
he  further  sees  at  that  board  (this  he  announces 
with  pomp,  as  if  exulting  in  the  powers  of  an 
extraordinary  telescope)  his  friend  Mr.  Fledge- 
by,  if  he  will  permit  him  to  call  him  so.  For  all 
of  these  reasons,  and  many  more  which  he  right 
well  knows  will  have  occurred  to  persons  of  your 
exceptional  acuteness,  he  is  here  to  submit  to 
you  that  the  time  has  arrived  when,  with  our 
hearts  in  our  glasses,  with  tears  in  our  eyes, 
with  blessings  on  our  lips,  and  in  a  general  way 
with  a  profusion  of  gammon  and  spinach  in  our 
emotional  larders,  we  should  one  and  all  drink 
to  our  dear  friends  the  Lammles,  wishing  them 
many  many  years  as  happy  as  the  last,  and  many 
many  friends  as  congenially  united  as  them- 
selves. And  this  he  will  add,  that  Anastatia 
Veneering  (who  is  instantly  heard  to  weep)  is 
formed  on  the  same  model  as  her  old  and  chosen 
friend  Sophronia  Lammle,  in  respect  that  she  is 


devoted  to  the  man  who  wooed  and  won  her, 
and  nobly  discharges  the  duties  of  a  wife. 

"  Seeing  no  better  way  out  of  it,  Veneering 
here  pulls  up  his  oratorical  Pegasus  extremely 
short,  and  plumps  down,  clean  over  his  head, 
with :  "Lammle,  God  bless  you !" 

Then  Lammle.  Too  much  of  him  every  way ; 
pervadingly  too  much  nose  of  a  coarse  wrong 
shape,  and  his  nose  in  his  mind  and  his  man- 
ners ;  too  much  smile  to  be  real ;  too  much 
frown  to  be  false ;  too  many  large  teeth  to  be 
visible  at  once  without  suggesting  a  bite.  He 
thanks  you,  dear  friends,  for  your  kindly  greet- 
ing, and  hopes  to  receive  you — it  may  be  on  the 
next  of  these  delightful  occasions — in  a  residence 
better  suited  to  your  claims  on  the  rites  of  hos- 
pitality. He  will  never  forget  that  at  Veneer- 
ing's  he  first  saw  Sophronia.  Sophronia  will 
never  forget  that  at  Veneering's  she  first  saw 
him.  They  spoke  of  it  soon  after  they  were 
married,  and  agreed  that  they  would  never  for- 
get it.  In  fact,  to  Veneering  they  owe  their 
union.  They  hope  to  show  their  sense  of  this 
some  day  ("No,  no,"  from  Veneering) — oh  yes, 
yes,  and  let  him  rely  upon  it,  they  will  if  they 
can !  His  marriage  with  Sophronia  war  not  a 
marriage  of  interest  on  either  side :  she  had  her 
little  fortune,  he  had  his  little  fortune :  they  join- 
ed their  little  fortunes:  it  was  a  marriage  of 
pure  inclination  and  suitability.  Thank  you ! 
Sophronia  and#ie  are  fond  of  the  society  of 
young  people;  but  he  is  not  sure  that  their 
house  would  be  a  good  house  for  young  people 
proposing  to  remain  single,  since  the  contempla- 
tion of  its  domestic  bliss  might  induce  them  to 
change  their  minds.  He  will  not  apply  this  to 
any  one  present ;  certainly  not  to  their  darling 
little  Georgiana.  Again  thank  you !  Neither, 
by-the-by,  will  he  apply  it  to  his  friend  Fledge- 
by.  He  thanks  Veneering  for  the  feeling  man- 
ner in  which  he  referred  to  their  common  friend 
Fletlgeby,  for  he  holds  that  gentleman  in  the 
highest  estimation.  Thank  you.  In  fact  (re- 
turning unexpectedly  to  Fledgeby),  the  better 
you  know  him,  the  more  you  find  in  him  that 
you  desire  to  know.  Again  thank  you  !  In  his 
dear  Sophronia's  name  and  in  his  own,  thank 
you! 

Mrs.  Lammle  has  sat  quite  still,  with  her  eyes 
cast  down  upon  the  table-cloth.  As  Mr.  Lam- 
mle's  address  ends,  Twemlow  once  more  turns 
to  her  involuntarily,  not  cured  yet  of  that  often- 
recurring  impression  that  she  is  going  to  speak 
to  him.  This  time  she  really  is  going  to  speak 
to  him.  Veneering  is  talking  with  his  other 
next  neighbor,  and  she  speaks  in  a  low  voice. 

"Mr.  Twemlow." 

He  answers,  "I  beg  your  pardon?  Yes?" 
Still  a  little  doubtful,  because  of  her  not  looking 
at  him. 

"You  have  the  soul  of  a  gentleman,  and  I 
know  I  may  trust  you.  Will  you  gwe  me  the 
opportunity  of  saying  a  few  words  to  you  when 
you  come  up  stairs?" 

"Assuredly.     I  shall  be  honored." 

"Don't  seem  to  do  so,  if  you.  please,  and 
don't  think  it  inconsistent  if  my  manner  should 
be  more  careless  than  my  words.  I  may  be 
watched." 

Intensely  astonished,  Twemlow  puts  his  hand 
to  his  forehead,  and  sinks  back  in  his  chair  med- 
itating.    Mrs.  Lammle  rises.     All  rise.     The 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


185 


ladies  go  tip  stairs.  The  gentlemen  soon  saun- 
ter after  them.  Fledgeby  has  devoted  the  inter- 
val to  taking  an  observation  of  Boots's  whiskers, 
Brewer's  whiskers,  and  Lammle's  whiskers,  and 
considering  which  pattern  of  whisker  he  would 
prefer  to  produce  out  of  himself  by  friction,  if 
the  Genie  of  the  cheek  would  only  answer  to  his 
rubbing. 

In  the  drawing-room,  groups  form  as  usual. 
Lightwood,  Boots,  and  Brewer  flutter  like  moths 
around  that  yellow  wax-candle — guttering  down, 
and  with  some  hint  of  a  winding-sheet  in  it — 
Lady  Tippins.  Outsiders  cultivate  Veneering, 
M.P.,  and  Mrs.  Veneering,  W.M.P.  Lammle 
stands  with  folded  arms,  Mephistophelean  in  a 
corner,  with  Georgiana  and  Fledgeby.  Mrs. 
Lammle,  on  a  sofa  by  a  table,  invites  Mr.  Twem- 
low's  attention  to  a  book  of  portraits  in  her  hand. 

Mr.  Twemlow  takes  his  station  on  a  settee  be- 
fore her,  and  Mrs.  Lammle  shows  him  a  portrait. 

"You  have  reason  to  be  surprised,"  she  says, 
softly,  "but  I  wish  you  wouldn't  look  so." 

Disturbed  Twemlow,  making  an  effort  not  to 
look  so,  looks  much  more  so. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Twemlow,  you  never  saw  that 
distant  connection  of  yours  before  to-day?" 

"No,  never." 

"Now  that  you  do  see  him,  you  see  what  he 
is.     You  are  not  proud  of  him  ?" 

"  To  say  the  truth,  Mrs.  Lammle,  no." 

"If  you  knew  more  of  him,  you  would  be  less 
inclined  to  acknowledge  him.  Here  is  another 
portrait.     What  do  you  think  of  it  ?" 

Twemlow  has  just  presence  of  mind  enough  to 
say  aloud :  "Very  tike !     Uncommonly  like !" 

"  You  have  noticed,  perhaps,  whom  he  favors 
with  his  attentions?  You  notice  where  he  is 
now,  and  how  engaged  ?" 

"  Yes.     But  Mr.  Lammle — " 

She  darts  a  look  at  him  which  he  can  not 
comprehend,  and  shows  him  another  portrait. 

"  Very  good ;  is  it  not  ?" 

"Charming!"  says  Twemlow. 

"So  like  as  to  be  almost  a  caricature? — Mr. 
Twemlow,  it  is  impossible  to  tell  you  what  the 
struggle  in  my  mind  has  been,  before  I  could 
bring  myself  to  speak  to  you  as  I  do  now.  It  is 
only  in  the  conviction  that  I  may  trust  you  nev- 
er to  betray  me,  that  I  can  proceed.  Sincerely 
promise  me  that  you  never  will  betray  my  con- 
fidence— that  you  will  respect  it,  even  though 
you  may  no  longer  respect  me — and  I  shall  be 
as  satisfied  as  if  you  had  sworn  it." 

"Madam,  on  the  honor  of  a  poor  gentle- 
man— " 

"Thank  you.  I  can  desire  no  more.  Mr. 
Twemlow,  I  implore  you  to  save  that  child !" 

"That  child?" 

"Georgiana.  She  will  be  sacrificed.  She 
will  be  inveigled  and  married  to  that  connection 
of  yours.  It  is  a  partnership  affair,  a  money- 
speculation.  She  has  no  strength  of  will  or 
character  to  help  herself,  and  she  is  on  the  brink 
of  being  sold  into  wretchedness  for  life." 

"Amazing!  But  what  can  I  do  to  prevent 
it  ?"  demands  Twemlow,  shocked  and  bewilder- 
ed to  the  last  degree. 

"Here  is  another  portrait.  And  not  good, 
is  it  ?" 

Aghast  at  the  light  manner  of  her  throwing 
her  head  back  to  look  at  it  critically,  Twemlow 
still  dimly  perceives  the  expediency  of  throwing 


his  own  head  back,  and  does  so.  Though  he 
no  more  sees  the  portrait  than  if  it  were  in 
China. 

"Decidedly  not  good,"  says  Mrs.  Lammle. 
"  Stiff  and  exaggerated !" 

"And  ex — "  But  Twemlow,  in  his  demol- 
ished state,  can  not  command  the  word,  and 
trails  off  into  " — actly  so." 

"  Mr.  Twemlow,  your  word  will  have  weight 
with  her  pompous,  self- blinded  father.  You 
know  how  much  he  makes  of  your  family.  Lose 
no  time.     Warn  him." 

"But  warn  him  against  whom?" 

"  Against  me." 

By  great  good  fortune  Twemlow  receives  a 
stimulant  at  this  critical  instant.  The  stimu- 
lant is  Lammle's  voice. 

' '  Sophronia,  my  dear,  what  portraits  are  you 
showing  Twemlow?" 

"Public  characters,  Alfred." 

"Show  him  the  last  of  me." 

"Yes,  Alfred." 

She  puts  the  book  down,  takes  another  book 
up,  turns  the  leaves,  and  presents  the  portrait 
to  Twemlow. 

"That  is  the  last  of  Mr.  Lammle.  Do  you 
think  it  good? — Warn  her  father  against  me. 
I  deserve  it,  for  I  have  been  in  the  scheme  from 
the  first.  It  is  my  husband's  scheme,  your  con- 
nection's, and  mine.  I  tell  you  this,  only  to 
show  you  the  necessity  of  the  poor  little  foolish 
affectionate  creature's  being  befriended  and  res- 
cued. You  will  not.  repeat  this  to  her  father. 
You  will  spare  me  so  far,  and  spare  my  hus- 
band. For,  though  this  celebration  of  to-day 
is  all  a  mockery,  he  is  my  husband,  and  we  must 
live. — Do  you  think  it  like?" 

Twemlow,  in  a  stunned  condition,  feigns  to 
compare  the  portrait  in  his  hand  with  the  orig- 
inal looking  toward  him  from  his  Mephistophe- 
lean corner. 

"Very  well  indeed  !"  are  at  length  the  words 
which  Twemlow  with  great  difficulty  extracts 
from  himself. 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so.  On  the  whole,  I 
myself  consider  it  the  best.  The  others  are  so 
dark.  Now  here,  for  instance,  is  another  of 
Mr.  Lammle — " 

"But  I  don't  understand;  I  don't  see  my 
way,"  Twemlow  stammers,  as  he  falters  over 
the  book  with  his  glass  at  his  eye.  "How  warn 
her  father,  and  not  tell  him?  Tell  him  how 
much?  Tell  him  how  little?  I — I — am  get- 
ting lost." 

"Tell  him  I  am  a  match-maker;  tell  him  I 
am  an  artful  and  designing  woman;  tell  hira 
you  are  sure  his  daughter  is  best  out  of  my 
house  and  my  company.  Tell  him  any  such 
things  of  me ;  they  will  all  be  true.  You  know 
what  a  puffed-up  man  he  is,  and  how  easily  you 
can  cause  his  vanity  to  take  the  alarm.  Tell 
him  as  much  as  will  give  him  the  alarm  and 
make  him  careful  of  her,  and  spare  me  the  rest. 
Mr.  Twemlow,  I  feel  my  sudden  degradation  in 
your  eyes ;  familiar  as  I  am  with  my  degrada- 
tion in  my  own  eyes,  I  keenly  feel  the  change 
that  must  have  come  upon  me  in  yours,  in  these 
last  few  moments.  But  I  trust  to  your  good 
faith  with  me  as  implicitly  as  when  I  began. 
If  you  knew  how  often  I  have  tried  to  speak  to 
you  to-day  you  would  almost  pity  me.  I  want 
no  new  promise  from  you  on  my  own  account, 


186 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


for  I  am  satisfied,  and  I  always  shall  be  satis- 
fied, with  the  promise  you  have  given  me.  I 
can  venture  to  say  no  more,  for  I  see  that  I  am 
watched.  If  you  would  set  my  mind  at  rest 
with  the  assurance  that  you  will  interpose  with 
the  father  and  save  this  harmless  girl,  close  that 
book  before  you  return  it  to  me,  and  I  shall 
know  what  you  mean,  and  deeply  thank  you  in 
my  heart. — Alfred,  Mr.  Twemlow  thinks  the  last 
one  the  best,  and  quite  agrees  with  you  and  me." 
Alfred  advances.  The  groups  break  up.  Lady 
Tippins  rises  to  go,  and  Mrs.  Veneering  follows 
her  leader.  For  the  moment  Mrs.  Lammle  does 
not  turn  to  them,  but  remains  looking  at  Twem- 


low looking  at  Alfred's  portrait  through  his  eye- 
glass. The  moment  past,  Twemlow  drops  his 
eye-glass  at  its  ribbon's  length,  rises,  and  closes 
the  book  with  an  emphasis  which  makes  that 
fragile  nursling  of  the  fairies,  Tippins,  start. 

Then  good-by  and  good-by,  and  charming 
occasion  worthy  of  the  Golden  Age,  and  more 
about  the  flitch  of  bacon,  and  the  like  of  that ; 
and  Twemlow  goes  staggering  across  Piccadilly 
with  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  and  is  nearly  run 
down  by  a  flushed  letter-cart,  and  at  last  drops 
safe  in  his  easy-chair,  innocent  good  gentleman, 
with  his  hand  to  his  forehead  still,  and  his  head 
in  a  whirl. 


THE  END  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


189 


BOOK    III,— A    LONG   LANE, 


CHAPTER  I. 

LODGERS  IN  QUEER  STREET. 

It  was  a  foggy  day  in  London,  and  the  fog 
was  heavy  and  dark.  Animate  London,  with 
smarting  eyes  and  irritated  lungs,  was  blinking, 
wheezing,  and  choking ;  inanimate  London  was 
a  sooty  spectre,  divided  in  purpose  between  being 
visible  and  invisible,  and  so  being  wholly  neither. 
Gaslights  flared  in  the  shops  with  a  haggard 
and  unblessed  air,  as  knowing  themselves  to  be 
night-creatures  that  had  no  business  abroad  un- 
der the  sun ;  while  the  sun  itself,  when  it  was 
for  a  few  moments  dimly  indicated  through  cir- 
cling eddies  of  fog,  showed  as  if  it  had  gone  out 
and  were  collapsing  flat  and  cold.  Even  in  the 
surrounding  country  it  was  a  foggy  day,  but 
there  the  fog  was  gray,  whereas  in  London  it 
was,  at  about  the  boundary  line,  dark  yellow, 
and  a  little  within  it  brown,  and  then  browner, 
and  then  browner,  until  at  the  heart  of  the  City 
—  which  call  Saint  Mary  Axe  —  it  was  rusty 
black.  From  any  point  of  the  high  ridge  of  land 
northward,  it  might  have  been  discerned  that  the 
loftiest  buildings  made  an  occasional  struggle  to 
get  their  heads  above  the  foggy  sea,  and  espe- 
cially that  the  great  dome  of  Saint  Paul's  seemed 
to  die  hard;  but  this  was  not  perceivable  in  the 
streets  at  their  feet,  where  the  whole  metropolis 
was  a  heap  of  vapor  charged  with  muffled  sound 
of  wheels,  and  enfolding  a  gigantic  catarrh. 

At  nine  o'clock  on  such  a  morning,  the  place 
of  business  of  Pubsey  and  Co.  was  not  the  live- 
liest object  even  in  Saint  Mary  Axe — which  is 
not  a  very  lively  spot — with  a  sobbing  gaslight 
in  the  counting-house  window,  and  a  burglarious 
stream  of  fog  creeping  in  to  strangle  it  through 
the  keyhole  of  the  main  door.  But  the  light 
went  out,  and  the  main  door  opened,  and  Riah 
came  forth  with  a  bag  under  his  arm. 

Almost  in  the  act  of  coming  out  at  the  door 
Riah  went  into  the  fog,  and  was  lost  to  the  eyes 
of  Saint  Mary  Axe.  But  the  eyes  of  this  history 
can  follow  him  westward,  by  Cornhill,  Cheap- 
side,  Fleet  Street,  and  the  Strand,  to  Piccadilly 
and  the  Albany.  Thither  he  went  at  his  grave 
and  measured  pace,  staff  in  hand,  skirt  at  heel; 
and  more  than  one  head,  turning  to  look  back 
at  his  venerable  figure  already  lost  in  the  mist, 
supposed  it  to  be  some  ordinary  figure  indistinct- 
ly seen,  which  fancy  and  the  fog  had  worked  into 
that  passing  likeness. 

Arrived  at  the  house  in  which  his  master's 
chambers  were  on  the  second-floor,  Riah  pro- 
ceeded up  the  stairs,  and  paused  at  Fascination 
Fledgeby's  door.  Making  free  with  neither  bell 
nor  knocker,  he  struck  upon  the  door  with  the 
top  of  his  staff,  and,  having  listened,  sat  down 
on  the  threshold.  It  was  characteristic  of  his 
habitual  submission,  that  he  sat  down  on  the 
raw  dark  staircase,  as  many  of  his  ancestors  had 
probably  sat  down  in  dungeons,  taking  what  be- 
fell him  as  it  might  befall. 

After  a  time,  when  he  had  grown  so  cold  as 
N 


to  be  fain  to  blow  upon  his  fingers,  he  arose  and 
knocked  with  his  staff  again,  and  listened  again, 
and  again  sat  down  to  wait.  Thrice  he  repeated 
these  actions  before  his  listening  earswere  greeted 
by  the  voice  of  Fledgeby,  calling  from  his  bed, 
"Hold  your  row  !  I'll  come  and  open  the  door 
directly!"  But  in  lieu  of  coming  directly,  he 
fell  into  a  sweet  sleep  for  some  quarter  of  an 
hour  more,  during  which  added  interval  Riah 
sat  upon  the  stairs  and  waited  with  perfect  pa- 
tience. 

At  length  the  door  stood  open,  and  Mr.  Fledge- 
by's retreating  drapery  plunged  into  bed  again. 
Following  it  at  a  respectful  distance,  Riah  passed 
into  the  bedchamber,  where  a  fire  had  been 
sometime  lighted,  and  was  burning  briskly. 

"Why,  what  time  of  night  do  you  mean  to 
call  it?"  inquired  Fledgeby,  turning  away  be- 
neath the  clothes,  and  presenting  a  comfortable 
rampart  of  shoulder  to  the  chilled  figure  of  the 
old  man. 

"  Sir,  it  is  full  half  past  ten  in  the  morning." 

"The  deuce  it  is!  Then  it  must  be  precious 
foggy  ?" 

"Very  foggy,  Sir." 

"And  raw,  then?" 

"Chill  and  bitter,"  said  Riah,  drawing  out  a 
handkerchief,  and  wiping  the  moisture  from  his 
beard  and  long  gray  hair  as  he  stood  on  the  verge 
of  the  rug,  with  his  eyes  on  the  acceptable  fire. 

With  a  plunge  of  enjoyment  Fledgeby  settled 
himself  afresh. 

"Any  snow,  or  sleet,  or  slush,  or  any  thing 
of  that  sort?"  he  asked. 

"No,  Sir,  no.  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that.  The 
streets  are  pretty  clean." 

"  You  needn't  brag  about  it,"  returned  Fledge- 
by, disappointed  in  his  desire  to  heighten  the 
contrast  between  his  bed  and  the  streets.  "But 
you're  always  bragging  about  something.  Got 
the  books  there?" 

"They  are  here,  Sir." 

"  All  right.  I'll  turn  the  general  subject  over 
in  my  mind  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  while  I'm 
about  it  you  can  empty  your  bag  and  get  ready 
for  me." 

With  another  comfortable  plunge  Mr.  Fledge- 
by fell  asleep  again.  The  old  man,  having  obeyed 
his  directions,  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  chair, 
and,  folding  his  hands  before  him,  gradually 
yielded  to  the  influence  of  the  warmth,  and 
dozed.  He  was  roused  by  Mr.  Fledgeby's  ap- 
pearing erect  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  in  Turkish 
slippers,  rose-colored  Turkish  trowsers  (got  cheap 
from  somebody  who  had  cheated  some  other 
somebody  out  of  them),  and  a  gown  and  cap  to 
correspond.  In  that  costume  he  would  have  left 
nothing  to  be  desired,  if  he  had  been  further 
fitted  out  with  a  bottomless  chair,  a  lantern,  and 
a  bunch  of  matches. 

"  Now,  old'un  !"  cried  Fascination,  in  his  light 
raillery,  "  what  dodgery  are  you  up  to  next,  sit- 
ting there  with  your  eyes  shut?  You  ain't 
asleep.    Catch  a  weasel  at  it,  and  catch  a  Jew  !" 


190 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Truly,  Sir,  I  fear  I  nodded,"  said  the  old 
man. 

"Not  you!"  returned  Fledgeby,  with  a  cun- 
ning look.  "A  telling  move  with  a  good  many, 
I  dare  say,  but  it  won't  put  me  off  my  guard. 
Not  a  bad  notion  though,  if  you  want  to  look  in- 
different in  driving  a  bargain.  Oh,  you  are  a 
dodger!" 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  gently  repudi- 
ating the  imputation,  and  suppressed  a  sigh,  and 
moved  to  the  table  at  which  Mr.  Fledgeby  was 
now  pouring  out  for  himself  a  cup  of  steaming 
and  fragrant  coffee  from  a  pot  that  had  stood 
ready  on  the  hob.  It  was  an  edifying  spectacle, 
the  young  man  in  his  easy-chair  taking  his  coffee, 
and  the  old  man  with  his  gray  head  bent,  stand- 
ing awaiting  his  pleasure. 

"Now!"  said  Fledgeby.  "Fork  out  your 
balance  in  hand,  and  prove  by  figures  how  you 
make  it  out  that  it  ain't  more.  First  of  all,  light 
that  candle." 

Riah  obeyed,  and  then  taking  a  bag  from  his 
breast,  and  referring  to  the  sum  in  the  accounts 
for  which  they  made  him  responsible,  told  it  out 
upon  the  table.  Fledgeby  told  it  again  with 
great  care,  and  rang  every  sovereign. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  taking  one  up  to  eye  it 
closely,  "you  haven't  been  lightening  any  of 
these;  but  it's  a  trade  of  your  people's,  you 
know.  You  understand  what  sweating  a  pound 
means  ;  don't  you  ?" 

"  Much  as  you  do,  Sir,"  returned  the  old  man, 
with  his  hands  under  opposite  cuffs  of  his  loose 
sleeves,  as  he  stood  at  the  table,  deferentially 
observant  of  the  master's  face.  "May  I  take 
the  liberty  to  say  something?" 

"You  may,"  Fledgeby  graciously  conceded. 
"Do  you  not,  Sir — without  intending  it — of  a 
surety  without  intending  it — sometimes  mingle 
the  character  I  fairly  earn  in  your  employment 
with  the  character  which  it  is  your  policy  that  I 
should  bear  ?" 

"  I  don't  find  it  worth  my  while  to  cut  things 
so  fine  as  to  go  into  the  inquiry,"  Fascination 
coolly  answered. 
"Not  injustice?" 
"  Bother  justice  !"  said  Fledgeby. 
"Not  in  generosity?" 

"Jews  and  generosity!"  said  Fledgeby. 
"That's  a  good  connection!  Bring  out  your 
vouchers,  and  don't  talk  Jerusalem  palaver." 

The  vouchers  were  produced,  and  for  the  next 
half  hour  Mr.  Fledgeby  concentrated  his  sublime 
attention  on  them.  They  and  the  accounts  were 
all  found  correct,  and  the  books  and  the  papers 
resumed  their  places  in  the  bag. 

"Next,"  said  Fledgeby,  "concerning  that 
bill-broking  branch  of  the  business — the  branch 
I  like  best.  What  queer  bills  are  to  be  bought, 
and  at  what  prices  ?  You  have  got  your  list  of 
what's  in  the  market  ?" 

"  Sir,  a  long  list,"  replied  Riah,  taking  out  a 
pocket-book,  and  selecting  from  its  contents  a 
folded  paper,  which,  being  unfolded,  became  a 
sheet  of  foolscap  covered  with  close  writing. 

"Whew !"  whistled  Fledgeby,  as  he  took  it  in 
his  hand.  "  Queer  Street  is  full  of  lodgers  just 
at  present !  These  are  to  be  disposed  of  in  par- 
cels; are  they?" 

"In  parcels  as  set  forth,"  returned  the  old 
man,  looking  over  his  master's  shoulder;  "or 
the  lump." 


"Half  the  lump  will  be  waste-paper,  one 
knows  beforehand,"  said  Fledgeby.  "Can  you 
get  it  at  waste-paper  price  ?  That's  the  ques- 
tion." 

Riah  shook  his  head,  and  Fledgeby  cast  his 
small  eyes  down  the  list.  They  presently  began 
to  twinkle,  and  he  no  sooner  became  conscious 
of  their  twinkling,  than  he  looked  up  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  grave  face  above  him,  and  moved 
to  the  chimney-piece.  Making  a  desk  of  it,  he 
stood  there  with  his  back  to  the  old  man,  warm- 
ing his  knees,  perusing  the  list  at  his  leisure,  and 
often  returning  to  some  lines  of  it,  as  though 
they  were  particularly  interesting.  At  those 
times  he  glanced  in  the  chimney-glass  to  see 
what  note  the  old  man  took  of  him.  He  took 
none  that  could  be  detected,  but,  aware  of  his 
employer's  suspicions,  stood  with  his  eyes  on  the 
ground. 

Mr.  Fledgeby  was  thus  amiably  engaged  when 
a  step  was  heard  at  the  outer  door,  and  the  door 
was  heard  to  open  hastily.  "Hark!  That's 
your  doing,  you  Pump  of  Israel,"  said  Fledgeby ; 
"you  can't  have  shut  it."  Then  the  step  was 
heard  within,  and  the  voice  of  Mr.  Alfred 
Lammle  called  aloud,  "Are  you  any  where 
here,  Fledgeby?"  To  which  Fledgeby,  after 
cautioning  Riah  in  a  low  voice  to  take  his  cue 
as  it  should  be  given  him,  replied,  "  Here  I  am !"' 
and  opened  his  bedroom  door. 

"Come  in!"  said  Fledgeby.  "This  gentle- 
man is  only  Pubsey  and  Co.  of  Saint  Mary  Axe, 
that  I  am  trying  to  make  terms  for  an  unfortu- 
nate friend  with  in  a  matter  af  some  dishonored 
bills.  But  really  Pubsey  and  Co.  are  so  strict 
with  their  debtors,  and  so  hard  to  move,  that  I 
seem  to  be  wasting  my  time.  Can't  I  make  any 
terms  with  you  on  my  friend's  part,  Mr.  Riah?" 
"  I  am  but  the  representative  of  another,  Sir," 
returned  th»  Jew,  in  a  low  voice.  "I  do  as  I 
am  bidden  by  my  principal.  It  is  not  my  capi- 
tal that  is  invested  in  the  business.  It  is  not  my 
profit  that  arises  therefrom." 

"  Ha  ha!"  laughed  Fledgeby.     "Lammle?" 
"Ha   ha!"  laughed   Lammle.      "Yes.     Of 
course.     We  know." 

"Devilish  good,  ain't  it,  Lammle?"  said 
Fledgeby,  unspeakably  amused  by  his  hidden 
joke. 

"Always  the  same,  always  the  same!"  said 
Lammle.      "  Mr.  — " 

"Riah,  Pubsey,  and  Co.,  Saint  Mary  Axe," 
Fledgeby  put  in,  as  he  wiped  away  the  tears  that 
trickled  from  his  eyes,  so  rare  was  his  enjoyment 
of  his  secret  joke. 

"Mr.  Riah  is  bound  to  observe  the  invariable 
forms  for  such  cases  made  and  provided,"  said 
Lammle. 

"He  is  only  the  representative  of  another!" 
cried  Fledgeby.  "Does  as  he  is  told  by  his 
principal !  Not  his  capital  that's  invested  in  the 
business.  Oh,  that's  good!  Ha  ha  ha  ha!" 
Mr.  Lammle  joined  in  the  laugh  and  looked 
knowing ;  and  the  more  he  did  both,  the  more  ex- 
quisite the  secret  joke  became  for  Mr.  Fledgeby. 
"However,"  said  that  fascinating  gentleman, 
wiping  his  eyes  again,  "  if  we  go  on  in  this  way 
we  shall  seem  to  be  almost  making  game  of  Mr. 
Riah,  or  of  Pubsey  and  Co.,  Saint  Mary  Axe,  or 
of  somebody:  which  is  far  from  our  intention. 
Mr.  Riah,  if  you  would  have  the  kindness  to 
step  into  the  next  room  for  a  few  moments  while 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


191 


I  speak  with  Mr.  Lammle  here,  I  should  like  to 
try  to  make  terras  with  you  once  again  before 
you  go." 

The  old  man,  who  had  never  raised  his  eyes 
during  the  whole  transaction  of  Mr.  Fledgeby's 
joke,  silently  bowed  and  passed  out  by  the  door 
which  Fledgeby  opened  for  him.  Having  closed 
it  on  him,  Fledgeby  returned  to  Lammle,  stand- 
ing with  his  back  to  the  befrroom  fire,  with  one 
hand  under  his  coat-skirts,  and  all  his  whiskers 
in  the  other. 

"Halloo!"  said  Fledgeby.  "There's  some- 
thing wrong!" 

"How  do  you  know  it?"  demanded  Lammle. 

"Because  you  show  it,"  replied  Fledgeby  in 
unintentional  rhyme. 

"Well  then ;  there  is,"  said  Lammle ;  "  there 
is  something  wrong;  the  whole  thing's  wrong." 

"I  say!"  remonstrated  Fascination  very  slow- 
ly, and  sitting  down  with  his  hands  on  his  knees 
to  stare  at  his  glowering  friend  with  his  back  to 
the  fire. 

"I  tell  you,  Fledgeby,"  repeated  Lammle, 
with  a  sweep  of  his  right  arm,  "  the  whole 
thing's  wrong.     The  game's  up." 

"What  game's  up?"  demanded  Fledgeby,  as 
slowly  as  before,  and  more  sternly. 

"The  game.     Our  game.     Read  that." 

Fledgeby  took  a  note  from  his  extended  hand 
and  read  it  aloud.  "Alfred  Lammle,  Esquire. 
Sir :  Allow  Mrs.  Podsnap  and  myself  to  express 
our  united  sense  of  the  polite  attentions  of  Mrs. 
Alfred  Lammle  and  yourself  toward  our  daugh- 
ter, Georgian  a.  Allow  us  also  wholly  to  reject 
them  for  the  future,  and  to  communicate  our 
final  desire  that  the  two  families  may  become 
entire  strangers.  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  Sir, 
your  most  obedient  and  very  humble  servant, 
John  Podsnap."  Fledgeby  looked  at  the  tlwee 
blank  sides  of  this  note,  quite  as  long  and  earn- 
estly as  at  the  first  expressive  side,  and  then 
looked  at  Lammle,  who  responded  with  another 
extensive  sweep  of  his  right  arm. 

"  Whose  doing  is  this?"  said  Fledgeby. 

"Impossible  to  imagine,"  said  Lammle. 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  Fledgeby,  after  reflect- 
ing with  a  very  discontented  brow,  "somebody 
has  been  giving  you  a  bad  character." 

"  Or  you,"  said  Lammle,  with  a  deeper  frown. 

Mr.  Fledgeby  appeared  to  be  on  the  verge  of 
some  mutinous  expressions,  when  his  hand  hap- 
pened to  touch  his  nose.  A  certain  remem- 
brance connected  with  that  feature  operating  as 
a  timely  warning,  he  took  it  thoughtfully  be- 
tween his  thumb  and  forefinger  and  pondered ; 
Lammle  meanwhile  eying  him  with  furtive  eyes. 

"Well!"  said  Fledgeby.  "This  won't  im- 
prove with  talking  about.  If  we  ever  find  out 
who  did  it  we'll  mark  that  person.  There's  no- 
thing more  to  be  said,  except  that  you  undertook 
to  do  what  circumstances  prevent  your  doing." 

"And  that  you  undertook  to  do  what  you 
might  have  done  by  this  time  if  you  had  made 
a  prompter  use  of  circumstances,"  snarled 
Lammle. 

"  Hah  !  That,"  remarked  Fledgeby,  with  his 
hands  in  the  Turkish  trowsers,  "is  matter  of 
opinion." 

"  Mr.  Fledgeby,"  said  Lammle,  in  a  bullying 
tone,  "am  I  to  understand  that  you  in  anyway 
reflect  upon  me,  or  hint  dissatisfaction  with  me, 
in  this  affair  ?" 


"No,"  said  Fledgeby;  "provided  you  have 
brought  my  promissory  note  in  your  pocket, 
and  now  hand  it  over." 

Lammle  produced  it,  not  without  reluctance. 
Fledgeby  looked  at  it,  identified  it,  twisted  it  up, 
and  threw  it  into  the  fire.  They  both  looked  at 
it  as  it  blazed,  went  out,  and  flew  in  feathery 
ash  up  the  chimney. 

"Now,  Mr.  Fledgeby,"  said  Lammle,  as  be- 
fore ;  "  am  I  to  understand  that  you  in  any  way 
reflect  upon  me,  or  hint  dissatisfaction  with  me, 
in  this  affair  ?" 

"No,"  said  Fledgeby. 

"Finally  and  unreservedly  no?" 

"Yes." 

"Fledgeby,  my  hand." 

Mr.  Fledgeby  took  it,  saying,  "And  if  we 
ever  find  out  who  did  this,  we'll  mark  that  per- 
son. And  in  the  most  friendly  manner  let  me 
mention  one  thing  more.  I  don't  know  what 
your  circumstances  are,  and  I  don't  ask.  You 
have  sustained  a  loss  here.  Many  men  are  lia- 
ble to  be  involved  at  times,  and  you  may  be,«  or 
you  may  not  be.  But  whatever  you  do,  Lammle, 
don't — don't — don't,  I  beg  of  you — ever  fall  into 
the  hands  of  Pubsey  and  Co.  in  the  next  room, 
for  they  are  grinders.  Regular  flayers  and  gi-ind- 
ers,  my  dear  Lammle,"  repeated  Fledgeby  with 
a  peculiar  relish,  "and  they'll  skin  you  by  the 
inch,,  from  the  nape  of  your  neck  to  the  sole  of 
your  foot,  and  grind  every  inch  of  your  skin  to 
tooth-powder.  You  have  seen  what  Mr.  Riah 
is.  Never  fall  into  his  hands,  Lammle,  I  beg 
of  you  as  a  friend !" 

Mr.  Lammle,  disclosing  some  alarm  at  the  so- 
lemnity of  this  affectionate  adjuration,  demand- 
ed why  the  devil  he  ever  should  fall  into  the 
hands  of  Pubsey  and  Co.  ? 

"To  confess  the  fact,  I  was  made  a  little  un- 
easy," said  the  candid  Fledgeby,  "by  the  man- 
ner in  which  that  Jew  looked  at  you  Avhen  he 
heard  your  name.  I  didn't  like  his  eye.  But  it 
may  have  been  the  heated  fancy  of  a  friend.  Of 
course  if  you  are  sure  that  you  have  no  personal 
security  out,  which  you  may  not  be  quite  equal 
to  meeting,  and  which  can  have  got  into  his 
hands,  it  must  have  been  fancy.  Still,  I  didn't 
like  his  eye." 

The  brooding  Lammle,  with  certain  white  dints 
coming  and  going  in  his  palpitating  nose,  looked 
as  if  some  tormenting  imp  were  pinching  it. 
Fledgeby,  watching  him  with  a  twitch  in  his 
mean  face  which  did  duty  there  for  a  smile, 
looked  very  like  the  tormentor  who  was  pinching. 

"But  I  mustn't  keep  him  waiting  too  long,'' 
said  Fledgeby,  "or  he'll  revenge  it  on  my  un- 
fortunate friend.  How's  your  very  clever  and 
agreeable  wife  ?  She  knows  we  have  broken 
down  ?" 

' '  I  showed  her  the  letter." 

"  Very  much  surprised?"  asked  Fledgeby. 

"I  think  she  would  have  been  more  so,"  an- 
swered Lammle,  "if  there  had  been  more  go  in 
you  f" 

"  Oh  ! — She  lays  it  upon  me,  then  ?" 

"Mr.  Fledgeby,  I  will  not  have  my  words 
misconstrued." 

"Don't  break  out,  Lammle,"  urged  Fledgeby, 
in  a  submissive  tone,  "  because  there's  no  occa- 
sion. I  only  asked  a  question.  Then  she  don't 
lay  it  upon  me  ?    To  ask  another  question." 

"No,  Sir." 


192 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Very  good,"  said  Fledgeby,  plainly  seeing 
that  she  did.  "  My  compliments  to  her.  Good- 
by!" 

They  shook  hands,  and  Lammle  strode  out 
pondering.  Fledgeby  saw.him  into  the  fog,  and, 
returning  to  the  fire  and  musing  with  his  face  to 
it,  stretched  the  legs  of  the  rose-colored  Turkish 
trowsers  wide  apart,  and  meditatively  bent  his 
knees,  as  if  he  were  going  down  upon  them. 

"  You  have  a  pair  of  whiskers,  Lammle,  which 
I  never  liked,"  murmured  Fledgeby,  "and  which 
money  can't  produce ;  you  are  boastful  of  your 
manners  and  your  conversation  ;  you  wanted  to 
pull  my  nose,  and  you  have  let  me  in  for  a  fail- 
ure, and  your  wife  says  I  am  the  cause  of  it. 
I'll  bowl  you  down.  I  will,  though  I  have  no 
whiskers,"  here  he  rubbed  the  places  where  they 
were  due,  "and  no  manners,  and  no  conversa- 
tion !" 

Having  thus  relieved  his  noble  mind,  he  col- 
lected the  legs  of  the  Turkish  trowsers,  straight- 
ened himself  on  his  knees,  and  called  out  to 
Riah  in  the  next  room,  "  Halloo,  you  Sir !"  At 
sight  of  the  old  man  re-entering  with  a  gentle- 
ness monstrously  in  contrast  with  the  character 
he  had  given  him,  Mr.  Fledgeby  was  so  tickled 
again,  that  he  exclaimed,  laughing,  "  Good ! 
Good !     Upon  my  soul  it  is  uncommon  good  !" 

"Now,  old  'un,"  proceeded  Fledgeby,  when 
he  had  had  his  laugh  out,  "you'll  buy  up  these 
lots  that  I  mark  with  my  pencil — there's  a  tick 
there,  and  a  tick  there,  and  a  tick  there — and  I 
wager  twopence  you'll  afterward  go  on  a  squeez- 
ing those  Christians  like  the  Jew  you  are.  Now, 
next  you'll  want  a  check — or  you'll  say  you  want 
it,  though  you've  capital  enough  somewhere,  if 
one  only  knew  where,  but  you'd  be  peppered 
and  salted  and  grilled  on  a  gridiron  before  you'd 
own  to  it — and  that  check  I'll  write." 

When  he  had  unlocked  a  drawer  and  taken  a 
key  from  it  to  open  another  drawer,  in  which 
was  another  key  that  opened  another  drawer,  in 
which  was  another  key  that  opened  another 
drawer,  in  which  was  the  check-book;  and  when 
he  had  written  the  check  ;  and  when,  reversing 
the  key  and  drawer  process,  he  had  placed  his 
check -book  in  safety  again,  he  beckoned  the 
old  man,  with  the  folded  check,  to  come  and 
take  it. 

"  Old  'un,"  said  Fledgeby,  when  the  Jew  had 
put  it  in  his  pocket-book,  and  was  putting  that 
in  the  breast  of  his  outer  garment;  "so  much 
at  present  for  my  affairs.  Now  a  word  about 
affairs  that  are  not  exactly  mine.  Where  is 
she?" 

With  "his  hand  not  yet  withdrawn  from  the 
breast  of  his  garment,  Riah  started  and  paused. 

"  Oho !"  said  Fledgeby.  "  Didn't  expect  it ! 
Where  have  you  hidden  her?" 

Showing  that  he  was  taken  by  surprise,  the 
old  man  looked  at  his  master  with  some  passing 
confusion,  which  the  master  highly  enjoyed. 

"  Is  she  in  the  house  I  pay  rent  and  taxes  for 
in  Saint  Mary  Axe  ?"  demanded  Fledgeby. 

"No,  Sir." 

"  Is  she  in  your  garden  up  atop  of  that  house 
— gone  up  to  be  dead,  or  whatever  the  game  is?" 
asked  Fledgeby. 

"No,  Sir." 

"  Where  is  she  then  ?" 

Riah  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  as  if  con- 
sidering whether  he  could  answer  the  question 


without  breach  of  faith,  and  then  silently  raised 
them  to  Fledgeby's  face,  as  if  he  could  not. 

"  Come  !"  said  Fledgeby.  "  I  won't  press  that 
just  now.  But  I  want  to  know  this,  and  I  will 
know  this,  mind  you.     What  are  you  up  to?" 

The  old  man,  with  an  apologetic  action  of  his 
head  and  hands,  as  not  comprehending  the  mas- 
ter's meaning,  addressed  to  him  a  look  of  mute 
inquiry. 

"You  can't  be  a  gallivanting  dodger,"  said 
Fledgeby.  "  For  you're  a  '  regular  pity  the  sor- 
rows,' you  know — if  you  do  know  any  Christian 
rhyme — '  whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him 
to'— et  cetrer.  You're  one  of  the  Patriarchs  ; 
you're  a  shaky  old  card ;  and  you  can't  be  in 
love  with  this  Lizzie?" 

"Oh,  Sir!"  expostulated  Riah.  "Oh,  Sir, 
Sir,  Sir!" 

"Then  why,"  retorted  Fledgeby,  with  some 
slight  tinge  of  a  blush,  "  don't  you  out  with  your 
reason  for  having  your  spoon  in  the  soup  at  all  ?" 
"  Sir,  I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  But  (your 
pardon  for  the  stipulation)  it  is  in  sacred  confi- 
dence ;  it  is  strictly  upon  honor." 

"Honor  too !"  cried  Fledgeby,  with  a  mocking 
lip.     "  Honor  among  Jews.    Well.    Cutaway." 
"  It  is  upon  honor,  Sir?"  the  other  still  stip- 
ulated, with  respectful  firmness. 

"  Oh,  certainly.  Honor  bright,"  said  Fledge- 
by. 

The  old  man,  never  bidden  to  sit  down,  stood 
with  an  earnest  hand  laid  on  the  back  of  the 
young  man's  easy-chair.  The  young  man  sat 
looking  at  the  fire  with  a  face  of  listening  curi- 
osity, ready  to  check  him  off  and  catch  him 
tripping. 

"Cut  away,"  said  Fledgeby.  "Start  with 
your  motive." 

"Sir,  I  have  no  motive  but  to  help  the  help- 
less." 

Mr.  Fledgeby  could  only  express  the  feelings 
to  which  this  incredible  statement  gave  rise  in 
his  breast  by  a,  prodigiously  long  derisive  sniff. 
"  How  I  came  to  know,  and  much  to  esteem 
and  to  respect,  this  damsel,  I  mentioned  when 
you  saw  her  in  my  poor  garden  on  the  house- 
top," said  the  Jew. 

"Did  you?"  said  Fledgeby,  distrustfully. 
"Well,  perhaps  you  did,  though." 

"The  better  I  knew  her,  the  more  interest  I 
felt  in  her  fortunes.  They  gathered  to  a  crisis. 
I  found  her  beset  by  a  selfish  and  ungrateful 
brother,  beset  by  an  unacceptable  wooer,  beset 
by  the  snares  of  a  more  powerful  lover,  beset  by 
the  wiles  of  her  own  heart." 

"  She  took  to  one  of  the  chaps  then?" 
"  Sir,  it  was  only  natural  that  she  should  in- 
cline toward  him,  for  he  had  many  and  great  ad- 
vantages. But  he  was  not  of  her  station,  and 
to  marry  her  was  not  in  his  mind.  Perils  were 
closing  round  her,  and  the  circle  was  fast  dark- 
ening, when  I — being  as  you  have  said,  Sir,  too 
old  and  broken  to  be  suspected  of  any  feeling  for 
her  but  a  father's — stepped  in,  and  counseled 
flight.  I  said,  '  My  daughter,  there  are  times 
of  moral  danger  when  the  hardest  virtuous  reso- 
lution to  form  is  flight,  and  when  the  most  he- 
roic bravery  is  flight.'  She  answered,  she  had 
had  this  in  her  thoughts ;  but  whither  to  fly  with- 
out help  she  knew  not,  and  there  were  none  to 
help  her.  I  showed  her  there  wras  one  to  help 
her,  and  it  was  I.     And  she  is  gone." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


193 


"What  did  you  do  with  her?"  asked  Fledge- 
by,  feeling  his  cheek. 

"I  placed  her,"  said  the  old  man,  "at  a  dis- 
tance ;"  with  a  grave,  smooth,  outward  sweep 
from  one  another  of  his  two  open  hands  at  arm's- 
length  ;  "at  a  distance — among  certain  of  our 
people,  where  her  industry  would  serve  her,  and 
where  she  could  hope  to  exercise  it,  unassailed 
from  any  quarter. " 

Fledgeby's  eyes  had  come  from  the  fire  to  no- 
tice the  action  of  his  hands  when  he  said  "  at  a 
distance."  Fledge  by  now  tried  (very  unsuccess- 
fully) to  imitate  that  action,  as  he  shook  his  head 
and  said,  "  Placed  her  in  that  direction,  did 
you  ?     Oh  you  circular  old  dodger  !" 

With  one  hand  across  his  breast  and  the  oth- 
er on  the  easy-chair,  Riah,  without  justifying 
himself,  waited  for  further  questioning.  But 
that  it  was  hopeless  to  question  him  on  that  one 
reserved  point,  Fledgeby,  with  his  small  eyes  too 
near  together,  saw  full  well. 

"Lizzie,"  said  Fledgeby,  looking  at  the  fire 
again,  and  then  looking  up.  "Humph,  Lizzie. 
You  didn't  tell  me  the  other  name  in  your  gar- 
den atop  of  the  house.  I'll  be  more  communi- 
cative with  you.     The  other  name's  Hexam." 

Riah  bent  his  head  in  assent. 

"Look  here,  you  Sir,"  said  Fledgeby.  "I 
have  a  notion  I  know  something  of  the  invei- 
gling chap,  the  powerful  one.  Has  he  any  thing 
to  do  with  the  law?" 

"Nominally,  I  believe  it  his  calling." 

"  I  thought  so.  Name  any  thing  like  Light- 
wood?" 

"Sir,  not  at  all  like." 

"Come,  old  'un,"  said  Fledgeby,  meeting  his 
eyes  with  a  wink,  "  say  the  name." 

"  Wrayburn." 

"  By  Jupiter !"  cried  FledgeHfy.  "  That  one, 
is  it?  I  thought  it  might  be  the  other,  but  I 
never  dreamt  of  that  one !  I  shouldn't  object 
to  your  balking  either  of  the  pair,  dodger,  for 
they  are  both  conceited  enough  ;  but  that  one  is 
as  cool  a  customer  as  ever  I  met  with.  Got  a 
beard  besides,  and  presumes  upon  it.  Well 
done,  old  'un  !     Go  on  and  prosper !" 

Brightened  by  this  unexpected  commenda- 
tion, Riah  asked  were  there  more  instructions 
for  him  ? 

"No,"  said  Fledgeby,  "you  may  toddle  now, 
Judah,  and  grope  about  on  the  orders  you  have 
got."  Dismissed  with  those  pleasing  words,  the 
old  man  took  his  broad  hat  and  staff  and  left 
the  great  presence  :  more  as  if  he  were  some  su- 
perior creature  benignantly  blessing  Mr.  Fledge- 
by than  the  poor  dependent  on  whom  he  set  his 
foot.  Left  alone,  Mr.  Fledgeby  locked  his  out- 
er door  and  came  back  to  his  fire. 

Well  done  you !"  said  Fascination  to  him- 


self.       "Slow,   you   may  be 


you  are! 


This  he  twice  or  thrice  repeated  with  much 
complacency,  as  he  again  dispersed  the  legs  of 
the  Turkish  trowsers  and  bent  the  knees. 

"  A  tidy  shot  that,  I  flatter  myself,"  he  then 
soliloquized.  "And  a  Jew  brought  down  with 
it !  Now,  when  I  heard  the  story  told  at  Lam- 
mle's,  I  didn't  make  a  jump  at  Riah.  Not  a  bit 
of  it ;  I  got  at  him  by  degrees."  Herein  he  was 
quite  accurate ;  it  being  his  habit  not  to  jump, 
or  leap,  or  make  an  upward  spring,  at  any  thing 
in  life,  but  to  crawl  at  every  thing. 

"I  got  at  him,"  pursued  Fledgeby,  feeling 


for  his  whisker,  "by  degrees.  If  your  Lam- 
mles  or  your  Lightwoods  had  got  at  him  any- 
how, they  would  have  asked  him  the  question 
whether  he  hadn't  something  to  do  with  that 
gal's  disappearance.  I  knew  a  better  way  of  go- 
ing to  work.  Having  got  behind  the  hedge,  and 
put  him  in  the  light,  I  took  a  shot  at  him  and 
brought  him  down  plump.  Oh !  It  don't  count 
for  much,  being  a  Jew,  in  a  match  against  me  /" 

Another  dry  twist  in  place  of  a  smile  made 
his  face  crooked  here. 

"As  to  Christians,"  proceeded  Fledgeby, 
"look  out,  fellow-Christians,  particularly  you 
that  lodge  in  Queer  Street !  I  have  got  the  run 
of  Queer  Street  now,  and  you  shall  see  some 
games  there.  To  work  a  lot  of  power  over  you 
and  you  not  know  it,  knowing  as  you  think  your- 
selves, would  be  almost  worth  laying  out  money 
upon.  But  when  it  comes  to  squeezing  a  profit 
out  of  you  into  the  bargain,  it's  something  like!" 

With  this  apostrophe  Mr.  Fledgeby  appropri- 
ately proceeded  to  divest  himself  of  his  Turkish 
garments,  and  invest  himself  with  Christian  at- 
tire. Pending  which  operation,  and  his  morn- 
ing ablutions,  and  his  anointing  of  himself  with 
the  last  infallible  preparation  for  the  production 
of  luxuriant  and  glossy  hair  upon  the  human 
countenance  (quacks  being  the  only  sages  he  be- 
lieved in  besides  usurers),  the  murky  fog  closed 
about  him  and  shut  him  up  in  its  sooty  embrace. 
If  it  had  never  let  him  out  any  more,  the  world 
would  have  had  no  irreparable  loss,  but  could 
have  easily  replaced  him  from  its  stock  on  hand. 


CHAPTER  II. 


A  RESPECTED  FRIEND  IN  A  NEW  ASPECT. 

In  the  evening  of  this  same  foggy  day  when 
the  yellow  window-blind  of  Pubsey  and  Co.  was 
drawn  down  upon  the  day's  work,  Riah  the  Jew 
once  more  came  forth  into  Saint  Mary  Axe. 
But  this  time  he  carried  no  bag,  and  was  not 
bound  on  his  master's  affairs.  He  passed  over 
London  Bridge,  and  returned  to  the  Middlesex 
shore  by  that  of  Westminster,  and  so,  ever  wad- 
ing through  the  fog,  waded  to  the  door-step  of 
the  dolls'  dress-maker. 

Miss  Wren  expected  him.  He  could  see  her 
through  the  window  by  the  light  of  her  low  fire 
— carefully  banked  up  with  damp  cinders  that  it 
might  last  the  longer  and  waste  the  less  when 
she  was  out — sitting  waiting  for  him  in  her  bon- 
net. His  tap  at  the  glass  roused  her  from  the 
musing  solitude  in  which  she  sat,  and  she  came 
to  the  door  to  open  it ;  aiding  her  steps  with  a 
little  crutch-stick. 

"Good-evening,  godmother !"  said  Miss  Jen- 
ny Wren. 

The  old  man  laughed,  and  gave  her  his  arm 
to  lean  on. 

"Won't  you  come  in  and  warm  yourself,  god- 
mother?" asked  Miss  Jenny  Wren. 

"  Not  if  you  are  ready,  Cinderella,  my  dear." 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Miss  Wren,  delighted. 
"Now  you  are  a  clever  old  boy!  If  we  gave 
prizes  at  this  establishment  (but  we  only  keep 
blanks),  you  should  have  the  first  silver  medal 
for  taking  me  up  so  quick."  As  she  spake  thus, 
Miss  Wren  removed  the  key  of  the  house-door 
from  the  keyhole  and  put  it  in  her  pocket,  and 


194 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


then  bustlingly  closed  the  door,  and  tried  it  as 
they  both  stood  on  the  step.  Satisfied  that  her 
dwelling  was  safe,  she  drew  one  hand  through 
the  old  man's  arm  and  prepared  to  ply  her 
crutch-stick  with  the  other.  But  the  key  was  an 
instrument  of  such  gigantic  proportions,  that  be- 
fore they  started  Riah  proposed  to  carry  it. 

"  No,  no,  no  !     I'll  carry  it  myself,"  returned 

"  Miss  Wren.     "I'm  awfully  lopsided,  you  know, 

and  stowed  down  in  my  pocket  it'll  trim  the  ship. 

To  let  you  into  a  secret,  godmother,  I  wear  my 

pocket  on  my  high  side,  o'  purpose." 

With  that  they  began  their  plodding  through 
the  fog. 

"  Yes,  it  was  truly  sharp  of  you,  godmother," 
resumed  Miss  Wren  with  great  approbation, 
"to  understand  me.  But,  you  see,  you  are  so 
like  the  fairy  godmother  in  the  bright  little 
books !  You  look  so  unlike  the  rest  of  people, 
and  so  much  as  if  you  had  changed  yourself 
into  that  shape,  just  this  moment,  with  some 
benevolent  object.  Boh!"  cried  Miss  Jenny, 
putting  her  face  close  to  the  old  man's.  "  I  can 
see  your  features,  godmother,  behind  the  beard." 

"  Does  the  fancy  go  to  my  changing  other  ob- 
jects too,  Jenny?" 

' '  Ah !  That  it  does !  If  you'd  only  borrow 
my  stick  and  tap  this  piece  of  pavement — this 
dirty  stone  that  my  foot  taps — it  would  start  up 
a  coach  and  six.     I  say !  Let's  believe  so !" 

"With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  good  old 
man. 

"And  I'll  tell  you  what  I  must  ask  you  to  do, 
godmother.  I  must  ask  you  to  be  so  kind  as 
give  my  child  a  tap,  and  change  him  altogether. 
O  my  child  has  been  such  a  bad,  bad  child  of 
late !  It  worries  me  nearly  out  of  my  wits.  Not 
done  a  stroke  of  work  these  ten  days.  Has  had 
the  horrors,  too,  and  fancied  that  four  copper- 
colored  men  in  red  wanted  to  throw  him  into  a 
fiery  furnace." 

"But  that's  dangerous,  Jenny." 

"Dangerous,  godmother?"  My  bad  child  is 
always  dangerous,  more  or  less.  He  might" — 
here  the  little  creature  glanced  back  over  her 
shoulder  at  the  sky — "be  setting  the  house  on 
fire  at  this  present  moment.  I  don't  know  who 
would  have  a  child,  for  my  part !  It's  no  use 
shaking  him.  I  have  shaken  him  till  I  have 
made  myself  giddy.  'Why  don't  you  mind 
your  Commandments  and  honor  your  parent, 
you  naughty  old  boy?'  I  said  to  him  all  the 
time.  But  he  only  whimpered  and  stared  at  me." 

"What  shall  be  changed,  after  him?"  asked 
Riah,  in  a  compassionately  playful  voice. 

"  Upon  my  word,  godmother,  I  am  afraid  I 
must  be  selfish  next,  and  get  you  to  set  me  right 
in  the  back  and  the  legs.  It's  a  little  thing  to 
you  with  your  power,  godmother,  but  it's  a  great 
deal  to  poor  weak  aching  me." 

There  was  no  querulous  complaining  in  the 
words,  but  they  were  not  the  less  touching  for 
that. 

"And  then?" 

"Yes,  and  then — you  know,  godmother. 
"  We'll  both  jump  up  into  the  coach  and  six  and 
go  to  Lizzie.  This  reminds  me,  godmother,  to 
ask  you  a  serious  question.  You  are  as  wise  as 
wise  can  be  (having  been  brought  up  by  the 
fairies),  and  you  can  tell  me  this:  Is  it  better 
to  have  had  a  good  thing  and  lost  it,  or  never  to 
have  had  it  ?" 


"Explain,  god-daughter." 

"I  feel  so  much  more  solitary  and  helpless 
without  Lizzie  now,  than  I  used  to  feel  before  I 
knew  her."  (Tears  were  in  her  eyes  as  she 
said  so.) 

"Some  beloved  companionship  fades  out  of 
most  lives,  my  dear,"  said  the  Jew — "that  of  a 
wife,  and  a  fair  daughter,  and  a  son  of  promise, 
has  faded  out  of  my  own  life — but  the  happiness 
was." 

"Ah!"  said  Miss  Wren  thoughtfully,  by  no 
means  convinced,  and  chopping  the  exclama- 
tion with  that  sharp  little  hatchet  of  hers; 
"then  I  tell  you  what  change  I  think  you  had 
better  begin  with,  godmother.  You  had  better 
change  Is  into  Was  and  Was  into  Is,  and  keep 
them  so." 

• '  Would  that  suit  your  case  ?  Would  you 
not  be  always  in  pain  then?"  asked  the  old  man, 
tenderly. 

"Right !"  exclaimed  Miss  Wren  with  another 
chop.  "You  have  changed  me  wiser,  god- 
mother.— Not,"  she  added  with  the  quaint  hitch 
of  her  chin  and  eyes,  "that  you  need  be  a  very 
wonderful  godmother  to  do  that  deed." 

Thus  conversing,  and  having  crossed  West- 
minster Bridge,  they  traversed  the  ground  tluit 
Riah  had  lately  traversed,  and  new  ground  like- 
wise; for,  when  they  had  recrossed  the  Thames 
by  way  of  London  Bridge,  they  struck  down  by 
the  river  and  held  their  still  foggier  course  that 
way. 

But  previously,  as  they  were  going  along, 
Jenny  twisted  her  venerable  friend  aside  to  a 
brilliantly-lighted  toy-shop  window,  and  said  : 
"  Now  look  at  'em !     All  my  work !" 

This  referred  to  a  dazzling  semicircle  of  dolls 
in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  who  were  dressed 
for  presentation*at  court,  for  going  to  balls,  for 
going  out  driving,  for  going  out  on  horseback, 
for  going  out  walking,  for  going  to  get  married, 
for  going  to  help  other  dolls  to  get  married,  for 
all  the  gay  events  of  life. 

"Pretty,  pretty,  pretty!"  said  the  old  man 
with  a  clap  of'  his  hands.  "Most  elegant 
taste !" 

"Glad  you  like  'em,"  returned  Miss  Wren, 
loftily.  "But  the  fun  is,  godmother,  how  I 
make  the  great  ladies  try  my  dresses  on.  Though 
it's  the  hardest  part  of  my  business,  and  would 
be,  even  if  my  back  were  not  bad  and  my  legs 
queer." 

He  looked  at  her  as  not  understanding  what 
she  said. 

"Bless  you,  godmother,"  said  Miss  Wren, 
"  I  have  to  scud  about  town  at  all  hours.  If  it 
was  only  sitting  at  my  bench,  cutting  out  and 
sewing,  it  would  be  comparatively  easy  work ; 
but  it's  the  trying-on  by  the  great  ladies  that 
takes  it  out  of  me." 

"  How,  the  trying-on  ?"  asked  Riah. 

"What  a  mooney  godmother  you  are,  after 
all!"  returned  Miss  Wren.  "Look  here.  There's 
a  Drawing-Room,  or  a  grand  day  in  the  Park, 
or  a  Show,  or  a  Fete,  or  what  you  like.  Very 
well.  I  squeeze  among  the  crowd,  and  I  look 
about  me.  When  I  see  a  great  lady  very  suita- 
ble for  my  business,  I  say,  'You'll  do,  my  dear !' 
and  I  take  particular  notice  of  her,  and  run 
home  and  cut  her  out  and  baste  her.  Then  an- 
other day  I  come  scudding  back  again  and  try 
on,  and  then  I  take  particular  notice  of  her 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


195 


TRYING  ON   FOR   THE    DOLLS     DRESS-MAKER. 


again.  Sometimes  she  plainly  seems  to  say, 
'  How  that  little  creature  is  staring  !'  and  some- 
times likes  it  and  sometimes  don't,  but  much 
more  often  yes  than  no.  All  the  time  I  am 
only  saying  to  myself,  •  I  must  hollow  out  a  bit 
here ;  I  must  slope  away  there ;'  and  I  am  mak- 
ing a  perfect  slave  of  her,  with  making  her  try 
on  my  doll's  dress.  Evening  parties  are  severer 
work  for  me,  because  there's  only  a  doorway  for 
a  full  view,  and  what  with  hobbling  among  the 
wheels  of  the  carriages  and  the  legs  of  the  horses, 
I  fully  expect  to  be  run  over  some  night.  How- 
ever, there  I  have  'em,  just  the  same.  When 
they  go  bobbing  into  the  hall  from  the  carriage, 
and  catch  a  glimpse  of  my  little  physiognomy 
poked  out  from  behind  a  policeman's  cape  in  the 
rain,  I  dare  say  they  think  I  am  wondering  and 


admiring  with  all  my  eyes  and  heart,  but  they 
little  think  they're  only  working  for  my  dolls ! 
There  was  Lady  Belinda  Whitrose.  I  made 
her  do  double  duty  in  one  night.  I  said  when 
she  came  out  of  the  carriage,  '  You'll  do,  my 
dear !'  and  I  ran  straight  home  and  cut  her  out 
and  basted  her.  Back  I  came  again,  and  wait- 
ed behind  the  men  that  called  the  carriages. 
Very  bad  night  too.  At  last,  « Ladv  Belinda 
Whitrose's  carriage!  Lady  Belinda  Whitrose 
coming  down !'  And  I  made  her  try  on — oh  ! 
and  take  pains  about  it  too — before  she  got  seat- 
ed. That's  Lady  Belinda  hanging  up  by  the 
waist,  much  too  near  the  gaslight  for  a  wax 
one,  with  her  toes  turned  in." 

When  they  had  plodded  on  for  some  time  nigh 
the  river,  Riah  asked  the  way  to  a  certain  tavern 


196 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


called  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship  Porters.  Fol- 
lowing the  directions  he  received,  they  arrived, 
after  two  or  three  puzzled  stoppages  for  consid- 
eration, and  some  uncertain  looking  about  them, 
at  the  door  of  Miss  Abbey  Potterson's  dominions. 
A  peep  through  the  glass  portion  of  the  door  re- 
vealed to  them  the  glories  of  the  bar,  arid  Miss 
Abbey  herself  seated  in  state  on  her  snug  throne, 
reading  the  newspaper.  To  whom,  with  defer- 
ence, they  presented  themselves. 

I'aking  her  eyes  off  her  newspaper,  and  paus- 
ing with  a  suspended  expression  of  countenance, 
as  if  she  must  finish  the  paragraph  in  hand  be- 
fore undertaking  any  other  business  whatever, 
Miss  Abbey  demanded,  with  some  slight  asperi- 
ty :    "  Now  then,  what's  for  you  ?" 

"Could  we  see  Miss  Potterson?"  asked  the 
old  man,  uncovering  his  head. 

"You  not  only  could,  but  you  can  and  you 
do,"  replied  the  hostess. 

"Might  we  speak  with  you,  madam?" 

By  this  time  Miss  Abbey's  eyes  had  possessed 
themselves  of  the  small  figure  of  Miss  Jenny 
Wren.  For  the  closer  observation  of  which, 
Miss  Abbey  laid  aside  her  newspaper,  rose,  and 
looked  over  the  half-door  of  the  bar.  The 
crutch-stick  seemed  to  entreat  for  its  owner  leave 
to  come  in  and  rest  by  the  fire ;  so  Miss  Abbey 
opened  the  half-door,  and  said,  as  though  reply- 
ing to  the  crutch-stick  :  "Yes,  come  in  and  rest 
by  the  fire." 

"My  name  is  Riah,"  said  the  old  man,  with 
courteous  action,  "and  my  avocation  is  in  Lon- 
don city.     This,  my  young  companion — " 

"Stop  a  bit,"  interposed  Miss*Wren.  "  I'll 
give  the  lady  my  card."  She  produced  it  from 
her  pocket  with  an  air,  after  struggling  with  the 
gigantic  door-key  Avhich  had  got  upon  the  top 
of  it  and  kept  it  down.  Miss  Abbey,  with  man- 
ifest tokens  of  astonishment,  took  the  diminutive 
document,  and  found  it  to  run  concisely  thus : 


HVLISSS  JENNY  WREN, 
DOLLS'  DRESS-MAKER. 


Dolls  attended  at  their  own  Residences. 


"Lud!"  exclaimed  Miss  Potterson,  staring. 
And  dropped  the  card. 

"We  take  the  liberty  of  coming,  my  young 
companion  and  I,  madam,"  said  Riah,  "  on  be- 
1  half  of  Lizzie  Hexam." 

Miss  Potterson  was  stooping  to  loosen  the  bon- 
net-strings of  the  dolls'  dress-maker.  She  looked 
round  rather  angrily,  and  said  :  "Lizzie  Hexam 
is  a  very  proud  young  woman." 

"  She  would  be  so  proud,"  returned  Riah,  dex- 
trously,  "  to  stand  well  in  your  good  opinion, 
that  before  she  quitted  London  for — " 

"  For  where,  in  the  name  of  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope?"  asked  Miss  Potterson,  as  though  sup- 
posing her  to  have  emigrated. 

"For  the  country,"  was  the  cautious  answer — 
"she  made  us  promise  to  come  and  show  you  a 
paper,  which  she  left  in  our  hands  for  that  spe- 
cial purpose.  I  am  an  unserviceable  friend  of 
hers,  who  began  to  know  her  after  her  departure 
from  this  neighborhood.  She  has  been  for  some 
time  living  with  my  young  companion;  and  has 
b^en  a  helpful  and  a  comfortable  friend  to  her. 
Much  needed,   madam,"  he  added,  in  a  lower 


voice.  "Believe  me;  if  you  knew  all,  much 
needed." 

"  I  can  believe  that,"  said  Miss  Abbey,  with 
a  softening  glance  at  the  little  creature. 

"And  if  it's  proud  to  have  a  heart  that  never 
hardens,  and  a  temper  that  never  tires,  and  a 
touch  that  never  hurts,"  Miss  Jenny  struck  in, 
flushed,  "she  is  proud.     And  if  it's  not,  she  is 

NOT." 

Her  set  purpose  of  contradicting  Miss  Abbey 
point-blank,  was  so  far  from  offending  that  dread 
authority  as  to  elicit  a  gracious  smile.  "  You 
do  right,  child,"  said  Miss  Abbey,  "  to  speak  welj 
of  those  who  deserve  well  of  you." 

"Right  or  wrong,"  muttered  Miss  Wren,  in- 
audibly,  with  a  visible  hitch  of  her  chin,  "I 
mean  to  do  it,  and  you  may  make  up  your  mind 
to  that,  old  lady." 

"Here  is  the  paper,  madam,"  said  the  Jew, 
delivering  into  Miss  Potterson's  hands  the  orig- 
inal document  drawn  up  by  Rokesmith,  and 
signed  by  Riderhood.  "  Will  you  please  to  read 
it?" 

"But  first  of  all,"  said  Miss  Abbey,  "—  did 
you  ever  taste  shrub,  child  ?" 
Miss  Wren  shook  her  head. 
"Should  you  like  to?" 
"  Should  if  it's  good,"  returned  Miss  Wren. 
"  You  shall  try.    And,  if  you  find  it  good,  I'll 
mix  some  for  you  with  hot  water.     Put  your 
poor  little  feet  on  the  fender.    It's  a  cold,  cold 
night,  and  the  fog  clings  so."     As  Miss  Abbey 
helped  her  to  turn  her  chair  her  loosened  bonnet 
dropped  on  the  floor.    "Why,  what  lovely  hair !" 
cried  Miss  Abbey.     "  And  enough  to  make  wigs 
for  all  the  dolls  in  the  world.      What  a  quan- 
tity!" 

"  Call  that  a  quantity  ?"  returned  Miss  Wren. 
"  Poof!  What  do  you  say  to  the  rest  of  it?" 
As  she  spoke,  she  untied  a  band,  and  the  golden 
stream  fell  over  herself  and  over  the  chair,  and 
flowed  down  to  the  ground.  Miss  Abbey's  ad- 
miration seemed  to  increase  her  perplexity.  She 
beckoned  the  Jew  toward  her,  as  she  reached 
down  the  shrub-bottle  from  its  niche,  and  whis- 
pered : 

"  Child,  or  woman  ?" 

"  Child  in  years,"  was  the  answer;  "  woman 
in  self-reliance  and  trial." 

"You  are  talking  about  Me,  good  people," 
thought  Miss  Jenny,  sitting  in  her  golden  bower, 
warming  her  feet.  "I  can't  hear  what  you  say, 
but  /  know  your  tricks  and  your  manners !" 

The  shrub,  when  tasted  from  a  spoon,  perfect- 
ly harmonizing  with  Miss  Jenny's  palate,  a  ju- 
dicious amount  was  mixed  by  Miss  Potterson's 
skillful  hands,  whereof  Riah  too  partook.  After 
this  preliminary  Miss  Abbey  read  the  document ; 
and,  as  often  as  she  raised  her  eyebrows  in  so 
doing,  the  watchful  Miss  Jenny  accompanied  the 
action  with  an  expressive  and  emphatic  sip  of  the 
shrub  and  water. 

"As  far  as  this  goes,"  said  Miss  Abbey  Pot- 
terson, when  she  had  read  it  several  times,  and 
thought  about  it,  "  it  proves  (what  didn't  much 
need  proving)  that  Rogue  Riderhood  is  a  villain. 
I  have  my  doubts  whether  he  is  not  the  villain 
who  solely  did  the  deed ;  but  I  have  no  expect- 
ation of  those  doubts  ever  being  cleared  up  now. 
I  believe  I  did  Lizzie's  father  wrong,  but  never 
Lizzie's  self;  because  when  things  were  at  the 
worst  I  trusted  her,  had  perfect  confidence  in 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


197 


her,  and  tried  to  persuade  her  to  come  to  me  for 
a  refuge.  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  done  a  man 
wrong,  particularly  when  it  can't  be  undone. 
Be  kind  enough  to  let  Lizzie  know  what  I  say  ; 
not  forgetting  that  if  she  will  come  to  the  Por- 
ters, after  all,  by-gones  being  by-gones,  she  will 
find  a  home  at  the  Porters,  and  a  friend  at  the 
Porters.  She  knows  Miss  Abbey  of  old,  remind 
her,  and  she  knows  what-like  the  home,  and 
what-like  the  friend,  is  likely  to  turn  out.  I  am 
generally  short  and  sweet — or  short  and  sour, 
according  as  it  may  be  and  as  opinions  vary — " 
remarked  Miss  Abbey,  "and  that's  about  all  I 
have  got  to  say,  and  enough  too." 

But  before  the  shrub  and  water  was  sipped 
out,  Miss  Abbey  bethought  herself  that  she  would 
like  to  keep  a  copy  of  the  paper  by  her.  "It's 
not  long,  Sir,"  said  she  to  Riah,  "and  perhaps 
you  wouldn't  mind  just  jotting  it  down."  The 
old  man  willingly  put  on  his  spectacles,  and, 
standing  at  the  little  desk  in  the  corner  where 
Miss  Abbey  filed  her  receipts  and  kept  her  sam- 
ple vials  (customers'  scores  were  interdicted  by 
the  strict  administration  of  the  Porters),  wrote 
out  the  copy  in  a  fair  round  character.  As  he 
stood  there,  doing  his  methodical  penmanship, 
his  ancient  scribe-like  figure  intent  upon  the 
work,  and  the  little  dolls'  dress-maker  sitting  in 
her  golden  bower  before  the  fire,  Miss  Abbey  had 
her  doubts  whether  she  had  not  dreamed  those 
two  rare  figures  into  the  bar  of  the  Six  Jolly  Fel- 
lowships, and  might  not  wake  with  a  nod  next 
moment  and  find  them  gone. 

Miss  Abbey  had  twice  made  the  experiment 
of  shutting  her  eyes  and  opening  them  again, 
still  finding  the  figures  there,  when,  dream-like, 
a  confused  hubbub  arose  in  the  public  room. 
As  she  started  up,  and  they  all  three  looked  at 
one  another,  it  became  a  noise  of  clamoring 
voices  and  of  the  stir  of  feet ;  then  all  the  win- 
dows were  heard  to  be  hastily  thrown  up,  and 
shouts  and  cries  came  floating  into  the  house 
from  the  river.  A  moment  more,  and  Bob  Glid- 
dery  came  clattering  along  the  passage,  with  the 
noise  of  all  the  nails  in  his  boots  condensed  into 
every  separate  nail. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Miss  Abbey. 

"It's  summut  run  down  in  the  fog,  ma'am," 
answered  Bob.  "There's  ever  so  many  people 
in  the  river." 

"Tell  'em  to  put  on  all  the  kettles!"  cried 
Miss  Abbey.  "See  that  the  boiler's  full.  Get 
a  bath  out.  Hang  some  blankets  to  the  fire. 
Heat  some  stone  bottles.  Have  your  senses 
about  you,  you  girls  down  stairs,  and  use  'em." 

While  Miss  Abbey  partly  delivered  these  di- 
rections to  Bob — whom  she  seized  by  the  hair, 
and  whose  head  she  knocked  against  the  wall, 
as  a  general  injunction  to  vigilance  and  pres- 
ence of  mind — and  partly  hailed  the  kitchen 
with  them — the  company  in  the  public  room, 
jostling  one  another,  rushed  out  to  the  cause- 
way ^and  the  outer  noise  increased. 

"Come  and  look,"  said  Miss  Abbey  to  her 
visitors.  They  all  three  hurried  to  the  vacated 
public  room,  and  passed  by  one  of  the  windows 
into  the  wooden  veranda  overhanging  the  river. 

"Does  any  body  down  there  know  what  has 
happened  ?"  demanded  Miss  Abbey,  in  her  voice 
of  authority. 

1 '  It's  a  steamer,  Miss  Abbey, "  cried  one  blurred 
figure  in  the  fog. 


"It  always  is  a  steamer,  Miss  Abbey,"  cried 
another. 

"Them's  her  lights,  Miss  Abbey,  wot  you  see 
a-blinking  yonder,"  cried  another. 

"  She's  a-blowing  off  her  steam,  Miss  Abbey, 
and  that's  what  makes  the  fog  and  the  noise 
worse,  don't  you  see?"  explained  another. 

Boats  were  putting  off,  torches  were  lighting 
up.  people  were  rushing  tumultuously  to  the 
water's  edge.  Some  man  fell  in  with  a  splash, 
and  was  pulled  out  again  with  a  roar  of  laugh- 
ter. The  drags  were  called  for.  A  cry  for  the 
life-buoy  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth.  It  was 
impossible  to  make  out  what  was  going  on  upon 
the  river,  for  every  boat  that  put  off  sculled  into 
the  fog  and  was  lost  to  view  at  a  boat's-length. 
Nothing  was  clear  but  that  the  unpopular  steam- 
er was  assailed  with  reproaches  on  all  sides. 
She  was  the  Murderer,  bound  for  Gallows  Bay ; 
she  was  the  Manslaughterer,  bound  for  Penal 
Settlement ;  her  captain  ought  to  be  tried  for 
his  life ;  her  crew  ran  down  men  in  row-boats 
with  a  relish ;  she  mashed  up  Thames  lighter- 
men with  her  paddles;  she  fired  property  with 
her  funnels ;  she  always  was,  and  she  always 
would  be,  wreaking  destruction  upon  somebody 
or  something,  after  the  manner  of  all  her  kind. 
The  whole  bulk  of  the  fog  teemed  with  such 
taunts,  uttered  in  tones  of  universal  hoarseness. 
All  the  while  the  steamer's  lights  moved  spec- 
trally a  very  little,  as  she  lay-to,  waiting  the 
upshot  of  whatever  accident  had  happened. 
Now  she  began  burning  blue-lights.  These 
made  a  luminous  patch  about  her,  as  if  she  had 
set  the  fog  on  fire,  and  in  the  patch — the  cries 
changing  their  note,  and  becoming  more  fitful 
and  more  excited — shadows  of  men  and  boats 
could  be  seen  moving,  while  voices  shouted : 
"There  !"  "  There  again !"  "A  couple  more 
strokes  ahead!"  "Hurrah!"  "Look  out!" 
"Hold  on!"  "  Haul  in  !"  and  the  like.  Last- 
ly, with  a  few  tumbling  clots  of  blue  fire,  the 
night  closed  in  dark  again,  the  wheels  of  the 
steamer  were  heard  revolving,  and  her  lights 
glided  smoothly  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
sea. 

It  appeared  to  Miss  Abbey  and  her  two  com- 
panions that  a  considerable  time  had  been  thus 
occupied.  There  was  now  as  eager  a  set  to- 
ward the  shore  beneath  the  house  as  there  had 
been  from  it ;  and  it  was  only  on  the  first  boat 
of  the  rush  coming  in  that  it  was  known  what 
had  occurred. 

"If  that's  Tom  Tootle,"  Miss  Abbey  made 
proclamation,  in  her  most  commanding  tones, 
"let  him  instantly  come  underneath  here." 

The  submissive  Tom  complied,  attended  by  a 
crowd. 

"What  is  it,  Tootle  ?"  demanded  Miss  Abbey. 

"It's  a  foreign  steamer,  Miss,  run  down  a 
wherry." 

"How  many  in  the  wherry?" 

"One  man,  Miss  Abbey." 

"Found?" 

"Yes.  He's  been  under  water  a  long  time, 
Miss ;  but  they've  grappled  up  the  body." 

"Let  'em  bring  it  here.  You,  Bob  Gliddery, 
shut  the  house-door,  and  stand  by  it  on  the  in- 
side, and  don't  you  open  till  I  tell  you.  Any 
police  down  there  ?" 

"Here,  Miss  Abbey,"  was  official  rejoinder. 

"After  they  have  brought  the  body  in,  keep 


198 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


the  crowd  out,  will  you  ?  And  help  Bob  Glid- 
derv  to  shut  'em  out." 

"All  right,  Miss  Abbey." 

The  autocratic  landlady  withdrew  into  the 
house  v/ith  Riah  and  Miss  Jenny,  and  disposed 
those  forces,  one  on  either  side  of  her,  within 
the  half-door  of  the  bar,  as  behind  a  breast-work. 

"You  two  stand  close  here,"  said  Miss  Abbey, 
"  and  you'll  come  to  no  hurt,  and  see  it  brought 
in.     Bob,  you  stand  by  the  door." 

That  sentinel,  smartly  giving  his  rolled  shirt- 
sleeves an  extra  and  a  final  tuck  on  his  shoul- 
ders, obeyed. 

Sound  of  advancing  voices,  sound  of  advanc- 
ing steps.  Shuffle  and  talk  without.  Moment- 
ary pause.  Two  peculiarly  blunt  knocks  or 
pokes  at  the  door,  as  if  the  dead  man  arriving 
on  his  back  were  striking  at  it  with  the  soles  of 
his  motionless  feet. 

'  *  That's  the  stretcher,  or  the  shutter,  which- 
ever of  the  two  they  are  carrying,"  said  Miss 
Abbey,  with  experienced  ear.  "Open,  you 
Bob!" 

Door  opened.  Heavy  tread  of  laden  men.  A 
halt.  A  rush.  Stoppage  of  rush.  Door  shut. 
Baffled  hoots  from  the  vexed  souls  of  disappoint- 
ed outsiders. 

"Come  on,  men!"  said  Miss  Abbey;  for  so 
potent  was  she  with  her  subjects  that  even  then 
the  bearers  awaited  her  permission.  ' '  First- 
floor." 

The  entry  being  low,  and  the  staircase  being 
low,  they  so  took  up  the  burden  they  had  set 
down  as  to  carry  that  low.  The  recumbent  fig- 
ure, in  passing,  lay  hardly  as  high  as  the  half- 
door. 

Miss  Abbey  started  back  at  sight  of  it.  "  Why, 
good  God!"  said  she,  turning  to  her  two  com- 
panions, "that's  the  very  man  who  made  the 
declaration  we  have  just  had  in  our  hands. 
That's  Riderhood!" 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    SAME   RESPECTED   FRIEND   IN   MORE   AS- 
PECTS  THAN   ONE. 

In  sooth,  it  is  Riderhood  and  no  other,  or  it  is 
the  outer  husk  and  shell  of  Riderhood  and  no 
other,  that  is  borne  into  Miss  Abbey's  first-floor 
bedroom.  Supple  to  twist  and  turn  as  the  Rogue 
has  ever  been,  he  is  sufficiently  rigid  now ;  and 
not  without  much  shuffling  of  attendant  feet,  and 
tilting  of  his  bier  this  way  and  that  way,  and 
peril  even  of  his  sliding  off  it  and  being  tumbled 
in  a  heap  over  the  balustrades,  can  he  be  got  up 
stairs. 

"Fetch  a  doctor,"  quoth  Miss  Abbey.  And 
then,  "  Fetch  his  daughter."  On  both  of  which 
errands  quick  messengers  depart. 

The  doctor-seeking  messenger  meets  the  doc- 
tor half-way,  coming  under  convoy  of  police. 
Doctor  examines  the  dank  carcass,  and  pro- 
nounces, not  hopefully,  that  it  is  worth  while 
trying  to  reanimate  the  same.  All  the  best 
means  are  at  once  in  action,  and  every  body 
present  lends  a  hand,  and  a  heart  and  soul.  No 
one  has  the  least  regard  for  the  man ;  with  them 
all  he  has  been  an  object  of  avoidance,  suspicion, 
and  aversion ;  but  the  spark  of  life  within  him  is 
curiously  separable  from  himself  now,,  and  they 


have  a  deep  interest  in  it,  probably  because  it  is 
life,  and  they  are  living  and  must  die. 

In  answer  to  the  doctor's  inquiry  how  did  it 
happen,  and  was  any  one  to  blame,  Tom  Tootle 
gives  in  his  verdict,  unavoidable  accident,  and  no 
one  to  blame  but  the  sufferer.  "He  was  slink- 
ing about  in  his  boat,"  says  Tom,  "which  slink- 
ing were,  not  to  speak  ill  of  the  dead,  the  man- 
ner of  the  man,  when  he  come  right  athwart  the 
steamer's  bows  and  she  cut  him  in  two."  Mr. 
Tootle  is  so  far  figurative,  touching  the  dismem- 
berment, as  that  he  means  the  boat,  and  not  the 
man.     For  the  man  lies  whole  before  them. 

Captain  Joey,  the  bottle-nosed  regular  cus- 
tomer in  the  glazed  hat,  is  a  pupil  of  the  much- 
respected  old  school,  and  (having  insinuated 
himself  into  the  chamber,  in  the  execution  of  the 
important  service  of  carrying  the  drowned  man's 
neckerchief)  favors  the  doctor  with  a  sagacious 
old-scholastic  suggestion  that  the  body  should  be 
hung  up  by  the  heels,  "sim'lar,"  says  Captain 
Joey,  "to  mutton  in  a  butcher's  shop,"  and 
should  then,  as  a  particularly  choice  manoeuvre 
for  promoting  easy  respiration,  be  rolled  upon 
casks.  These  scraps  of  the  wisdom  of  the  cap- 
tain's ancestors  are  received  with  such  speechless 
indignation  by  Miss  Abbey,  that  she  instantly 
seizes  the  captain  by  the  collar,  and  without  a 
single  word  ejects  him,  not  presuming  to  remon- 
strate, from  the  scene. 

There  then  remain,  to  assist  the  doctor  and 
Tom,  only  those  three  other  regular  customers, 
Bob  Glamour,  William  Williams,  and  Jonathan 
(family  name  of  the  latter,  if  any,  unknown  to 
mankind),  who  are  quite  enough.  Miss  Abbey 
having  looked  in  to  make  sure  that  nothing  is 
wanted,  descends  to  the  bar,  and  there  awaits 
the  result,  with  the  gentle  Jew  and  Miss  Jenny 
Wren. 

If  you  are  not  gone  for  good,  Mr.  Riderhood, 
it  would  be  something  to  know  where  you  are 
hiding  at  present.  This  flabby  lump  of  mor- 
tality that  we  work  so  hard  at  with  such  patient 
perseverance,  yields  no  sign  of  you.  If  you  are 
gone  for  good,  Rogue,  it  is  very  solemn,  and  if 
you  are  coming  back,  it  is  hardly  less  so.  Nay, 
in  the  suspense  and  mystery  of  the  latter  ques- 
tion, involving  that  of  where  you  may  be  now, 
there  is  a  solemnity  even  added  to  that  of  death, 
making  us  who  are  in  attendance  alike  afraid  to 
look  on  you  and  to  look  off  you,  and  making 
those  below  start  at  the  least  sound  of  a  creak- 
ing plank  in  the  floor. 

Stay !  Did  that  eyelid  tremble  ?  So  the  doc- 
tor, breathing  low,  and  closely  watching,  asks 
himself. 

No. 

Did  that  nostril  twitch  ? 

No. 

This  artificial  respiration  ceasing,  do  I  feel 
any  faint  flutter  under  my  hand  upon  the  chest  ? 

No. 

Over  and  over  again  No.  No.  But  try  £ver 
and  over  again,  nevertheless. 

See !  A  token  of  life  !  An  indubitable  token 
of  life !  The  spark  may  smoulder  and  go  out,  or 
it  may  glow  and  expand,  but  see !  The  four 
rough  fellows,  seeing,  shed  tears.  Neither  Ri- 
derhood in  this  world,  nor  Riderhood  in  the  oth- 
er, could  draw  tears  from  them ;  but  a  striving 
human  soul  between  the  two  can  do  it  easily. 

He  is  struggling  to  come  back.    Now,  he  is 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


199 


almost  here,  now  he  is  far  away  again.  Now  he 
is  struggling  harder  to  get  back.  And  yet — like 
us  all,  when  we  swoon — like  us  all,  every  day 
of  our  lives  when  we  wake-^— he  is  instinctively 
unwilling  to  be  restored  to  the  consciousness  of 
this  existence,  and  would  be  left  dormant,  if  he 
could. 

Bob  Gliddery  returns  with  Pleasant  Rider- 
hood,  who  was  out  when  sought  for,  and  hard  to 
find.  She  has  a  shawl  over  her  head,  and  her 
first  action,  when  she  takes  it  off  weeping,  and 
courtesies  to  Miss  Abbey,  is  to  wind  her  hair  up. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Abbey,  for  having  father 
here." 

"I  am  bound  to  say,  girl,  I  didn't  know  who 
it  was,"  returns  Miss  Abbey;  "but  I  hope  it 
would  have  been  pretty  much  the  same  if  I  had 
known." 

Poor  Pleasant,  fortified  with  a  sip  of  brandy, 
is  ushered  into  the  first-floor  chamber.  She 
could  not  express  much  sentiment  about  her  fa- 
ther if  she  were  called  upon  to  pronounce  his 
funeral  oration,  but  she  has  a  greater  tenderness 
for  him  than  he  ever  had  for  her,  and  crying 
bitterly  when  she  sees  him  stretched  unconscious, 
asks  the  doctor,  with  clasped  hands:  "Is  there 
no  hope,  Sir  ?  O  poor  father !  Is  poor  father 
dead  ?" 

To  which  the  doctor,  on  one  knee  beside  the 
body,  busy  and  watchful,  only  rejoins  without 
looking  round :  "  Now,  my  girl,  unless  you  have 
the  self-command  to  be  perfectly  quiet,  I  can  not 
allow  you  to  remain  in  the  room." 

Pleasant,  consequently,  wipes  her  eyes  with 
her  back-hair,  which  is  in  fresh  need  of  being 
wound  up,  and  having  got  it  out  of  the  way, 
watches  with  terrified  interest  all  that  goes  on. 
Her  natural  woman's  aptitude  soon  renders  her 
able  to  give  a  little  help.  Anticipating  the  doc- 
tor's want  of  this  or  that,  she  quietly  has  it  ready 
for  him,  and  so  by  degrees  is  intrusted  with  the 
charge  of  supporting  her  father's  head  upon  her 
arm. 

It  is  something  so  new  to  Pleasant  to  see  her 
father  an  object  of  sympathy  and  interest,  to 
find  any  one  very  willing  to  tolerate  his  society 
in  this  world,  not  to  say  pressingly  and  sooth- 
ingly entreating  him  to  belong  to  it,  that  it 
gives  her  a  sensation  she  never  experienced  be- 
fore. Some  hazy  idea  that  if  affairs'  could  re- 
main thus  for  a  long  time  it  would  be  a  respect- 
able change,  floats  in  her  mind.  Also  some 
vague  idea  that  the  old  evil  is  drowned  out  of 
him,  and  that  if  he  should  happily  come  back  to 
resume  his  occupation  of  the  empty  form  that 
lies  upon  the  bed,  his  spirit  will  be  altered.  In 
which  state  of  mind  she  kisses  the  stony  lips, 
and  quite  believes  that  the  impassive  hand  she 
chafes  will  revive  a  tender  hand,  if  it  revive 
ever. 

Sweet  delusion  for  Pleasant  Riderhood.  But 
they  minister  to  him  with  such  extraordinary 
interest,  their  anxiety  is  so  keen,  their  vigilance 
is  so  great,  their  excited  joy  grows  so  intense  as 
the  signs  of  life  strengthen,  that  how  can  she 
resist  it,  poor  thing !  And  now  he  begins  to 
breathe  naturally,  and  he  stirs,  and  the  doctor 
declares  him  to  have  come  back  from  that  inex- 
plicable journey  where  he  stopped  on  the  dark 
road,  and  to  be  here. 

Tom  Tootle,  who  is  nearest  to  the  doctor  when 
he  says  this,  grasps  the  doctor  fervently  by  the 


hand.  Bob  Glamour,  William  Williams,  and 
Jonathan  of  the  no  surname,  all  shake  hands 
with  one  another  round,  and  with  the  doctor 
too.  Bob  Glamour  blows  his  nose,  and  Jona- 
than of  the  no  surname  is  moved  to  do  like- 
wise, but  lacking  a  pocket-handkerchief  aban- 
dons that  outlet  for  his  emotion.  Pleasant  sheds 
tears  deserving  her  own  name,  and  her  sweet 
delusion  is  at  its  height. 

There  is  intelligence  in  his  eyes.  He  wants 
to  ask  a  question.  He  wonders  where  he  is. 
Tell  him. 

"Father,  you  were  run  down  on  the  river, 
and  are  at  Miss  Abbey  Potterson's." 

He  stares  at  his  daughter,  stares  all  around 
him,  closes  his  eyes,  and  lies  slumbering  on  her 
arm. 

The  short-lived  delusion  begins  to  fade.  The 
low,  bad,  unimpressible  face  is  coming  up  from 
the  depths  of  the  river,  or  what  other  depths,  to 
the  surface  again.  As  he  grows  warm,  the  doc- 
tor and  the  four  men  cool.  As  his  lineaments 
soften  with  life,  their  faces  and  their  hearts 
harden  to  him. 

"He  will  do  now,"  says  the  doctor,  washing 
his  hands,  and  looking  at  the  patient  with  grow- 
ing disfavor. 

"Many  a  better  man,"  moralizes  Tom  Tootle 
with  a  gloomy  shake  of  the  head,  "ain't  had  his 
luck." 

"It's  to  be  hoped  he'll  make  a  better  use  of 
his  life,"  says  Bob  Glamour,  "  than  I  expect  he 
will." 

"Or  than  he  done  afore,"  adds  William  Will- 
iams. 

"But  no,  not  he !"  says  Jonathan  of  the  no 
surname,  clenching  the  quartette. 

They  speak  in  a  low  tone  because  of  his 
daughter,  but  she  sees  that  they  have  all  drawn 
off,  and  that  they  stand  in  a  group  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  shunning  him.  It  would  be 
too  much  to  suspect  them  of  being  sorry  that  he 
didn't  die  when  he  had  done  so  much  toward  it, 
but  they  clearly  wish  that  they  had  had  a  better 
subject  to  bestow  their  pains  on.  Intelligence  is 
conveyed  to  Miss  Abbey  in  the  bar,  who  reap- 
pears on  the  scene,  and  contemplates  from  a  dis- 
tance, holding  whispered  discourse  with  the  doc- 
tor. The  spark  of  life  was  deeply  interesting 
while  it  was  in  abeyance,  but  now  that  it  has 
got  established  in  Mr.  Riderhood,  there  appears 
to  be  a  general  desire  that  circumstances  had 
admitted  of  its  being  developed  in  any  body  else 
rather  than  that  gentleman. 

"  However,"  says  Miss  Abbey,  cheering  them 
up,  "  you  have  done  your  duty  like  good  and 
true  men,  and  you  had  better  come  down  and 
take  something  at  the  expense  of  the  Porters." 

This  they  all  do,  leaving  the  daughter  watch- 
ing the  father.  To  whom,  in  their  absence,  Bob 
Gliddery  presents  himself. 

"His  gills  looks  rum  ;  don't  they?"  says  Bob, 
after  inspecting  the  patient. 

Pleasant  faintly  nods. 

"  His  gills  '11  look  rummer  when  he  wakes ; 
won't  they  ?"  says  Bob. 

Pleasant  hopes  not.     Why  ? 

"When  he  finds  himself  here,  you  know," 
Bob  explains.  "  Cause  Miss  Abbey  forbid  him 
the  house  and  ordered  him  out  of  it.  But  what 
you  may  call  the  Fates  ordered  him  into  it  again. 
Which  is  rumness :  ain't  it  ?" 


200 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


11  He  wouldn't  have  come  here  of  his  own  ac- 
cord," returns  poor  Pleasant,  with  an  effort  at 
a  little  pride. 

"No,"  retorts  Bob.  "Nor  he  wouldn't  have 
been  let  in,  if  he  had." 

The  short  delusion  is  quite  dispelled  now. 
As  plainly  as  she  sees  on  her  arm  the  old  father, 
unimproved,  Pleasant  sees  that  every  body  there 
will  cut  him  when  he  recovers  consciousness. 
"I'll  take  him  away  ever  so  soon  as  I  can," 
thinks  Pleasant  with  a  sigh ;  "  he's  best  at 
home." 

Presently  they  all  return,  and  wait  for  him  to 
become  conscious  that  they  will  all  be  glad  to 
get  rid  of  him.  Some  clothes  are  got  together 
for  him  to  wear,  his  own  being  saturated  with 
water,  and  his  present  dress  being  composed  of 
blankets. 

Becoming  more  and  more  uncomfortable,  as 
though  the  prevalent  dislike  were  finding  him 
out  somewhere  in  his  sleep  and  expressing  itself 
to  him,  the  patient  at  last  opens  his  eyes  wide, 
and  is  assisted  by  his  daughter  to  sit  up  in  bed. 

"Well,  Riderhood,"  says  the  doctor,  "how 
do  you  feel  ?" 


He  replies  gruffly,  "Nothing  to  boast  on.  ' 
Having,  in  fact,  returned  to  life  in  an  uncom- 
monly sulky  state. 

"I  don't  mean  to  preach  ;  but  I  hope,"  says 
the  doctor,  gravely  shaking  his  head,  "that  this 
escape  may  have  a  good  effect  upon  you,  Rider- 
hood." 

The  patient's  discontented  growl  of  a  reply  is 
not  intelligible;  his  daughter,  however,  could 
interpret,  if  she  would,  that  what  he  says  is,  he 
"don't  want  no  Poll-Parroting." 

Mr.  Riderhood  next  demands  his  shirt,  and 
draws  it  on  over  his  head  (with  his  daughter's 
help)  exactly  as  if  he  had  just  had  a  Fight. 

"Warn't  it  a  steamer?"  he  pauses  to  ask  her. 

"Yes,  father." 

"  I'll  have  the  law  on  her,  bust  her  !  and  make 
her  pay  for  it." 

He  then  buttons  his  linen  very  moodily,  twice 
or  thrice  stopping  to  examine  his  arms  and 
hands,  as  if  to  see  what  punishment  he  has  re- 
ceived in  the  Fight.  He  then  doggedly  demands 
his  other  garments,  and  slowly  gets  them  on, 
with  an  appearance  of  great  malevolence  toward 
his  late  opponent  and  all  the  spectators.     He 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


201 


has  an  impression  that  his  nose  is  bleeding,  and 
several  times  draws  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
it,  and  looks  for  the  result,  in  a  pugilistic  man- 
ner, greatly  strengthening  that  incongruous  re- 
semblance. 

"Where's  my  fur  cap?"  he  asks  in  a  surly 
voice,  when  he  has  shuffled  his  clothes  on. 

"  In  the  river,"  somebody  rejoins. 

"  And  warn't  there  no  honest  man  to  pick  it 
up?  O'  course  there  was  though,  and  to  cut 
off  with  it  arterwards.  You  are  a  rare  lot,  all 
on  you !" 

Thus,  Mr.  Riderhood :  taking  from  the  hands 
of  his  daughter,  with  special  ill-will,  a  lent  cap, 
and  grumbling  as  he  pulls  it  down  over  his  ears. 
Then,  getting  on  his  unsteady  legs,  leaning  heav- 
ily upon  her,  and  growling  "Hold  still,  can't 
you  ?  What !  You  must  be  a  staggering  next, 
must  you?"  he  takes  his  departure  out  of  the 
ring  in  which  he  has  had  that  little  turn-up  with 
Death. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   HAPPY   RETURN  OF   THE   DAY. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wilfer  had  seen  a  full  quarter 
of  a  hundred  more  anniversaries  of  their  wed- 
ding-day than  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammlc  had  seen 
of  theirs,  but  they  still  celebrated  the  occasion 
in  the  bosom  of  their  family.  Not  that  these 
celebrations  ever  resulted  .in  any  thing  particu- 
larly agreeable,  or  that  the  family  was  ever  dis- 
appointed by  that  circumstance  on  account  of 
having  looked  forward  to  the  return  of  the  au- 
spicious day  with  sanguine  anticipations  of  en- 
joyment. It  was  kept  morally,  rather  as  a  Fast 
than  a  Feast,  enabling  Mrs.  Wilfer  to  hold  a 
sombre  darkling  state,  which  exhibited  that  im- 
pressive woman  in  her  choicest  colors. 

The  noble  lady's  condition  on  these  delightful 
occasions  was  one  compounded  of  heroic  endur- 
ance and  hei-oic  forgiveness.  Lurid  indications 
of  the  better  marriages  she  might  have  made 
shone  athwart  the  awful  gloom  of  her  compos- 
ure, and  fitfully  revealed  the  cherub  as  a  little 
monster  unaccountably  favored  by  Heaven,  who 
had  possessed  himself  of  a  blessing  fop  which 
many  of  his  superiors  had  sued  and  contended 
in  vain.  So  firmly  had  this  his  position  toward 
his  treasure  become  established,  that  when  the 
anniversary  arrived,  it  always  found  him  in  an 
apologetic  state.  It  is  not  impossible  that  his 
modest  penitence  may  have  even  gone  the  length 
of  sometimes  severely  reproving  him  for  that  he 
ever  took  the  liberty  of  making  so  exalted  a 
character  his  wife. 

As  for  the  children  of  the  union,  their  experi- 
ence of  these  festivals  had  been  sufficiently  un- 
comfortable to  lead  them  annually  to  wish,  when 
out  of  their  tenderest  years,  either  that  Ma  had 
married  somebody  else  instead  of  much-teased 
Pa,  or  that  Pa  had  married  somebody  else  in- 
stead of  Ma.  When  there  came  to  be  but  two 
sisters  left  at  home,  the  daring  mind  of  Bella  on 
the  next  of  these  occasions  scaled  the  height  of 
wondering  with  droll  vexation  "what  on  earth 
Pa  ever  could  have  seen  in  Ma,  to  induce  him 
to  make  such  a  little  fool  of  himself  as  to  ask  her 
to  have  hhn." 

The  revolving  year  now  bringing  the  day  round 
in  its  orderly  sequence,  Bella  arrived  in  the  Bof- 


fin chariot  to  assist  at  the  celebration.  It  was 
the  family  custom,  when  the  day  recurred,  to 
sacrifice  a  pair  of  fowls  on  the  altar  of  Hymen  ; 
and  Bella  had  sent  a  note  beforehand  to  inti- 
mate that  she  would  bring  the  votive  offering 
with  her.  So  Bella  and  the  fowls,  by  the  unit- 
ed energies  of  two  horses,  two  men,  four  wheels, 
and  a  plum-pudding  carriage  dog  with  as  un- 
comfortable a  collar  on  as  if  he  had  been  George 
the  Fourth,  were  deposited  at  the  door  of  the 
parental  dwelling.  They  were  there  received 
by  Mrs.  Wilfer  in  person,  whose  dignity  on  this, 
as  on  most  special  Occasions,  was  heightened  by 
a  mysterious  toothache. 

"I  shall  not  require  the  carriage  at  night," 
said  Bella.     "  I  shall  walk  back." 

The  male  domestic  of  Mrs.  Boffin  touched  his 
hat,  and  in  the  act  of.  departure  had  an  awful 
glare  bestowed  upon  him  by  Mrs.  Wilfer,  in- 
tended to  carry  deep  into  his  audacious  soul  the 
assurance  that,  whatever  his  private  suspicions 
might  be,  male  domestics  in  livery  were  no  rari- 
ty there. 

"Well,  dear  Ma,"  said  Bella,  "and  how  do 
you  do?" 

"I  am  as  well,  Bella,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
"  as  can  be  expected." 

"Dear  me,  Ma,"  said  Bella  ;  "  you  talk  as  if 
one  was  just  born  !" 

"That's  exactly  what  Ma  has  been  doing," 
interposed  Lavvy,  over  the  maternal  shoulder, 
"ever  since  we  got  up  this  morning.  It's  all 
very  well  to  laugh,  Bella,  but  any  thing  more 
exasperating  it  is  impossible  to  conceive." 

Mrs.  Wilfer,  with  a  look  too  full  of  majesty  to 
be  accompanied  by  any  words,  attended  both 
her  daughters  to  the  kitchen,  where  the  sacrifice 
was  to  be  prepared. 

"Mr.  Rokesmith,"  said  she,  resignedly,  "has 
been  so  polite  as  to  place  his  sitting-room  at  our 
disposal  to-day.  You  will  therefore,  Bella,  be 
entertained  in  the  humble  abode  of  your  par- 
ents, so  far  in  accordance  with  your  present  style 
of  living,  that  there  will  be  a  drawing-room  for 
your  reception  as  well  as  a  dining-room.  Your 
papa  invited  Mr.  Rokesmith  to  partake  of  our 
lowly  fare.  In  excusing  himself  on  account  of 
a  particular  engagement  he  offered  the  use  of 
his  apartment." 

Bella  happened  to  know  that  he  had  no  en- 
gagement out  of  his  own  room  at  Mr.  Boffin's, 
but  she  approved  of  his  staying  away.  "We 
should  only  have  put  one  another  out  of  counte- 
nance," she  thought,  "and  we  do  that  quite  oft- 
en enough  as  it  is." 

Yet  she  had  sufficient  curiosity  about  his  room 
to  run  up  to  it  with  the  least  possible  delay,  and 
make  a  close  inspection  of  its  contents.  It  was 
tastefully  though  economically  furnished,  and 
very  neatly  arranged.  There  were  shelves  and 
stands  of  books — English,  French,  and  Italian  ; 
and  in  a  port-folio  on  the  writing-table  there 
were  sheets  upon  sheets  of  memoranda  and  cal- 
culations in  figures,  evidently  referring  to  the 
Boffin  property.  On  that  table  also,  carefully 
backed  with  canvas,  varnished,  mounted,  and 
rolled  like  a  map,  was  the  placard  descriptive 
of  the  murdered  man  who  had  come  from  afar 
to  be  her  husband.  She  shrank  from  this  ghost- 
ly surprise,  and  felt  quite  frightened  as  she  rolled 
and  tied  it  up  again.  Peeping  about  here  and 
there  she  came  upon  a  print,  a  graceful  head  of 


202 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


a  pretty  woman,  elegantly  framed,  hanging  in 
the  corner  by  the  easy -chair.  "Oh,  indeed, 
Sir !"  said  Bella,  after  stopping  to  ruminate  be- 
fore it.  "  Oh,  indeed,  Sir !  I  fancy  I  can  guess 
whom  you  think  that's  like.  But  I'll  tell  you 
what  it's  much  more  like — your  impudence!" 
Having  said  which  she  decamped :  not  solely 
because  she  was  offended,  but  because  there  was 
nothing  else  to  look  at. 

"Now,  Ma,"  said  Bella,  reappearing  in  the 
kitchen  with  some  remains  of  a  blush,  "you 
and  Lavvy  think  magnificent  me  fit  for  no- 
thing, but  I  intend  to  prove  the  contrary.  I 
mean  to  be  Cook  to-day." 

"Hold!"  rejoined  her  majestic  mother.  "I 
can  not  permit  it.     Cook,  in  that  dress !" 

"As  for  my  dress,  Ma,"  returned  Bella,  mer- 
rily searching  in  a  dresser-drawer,  "  I  mean  to 
apron  it  and  towel  it  all  over  the  front ;  and  as 
to  permission,  I  mean  to  do  without." 

"  You  cook?"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer.  "  You,  who 
never  cooked  when  you  were  at  home  ?" 

"Yes,  Ma,"  returned  Bella ;  "  that  is  precise- 
ly the  state  of  the  case." 

She  girded  herself  with  a  white  apron,  and 
busily  with  knots  and  pins  contrived  a  bib  to  it, 
coming  close  and  tight  under  her  chin,  as  if  it 
had  caught  her  round  the  neck  to  kiss  her. 
Over  this  bib  her  dimples  looked  delightful, 
and  under  it  her  pretty  figure  not  less  so. 
"Now,  Ma,"  said  Bella,  pushing  back  her  hair 
from  her  temples  with  both  hands,  "what's 
first  ?" 

"First,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilfer,  solemnly,  "if 
you  persist  in  what  I  can  not  but  regard  as  con- 
duct utterly  incompatible  with  the  equipage  in 
which  you  arrived — " 

("Which  I  do,  Ma.") 

"First,  then,  you  put  the  fowls  down  to  the 
fire." 

"To — be — sure!"  cried  Bella;  "and  flour 
them,  and  twirl  them  round,  and  there  they  go !" 
sending  them  spinning  at  a  great  rate.  "What's 
next,  Ma?" 

"  Next,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer  with  a  wave  of  her 
gloves,  expressive  of  abdication  under  protest 
from  the  culinary  throne,  "I  would  recommend 
examination  of  the  bacon  in  the  sauce-pan  on 
the  fire,  and  also  of  the  potatoes  by  the  applica- 
tion of  a  fork.  Preparation  of  the  greens  will 
further  become  necessary  if  you  persist  in  this 
unseemly  demeanor." 

"As  of  course  I  do,  Ma." 

Persisting,  Bella  gave  her  attention  to  one 
thing  and  forgot  the  other,  and  gave  her  atten- 
tion to  the  other  and  forgot  the  third,  and  re- 
membering the  third  was  distracted  by  the  fourth, 
and  made  amends  whenever  she  went  wrong  by 
giving  the  unfortunate  fowls  an  extra  spin,  which 
made  their  chance  of  ever  getting  cooked  ex- 
ceedingly doubtful.  But  it  was  pleasant  cook- 
ery too.  Meantime  Miss  Lavinia,  oscillating 
between  the  kitchen  and  the  opposite  room,  pre- 
pared the  dining-table  in  the  latter  chamber. 
This  office  she  (always  doing  her  household 
spiriting  with  unwillingness)  performed  in  a 
startling  series  of  whisks  and  bumps ;  laying 
the  table-cloth  as  if  she  were  raising  the  wind, 
putting  down  the  glasses  and  salt-cellars  as  if 
she  were  knocking  at  the  door,  and  clashing  the 
knives  and  forks  in  a  skirmishing  manner  sug- 
gestive of  hand-to-hand  conflict. 


"Look  at  Ma,"  whispered  Lavinia  to  Bella 
when  this  was  done,  and  they  stood  over  the 
roasting  fowls.  "If  one  was  the  most  dutiful 
child  in  existence  (of  course  on  the  whole  one 
hopes  one  is),  isn't  she  enough  to  make  one 
want  to  poke  her  with  something  wooden,  sit- 
ting there  bolt  upright  in  a  corner  ?" 

"Only  suppose,"  returned  Bella,  "that  poor 
Pa  was  to  sit  bolt  upright  in  another  corner." 

"  My  dear,  he  couldn't  do  it,"  said  Lavvy. 
"Pa  would  loll  directly.  But  indeed  I  do  not 
believe  there  ever  was  any  human  creature  who 
could  keep  so  bolt  upright  as  Ma,  or  put  such  an 
amount  of  aggravation  into  one  back  !  What's 
the  matter,  Ma?     Ain't  you  well,  Ma?" 

"Doubtless  I  am  very  well,"  returned  Mrs. 
Wilfer,  turning  her  eyes  upon  her  youngest  born 
with  scornful  fortitude.  "What  should  be  the 
matter  with  Me  ?" 

"  You  don't  seem  very  brisk,  Ma,"  retorted 
Lavvy  the  bold. 

"Brisk?"  repeated  her  parent,  "Brisk? 
Whence  the  low  expression,  Lavinia  ?  If  I  am 
uncomplaining,  if  I  am  silently  contented  with 
my  lot,  let  that  suffice  for  my  family." 

"W.ell,  Ma,"  returned  Lavvy,  "since  yon 
will  force  it  out  of  me,  I  must  respectfully  take 
leave  to  say  that  your  family  are  no  doubt  under 
the  greatest  obligations  to  you  for  having  an 
annual  toothache  on  your  wedding-day,  and 
that  it's  very  disinterested  in  you,  and  an  im- 
mense blessing  to  them.  Still,  on  the  whole,  it 
is  possible  to  be  too  boastful  even  of  that  boon." 

"You  incarnation  of  sauciness,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilfer,  "do  you  speak  like  that  to  me?  On 
this  day,  of  all  days  in  the  year?  Pray  do  you 
know  what  would  have  become  of  you  if  I  had 
not  bestowed  my  hand  upon  R.  W.,  your  father, 
on  this  day  ?" 

"No,  Ma,"  replied  Lavvy,  " I  really  do  not ; 
and,  with  the  greatest  respect  for  your  abilities 
and  information,  I  very  much  doubt  if  you  do 
either." 

Whether  or  no  the  sharp  vigor  of  this  sally 
on  a  weak  point  of  Mrs.  Wilfer's  intrenchments 
might  have  routed  that  heroine  for  the  time,  is 
rendered  uncertain  by  the  arrival  of  a  flag  of 
truce  in  the  person  of  Mr.  George  Sampson : 
bidden  to  the  feast  as  a  friend  of  the  family, 
whose  affections  were  now  understood  to  be  in 
course  of  transferrence  from  Bella  to  Lavinia, 
and  whom  Lavinia  kept — possibly  in  remem- 
brance of  his  bad  taste  in  having  overlooked  her 
in  the  first  instance — under  a  course  of  stinging 
discipline. 

"I  congratulate  you,  Mrs.  Wilfer,"  said  Mr. 
George  Sampson,  who  had  meditated  this  neat 
address  while  coming  along,  "on  the  day." 
Mrs.  Wilfer  thanked  him  with  a  magnanimous 
sigh,  and  again  became  an  unresisting  prey  to 
that  inscrutable  toothache. 

"I  am  surprised,"  said  Mr.  Sampson,  feebly, 
"that  Miss  Bella  condescends  to  cook." 

Here  Miss  Lavinia  descended  on  the  ill-starred 
young  gentleman  with  a  crushing  supposition 
that  at  all  events  it  was  no  business  of  his.  This  ' 
disposed  of  Mr.  Sampson  in  a  melancholy  retire- 
ment of  spirit,  until  the  cherub  arrived,  whose 
amazement  at  the  lovely  woman's  occupation 
was  great. 

However,  she  persisted  in  dishing  the  dinner 
as  well  as  cooking  it,  and  then  sat  down,  bibless 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


203 


and  apronless,  to  partake  of  it  as  an  illustrious 
guest :  Mrs.  Wilfer  first  responding  to  her  hus- 
band's cheerful  "For  what  we  are  about  to  re- 
ceive— "  with  a  sepulchral  Amen,  calculated  to 
cast  a  damp  upon  the  stoutest  appetite. 

"But  what,"  said  Bella,  as  she  watched  the 
carving  of  the  fowls,  "makes  them  pink  inside, 
I  wonder,  Pa !     Is  it  the  breed?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  it's  the  breed,  my  dear," 
returned  Pa.  "  I  rather  think  it  is  because  they 
are  not  done." 

"  They  ought  to  be,"  said  Bella. 

"  Yes,  I  am  aware  they  ought  to  be,  my  dear," 
rejoined  her  father,  "but  they — ain't." 

So  the  gridiron  was  put  in  requisition,  and 
the  good-tempered  cherub,  who  was  often  as  un- 
cherubically  employed  in  his  own  family  as  if 
he  had  been  in  the  employment  of  some  of  the 
Old  Masters,  undertook  to  grill  the  fowls.  In- 
deed, except  in  respect  of  staring  about  him  (a 
branch  of  the  public  service  to  which  the  picto- 
rial cherub  is  much  addicted),  this  domestic 
cherub  discharged  as  many  odd  functions  as  his 
prototype  ;  with  the  difference,  say,  that  he  per- 
formed with  a  blacking-brush  on  the  family's 
boots,  instead  of  performing  on  enormous  wind 
instruments  and  double-basses,  and  that  he  con- 
ducted himself  with  cheerful  alacrity  to  much 
useful  purpose,  instead  of  foreshortening  himself 
in  the  air  with  the  vaguest  intentions. 

Bella  helped  him  with  his  supplemental  cook- 
ery, and  made  him  very  happy,  but  put  him  in 
mortal  terror  too  by  asking  him,  when  they  sat 
down  at  table  again,  how  he  supposed  they  cooked 
fowls  at  the  Greenwich  dinners,  and  whether  he 
believed  they  really  were  such  pleasant  dinners 
as  people  said  ?  His  secret  winks  and  nods  of 
remonstrance,  in  reply,  made  the  mischievous 
Bella  laugh  until  she  choked,  and  then  Lavinia 
was  obliged  to  slap  her  on  the  back,  and  then 
she  laughed  the  more. 

But  her  mother  was  a  fine  corrective  at  the 
other  end  of  the  table ;  to  whom  her  father,  in 
the  innocence  of  his  good-fellowship,  at  intervals 
appealed  with:  "My  dear,  I  am  afraid  you  ai-e 
not  enjoying  yourself?" 

"Why  so,  R.  W.  ?"  she  would  sonorously  re- 

v]y- 

"Because,  my  dear,  you  seem  a  little  out  of 
sorts." 

"Not  at  all,"  would  be  the  rejoinder,  in  ex- 
actly the  same  tone. 

' '  Would  you  take  a  merry-thought,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Thank  you.  I  will  take  whatever  you  please, 
R.  W." 

"Well,  but  my  dear,  do  you  like  it?" 

"I  like  it  as  well  as  I  like  any  thing,  R.  W." 
The  stately  woman  would  then,  with  a  meritori- 
ous appearance  of  devoting  herself  to  the  general 
good,  pursue  her  dinner  as  if  she  were  feeding 
somebody  else  on  high  public  grounds. 

Bella  had  brought  dessert  and  two  bottles  of 
wine,  thus  shedding  unprecedented  splendor  on 
the  occasion.  Mrs.  Wilfer  did  the  honors  of  the 
first  glass  by  proclaiming:  "R.  W.,  I  drink  to 
you." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear.    And  I  to  you. 

"Pa  and  Ma!"  said  Bella. 

"Permit  me,"  Mrs.  Wilfer  interposed,  with 
outstretched  glove.  "  No.  I  think  not.  I  drank 
to  your  papa.  If,  however,  you  insist  on  includ- 
ing me,  I  can  in  gratitude  offer  no  objection." 


"Why,  Lor,  Ma,"  interposed  Lavvy  the  bold, 
"  isn't  it  the  day  that  made  you  and  Pa  one  and 
the  same?     I  have  no  patience!" 

"By  whatever  other  circumstance  the  day  may 
be  marked,  it  is  not  the  day,  Lavinia,  on  which 
I  will  allow  a  child  of  mine  to  pounce  upon 
me.  I  beg — nay,  command! — that  you  will  not 
pounce.  R.  W.,  it  is  appropriate  to  recall  that 
it  is  for  you  to  command  and  for  me  to  obey.  It 
is  your  house,  and  you  are  master  at  your  own 
table.  Both  our  healths!"  Drinking  the  toast 
with  tremendous  stiffness. 

"I  really  am  a  little  afraid,  my  dear,"  hinted 
the  cherub  meekly,  "that  vou  are  not  enjoying 
yourself?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
"quite  so.     Why  should  I  not?" 

"  I  thought,  my  dear,  that  perhaps  your  face 
might — " 

"My  face  might  be  a  martyrdom,  but  what 
would  that  import,  or  who  should  know  it,  if  I 
smiled?" 

And  she  did  smile;  manifestly  freezing  the 
blood  of  Mr.  George  Sampson  by  so  doing.  For 
that  young  gentleman,  catching  her  smiling  eye, 
was  so  very  much  appalled  by  its  expression  as 
to  cast  about  in  his  thoughts  concerning  what  he 
had  done  to  bring  it  down  upon  himself. 

"The  mind  naturally  falls,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
"  shall  I  say  into  a  reverie,  or  shall  I  say  into  a 
retrospect?  on  a  day  like  this." 

Lavvy,  sitting  with  defiantly  folded  arms,  re- 
plied (but  not  audibly),  "For  goodness'  sake  say 
whichever  of  the  two  you  like  best,  Ma,  and  get 
it  over." 

"The  mind,"  pursued  Mrs.  Wilfer  in  an  ora- 
torical mannei',  "  naturally  reverts  to  Papa  and 
Mamma — I  here  allude  to  my  parents — at  a 
period  before  the  earliest  dawn  of  this  day.  I 
was  considered  tall ;  perhaps  I  was.  Papa  and 
Mamma  were  unquestionably  tall.  I  have  rare- 
ly seen  a  finer  woman  than  my  mother ;  never 
than  my  father." 

The  irrepressible  Lavvy  remarked  aloud, 
"Whatever  grandpapa  was,  he  wasn't  a  female." 

"Your  grandpapa,"  retorted  Mrs. Wilfer,  with 
an  awful  look,  and  in  an  awful  tone,  "was  what 
I  describe  him  to  have  been,  and  would  have 
struck  any  of  his  grandchildren  to  the  earth  who 
presumed  to  question  it.  It  was  one  of  mam- 
ma's cherished  hopes  that  I  should  become  unit- 
ed to  a  tall  member  of  society.  It  may  have 
been  a  weakness,  but  if  so,  it  was  equally  the 
weakness,  I  believe,  of  King  Frederick  of  Prus- 
sia.-' These  remarks  being  offered  to  Mr.  George 
Sampson,  who  had  not  the  courage  to  come  out 
for  single  combat,  but  lurked  with  his  chest  un- 
der the  table  and  his  eyes  cast  down,  Mrs.  Wil- 
fer proceeded,  in  a  voice  of  increasing  sternness 
and  impressiveness,  until  she  should  force  that 
skulker  to  give  himself  up.  "Mamma  would 
appear  to  have  had  an  indefinable  foreboding 
of  what  afterward  happened,  for  she  would  fre- 
quently urge  upon  me,  '  Not  a  little  man.  Prom- 
ise me,  my  child,  not  a  little  man.  Never,  nev- 
er, never  marry  a  little  man  !'  Papa  also  would 
remark  to  me  (he  possessed  extraordinary  hu- 
mor), •  that  a  family  of  whales  must  not  ally 
themselves  with  sprats.'  His  company  was  ea- 
gerly sought,  as  may  be  supposed,  by  the  wits  of 
the  day,  and  our  house  was  their  continual  re- 
sort.    I  have  known  as  many  as  three  copper- 


204 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


plate  engravers  exchanging  the  most  exquisite 
sallies  and  retorts  there  at  one  time."  (Here 
Mr.  Sampson  delivered  himself  captive,  and  said, 
with  an  uneasy  movement  on  his  chair,  that 
three  was  a  large  number,  and  it  must  have  been 
highly  entertaining.)  "Among  the  most  prom- 
inent members  of  that  distinguished  circle  was 
a  gentleman  measuring  six  feet  four  in  height. 
He  was  not  an  engraver."  (Here  Mr.  Sampson 
said,  with  no  reason  whatever,  Of  course  not.) 
"This  gentleman  was  so  obliging  as  to  honor 
me  with  attentions  which  I  could  not  fail  to  un- 
derstand." (Here  Mr.  Sampson  murmured  that 
when  it  came  to  that  you  could  always  tell.) 
"  I  immediately  announced  to  both  my  parents 
that  those  attentions  were  misplaced,  and  that  I 
could  not  favor  his  suit.  They  inquired  was  he 
too  tall  ?  I  replied  it  was  not  the  stature,  but 
the  intellect  was  too  lofty.  At  our  house,  I  said, 
the  tone  was  too  brilliant,  the  pressure  was  too 
high,  to  be  maintained  by  me,  a  mere  woman, 
in  everyday  domestic  life.  I  well  remember 
mamma's  clasping  her  hands,  and  exclaiming, 
'This  will  end  in  a  little  man!'"  (Here  Mr. 
Sampson  glanced  at  his  host  and  shook  his  head 
with  despondency.)  "  She  afterward  went  so  far 
as  to  predict  that  it  would  end  in  a  little  man 
whose  mind  would  be  below  the  average,  but 
that  was  in  what  I  may  denominate  a  paroxysm 
of  maternal  disappointment.  Within  a  month," 
said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  deepening  her  voice,  as  if  she 
were  relating  a  terrible  ghost. story,  "within  a 
month  I  first  saw  R.  W.,  my  husband:  Within 
a  year  I  married  him.  It  is  natural  for  the 
mind  to  recall  these  dark  coincidences  on  the 
present  day." 

Mr.  Sampson  at  length  released  from  the  cus- 
tody of  Mrs.  Wilfer's  eye,  now  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  made  the  original  and  striking  re- 
mark that  there  was  no  accounting  for  these  sort 
of  presentiments.  R.  W.  scratched  his  head  and 
looked  apologetically  all  round  the  table  until  he 
came  to  his  wife,  when,  observing  her,  as  it  were, 
shrouded  in  a  more  sombre  weight  than  before, 
he  once  more  hinted,  "My  dear,  I  am  really 
afraid  you  are  not  altogether  enjoying  yourself  ?" 
To  which  she  once  more  replied,  "  On  the  con- 
trary, R.  W.     Quite  so." 

The  wretched  Mr.  Sampson's  position  at  this 
agreeable  entertainment  was  truly  pitiable.  For 
not  only  was  he  exposed  defenseless  to  the  ha- 
rangues of  Mrs.  Wilfer,  but  he  received  the  ut- 
most contumely  at  the  hands  of  Lavinia ;  Who, 
partly  to  show  Bella  that  she  (Lavinia)  could  do 
what  she  liked  with  him,  and  partly  to  pay'him 
off  for  still  obviously  admiring  Bella's  beauty, 
led  him  the  life  of  a  dog.  Illuminated  on  the 
one  hand  by  the  stately  graces  of  Mrs.  Wilfer's 
oratory,  and  shadowed  on  the  other  by  the  checks 
and  frowns  of  the  young  lady  to  whom  he  had 
devoted  himself  in  his  destitution,  the  sufferings 
of  this  young  gentleman  were  distressing  to  wit- 
ness. If  his  mind  for  the  moment  reeled  under 
them,  it  may  be  urged,  in  extenuation  of  its 
weakness,  that  it  was  constitutionally  a  knock- 
knee'd  mind,  and  never  very  strong  upon  its  legs. 

The  rosy  hours  were  thus  beguiled  until  it  was 
time  for  Bella  to  have  Pa's  escort  back.  The 
dimples  duly  tied  up  in  the  bonnet-strings,  and 
the  leave-taking  done,  they  got  out  into  the  air, 
and  the  cherub  drew  a  long  breath  as  if  he  found 
it  refreshing. 


"Well,  dear  Pa," said  Bella,  "the  anniversa- 
ry may  be  considered  over." 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  returned  the  cherub, "  there's 
another  of  'em  gone." 

Bella  drew  his  arm  closer  through  hers  as 
they  walked  along,  and  gave  it  a  number  of 
consolatory  pats.  "Thank  you,  my  dear,"  he 
said,  as  if  she  had  spoken;  "I  am  all  right,  my 
dear.     Well,  and  how  do  you  get  on,  Bella?"  " 

"I  am  not  at  all  improved,  Pa." 

"Ain't  you  really,  though ?" 

"  No,  Pa.     On  the  contrary,  I  am  worse." 

"Lor!"  said  the  cherub. 

"I  am  worse,  Pa.  I  make  so  many  calcula- 
tions how  much  a  year  I  must  have  when  I  mar- 
ry, and  what  is  the  least  I  can  manage  to  do 
with,  that  I  am  beginning  to  get  wrinkles  over 
my  nose.  Did  you  notice  any  wrinkles  over  my 
nose  this  evening,  Pa?" 

Pa  laughing  at  this,  Bella  gave  him  two  or 
three  shakes. 

"You  won't  laugh,  Sir,  when  you  see  your 
lovely  woman  turning  haggard.  You  had  bet- 
ter be  prepared  in  time,  I  can  tell  you.  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  keep  my  greediness  for  money  out 
of  my  eyes  long,  and  when  you  see  it  there  you'll 
be  sorry,  and  serve  you  right  for  not  being  warn- 
ed in  time.  Now,  Sir,  we  entered  into  a  bond 
of  confidence.     Have  you  any  thing  to  impart  ?" 

"  I  thought  it  was  you  who  was  to  impart,  my 
love." 

"  Oh  !  did  you  indeed,  Sir?  Then  why  didn't 
you  ask  me  the  moment  we  came  out?  The 
confidences  of  lovely  women  are  not  to  be  slight- 
ed. However,  I  forgive  you  this  once ;  and  look 
here,  Pa,  that's" — Bella  laid  the  little  forefinger 
of  her  right  glove  on  her  lip,  and  then  laid  it  on 
her  father's  lip — "that's  a  kiss  for  you.  And 
now  I  am  going  seriously  to  tell  you — let  me  see 
how  many — four  secrets.  Mind!  Serious,  grave, 
weighty  secrets.     Strictly  between  ourselves." 

"Number  one,  my  dear  ?"  said  her  father,  set- 
tling her  arm  comfortably  and  confidentially. 

"Number  one,"  said  Bella,  "will  electrify 
you,  Pa.  Who  do  you  think  has" — she  was 
confused  here  in  spite  of  her  merry  way  of  be- 
ginning— "has  made  an  offer  to  me?" 

Pa  looked  in  her  face,  and  looked  at  the 
ground,  and  looked  in  her  face  again,  and  de- 
clared he  could  never  guess. 

"Mr.  Rokesmith." 

"You  don't  tell  me  so,  my  dear!" 

"  Mis — terRoke — smith,  Pa, "said  Bella,  sep- 
arating the  syllables  for  emphasis.  "  What  do 
you  say  to  that  f" 

Pa  answered  quietly  with  the  counter-ques- 
tion, "What  did  you  say  to  that,  my  love?" 

"I  said  No,"  returned  Bella,  sharply.  "Of 
course." 

"Yes.  Of  course,"  said  her  father,  medita- 
ting. 

"  And  I  told  him  why  I  thought  it  a  betrayal 
of  trust  on  his  part,  and  an  affront  to  me,"  said 
Bella. 

"Yes.  To  be  sure.  I  am  astonished  indeed. 
I  wonder  he  committed  himself  without  seeing 
more  of  his  way  first.  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  sus- 
pect he  always  has  admired  you  though,  my 
dear." 

"A  hackney  coachman  may  admire  me,"  rc- 
I  marked  Bella,  with  a  touch  of  her  mother's  loft- 
!  iness. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


205 


c '  It's  highly  probable,  my  love.  Number  two, 
my  dear?" 

"  Number  two,  Pa,  is  much  to  the  same  pur- 
pose, though  not  so  preposterous.  Mr.  Light- 
wood  would  propose  to  me,  if  I  would  let  him." 

"Then  I  understand,  my  dear,  that  you  don't 
intend  to  let  him  ?" 

Bella  again  saying,  with  her  former  emphasis, 
"Why,  of  course  not!"  her  father  felt  himself 
bound  to  echo,  "Of  course  not." 

"I  don't  care  for  him,"  said  Bella. 

"That's  enough,"  her  father  interposed. 

"No,  Pa,  it's  not  enough,"  rejoined  Bella, 
giving  him  another  shake  or  two.  "Haven't  I 
told  you  what  a  mercenary  little  wretch  I  am  ? 
It  only  becomes  enough  when  he  has  no  money, 
and  no  clients,  and  no  expectations,  and  no  any 
thing  but  debts." 

"Hah!"  said  the  cherub,  a  little  depressed. 
"Number  three,  my  dear?" 

"  Number  three,  Pa,  is  a  better  thing.  A  gen- 
erous thing,  a  noble  thing,  a  delightful  thing. 
Mrs.  Boffin  has  herself  told  me,  as  a  secret,  with 
her  own  kind  lips — and  truer  lips  never  opened 
or  closed  in  this  life,  I  am  sure — that  they  wish 
to  see  me  well  married ;  and  that  when  I  marry 
with  their  consent  they  will  portion  me  most 
handsomely."  Here  the  grateful  girl  burst  out 
crying  very  heartily. 

"  Don't  cry,  my  darling,"  said  her  father,  with 
his  hand  to  his  eyes;  "it's  excusable  in  me  to 
be  a  little  overcome  when  I  find  that  my  dear 
favorite  child  is,  after  all  disappointments,  to  be 
so  provided  for  and  so  raised  in  the  world ;  but 
don't  you  cry,  don't  you  cry.  I  am  very  thank- 
ful. I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart,  my 
dear."  The  good  soft  little  fellow,  drying  his 
eyes  here,  Bella  put  her  arms  round  his  neck 
and  tenderly  kissed  him  on  the  high  road,  pas- 
sionately telling  him  he  was  the  best  of  fathers 
and  the  best  of  friends,  and  that  on  her  wedding- 
morning  she  would  go  down  on  her  knees  to 
him  and  beg  his  pardon  for  having  ever  teased 
him  or  seemed  insensible  to  the  worth  of  such  a 
patient,  sympathetic,  genial,  fresh  young  heart. 
At  every  one  of  her  adjectives  she  redoubled  her 
kisses,  and  finally  kissed  his  hat  off,  and  then 
laughed  immoderately  when  the  wind  took  it 
and  he  ran  after  it. 

When  he  had  recovered  his  hat  and  his  breath, 
and  they  were  going  on  again  once  more,  said 
her  father  then :  "  Number  four,  my  dear  ?" 

Bella's  countenance  fell  in  the  midst  of  her 
mirth.  "After  all,  perhaps  I  had  better  put  off 
number  four,  Pa.  Let  me  try  once  more,  if  for 
never  so  short  a  time,  to  hope  that  it  may  not 
really  be  so." 

The  change  in  her  strengthened  the  cherub's 
interest  in  number  four,  and  he  said,  quietly: 
"May  not  be  so,  my  dear?  May  not  be  how, 
my  dear  ?" 

Bella  looked  at  him  pensively,  and  shook  her 
head. 

"And  yet  I  know  right  well  it  is  so,  Pa.  I 
know  it  only  too  well." 

"My  love,"  returned  her  father,  "you  make 
me  quite  uncomfortable.  Have  you  said  No  to 
anv  body  else,  my  dear?" 

"No,  Pa." 

"Yes  to  any  body?"  he  suggested,  lifting  up 
his  eyebrows. 

"No,  Pa." 

O 


"Is  there  any  body  else  who  would  take  his 
chance  between  Yes  and  No,  if  you  would  let 
him,  my  dear?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,  Pa." 

"There  can't  be  somebody  who  won't  take  his 
chance  when  you  want  him  to  ?"  said  the  cherub, 
as  a  last  resource. 

"Why,  of  course  not,  Pa,"  said  Bella,  giving 
him  another  shake  or  two. 

"No,  of  course  not,"  he  assented.  "Bella, 
my  dear,  I  am  afraid  I  must  either  have  no  sleep 
to-night,  or  I  must  press  for  number  four." 

' '  Oh,  Pa,  there  is  no  good  in  number  four ! 
I  am  so  sorry  for  it,  I  am  so  unwilling  to  believe 
it,  I  have  tried  so  earnestly  not  to  see  it,  that  it 
is  very  hard  to  tell,  even  to  you.  But  Mr.  Bof- 
fin is  being  spoiled  by  prosperity,  and  is  chang- 
ing every  day." 

"My  dear  Bella,  I  hope  and  trust  not." 

"I  have  hoped  and  trusted  not  too,  Pa;  but 
every  day  he  changes  for  the  worse,  and  for  the 
worse.  '  Not  to  me — he  is  always  much  the  same 
to  me — but  to  others  about  him.  Before  my 
eyes  he  grows  suspicious,  eapricious,  hard,  ty- 
rannical, unjust.  If  ever  a  good  man  were  ruin- 
ed by  good  fortune,  it  is  my  benefactor.  And 
yet,  Pa,  think  how  terrible  the  fascination  of 
money  is !  I  see  this,  and  hate  this,  and  dread 
this,  and  don't  know  but  that  money  might  make 
a  much  worse  change  in  me.  And  yet  I  have 
money  always  in  my  thoughts  and  my  desires; 
and  the  whole  life  I  place  before  myself  is  money, 
money,  money,  and  what  money  can  make  of 
life!" 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  GOLDEN  DUSTMAN  FALLS  INTO  BAD  COM- 
PANY. 

Were  Bella  Wilfer's  bright  and  ready  little 
wits  at  fault,  or  was  the  Golden  Dustman  pass- 
ing through  the  furnace  of  proof  and  coming  out 
dross  ?  Ill  news  travels  fast.  We  shall  know  full 
soon. 

On  that  very  night  of  her  return  from  the  Hap- 
py Return,  something  chanced  which  Bella  close- 
ly followed  with  her  eyes  and  ears.  There  was 
an  apartment  at  the  side  of  the  Boffin  mansion, 
known  as  Mr.  Boffin's  room.  Far  less  grand  than 
the  rest  of  the  house,  it  was  far  more  comforta- 
ble, being  pervaded  by  a-  certain  air  of  home- 
ly snugness,  which  upholstering  despotism  had 
banished  to  that  spot  when  it  inexorably  set  its 
face  against  Mr.  Boffin's  appeals  for  mercy  in 
behalf  of  any  other  chamber.  Thus,  although  a 
room  of  modest  situation — for  its  windows  gave 
on  Silas  Wegg's  old  corner — and  of  no  preten- 
sions to  velvet,  satin,  or  gilding,  it  had  got  it- 
self established  in  a  domestic  position  analogous 
to  that  of  an  easy  dressing-gown  or  pair  of  slip- 
pers ;  and  whenever  the  family  wanted  to  enjoy 
a  particularly  pleasant  fireside  evening,  they  en- 
joyed it,  as  an  institution  that  must  be,  in  Mr. 
Boffin's  room. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  were  reported  sitting  in 
this  room  when  Bella  got  back.  Entering  it, 
she  found  the  Secretary  there  too  ;  in  official  at- 
tendance it  would  appear,  for  he  was  standing 
with  some  papers  in  his  hand  by  a  table  with 
shaded  candles  on  it,  at  which  ■  Mr.  Boffin  was 
seated  thrown  back  in  his  easy-chair. 


206 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"You  are  busy,  Sir,"  said  Bella,  hesitating 
at  the  door. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear,  not  at  all.  You're  one 
of  ourselves.  We  never  make  company  of  you. 
Come  in,  come  in.  Here's  the  old  lady  in  her 
usual  place." 

Mrs.  Boffin  adding  her  nod  and  smile  of  wel- 
come to  Mr.  Boffin's  words,  Bella  took  her  book 
to  a  chair  in  the  fireside  corner,  by  Mrs.  Boffin's 
work-table.  Mr.  Boffin's  station  was  on  the  op- 
posite side. 

"Now,  Rokesmith,"  said  the  Golden  Dust- 
man, so  sharply  rapping  the  table  to  bespeak  his 
attention  as  Bella  turned  the  leaves  of  her  book 
that  she  started ;   "  where  were  we  ?" 

"You  were  saying,  Sir,"  returned  the  Secre- 
tary, with  an  air  of  some  reluctance  and  a  glance 
toward  those  others  who  were  present,  "that 
you  considered  the  time  had  come  for  .fixing  my 
salary." 

"  Don't  be  above  calling  it  wages,  man,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin,  testily.  "  What  the  deuce  !  I  never 
talked  of  my  salary  when  I  was  in  service." 

"My  wages,"  said  the  Secretary,  correcting 
himself. 

"Rokesmith,  you  are  not  proud,  I  hope?"  ob- 
served Mr.  Boffin,  eying  him  askance. 

"I  hope  not,  Sir." 

"Because  I  never  was,  when  I  was  poor," 
said  Mr.  Boffin.  "Poverty  and  pride  don't  go 
at  all  well  together.  Mind  that.  How  can  they 
go  well  together  ?  Why  it  stands  to  reason.  A 
man,  being  poor,  has  nothing  to  be  proud  of. 
It's  nonsense." 

With  a  slight  inclination  of  his  head,  and  a 
look  of  some  surprise,  the  Secretary  seemed  to 
assent  by  forming  the  syllables  of  the  word  ' '  non- 
sense" on  his  lips. 

"Now,  concerning  these  same  wages,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin.     "Sit  down." 

The  Secretary  sat  down. 

"Why  didn't  you  sit  down  before?"  asked 
Mr.  Boffin,  distrustfully.  "I  hope  that  wasn't 
pride  ?  But  about  these  wages.  Now,  I've  gone 
into  the  matter,  and  I  say  two  hundred  a  year. 
What  do  you  think  of  it?  Do  you  think  it's 
enough  ?" 

"Thank  you.     It  is  a  fair  proposal." 

"I  don't  say,  you  know,"  Mr.  Boffin  stipulated, 
"but  what  it  may  be  more  than  enough.  And 
I'll  tell  you  why,  Rokesmith.  A  man  of  proper- 
ty, like  me,  is  bound  to  consider  the  market- 
price.  At  first  I  didn't  enter  into  that  as  much 
as  I  might  have  done ;  but  I've  got  acquainted 
with  other  men  of  property  since,  and  I've  got  ac- 
quainted with  the  duties  of  property.  I  mustn't 
go  putting  the  market-price  up  because  money 
may  happen  not  to  be  an  object  with  me.  A 
sheep  is  worth  so  much  in  the  market,  and  I  ought 
to  give  it  and  no  more.  A  secretary  is  worth  so 
much  in  the  market,  and  I  ought  to  give  it  and 
no  more.  However,  I  don't  mind  stretching  a 
point  with  you." 

"Mr.  Boffin,  you  are  very  good,"  replied  the 
Secretary,  with  an  effort. 

"Then  we  put  the  figure,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
"at  two  hundred  a  year.  Then  the  figure's  dis- 
posed of.  Now,  there  must  be  no  misunderstand- 
ing regarding  what  I  buy  for  two  hundred  a 
year.  If  I  pay  for  a  sheep,  I  buy  it  out  and  out. 
Similarly,  if  I  pay  for  a  secretary,  I  buy  him  out 
and  out." 


"In  other  words,  you  purchase  my  whole 
time  ?" 

' '  Certainly  I  do.  Look  here, "  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
"  it  ain't  that  I  want  to  occupy  your  whole  time ; 
you  can  take  up  a  book  for  a  minute  or  two 
when  you've  nothing  better  to  do,  though  I  think 
you'll  a'most  always  find  something  useful  to 
do.  But  I  want  to  keep  you  in  attendance.  It's 
convenient  to  have  you  at  all  times  ready  on  the 
premises.  Therefore,  betwixt  your  breakfast  and 
your  supper — on  the  premises  I  expect  to  find 
you." 

The  Secretary  bowed. 

"In  by-gone  days,  when  I  was  in  service  my- 
self," said  Mr.  Boffin,  "  I  couldn't  go  cutting 
about  at  my  will  and  pleasure,  and  you  won't 
expect  to  go  cutting  about  at  your  will  and  pleas- 
ure. You've  rather  got  into  a  habit  of  that, 
lately ;  but  perhaps  it  was  for  want  of  a  right 
specification  betwixt  us.  Now,  let  there  be  a 
right  specification  betwixt  us,  and  let  it  be  this. 
If  you  want  leave,  ask  for  it." 

Again  the  Secretary  bowed.  His  manner  was 
uneasy  and  astonished,  and  showed  a  sense  of 
humiliation. 

"I'll  have  a  bell,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "hung 
from  this  room  to  yours,  and  when  I  want  you 
I'll  touch  it.  I  don't  call  to  mind  that  I  have 
any  thing  more  to  say  at  the  present  moment." 

The  Secretary  rose,  gathered  up  his  papers, 
and  withdrew.  Bella's  eyes  followed  him  to  the; 
door,  lighted  on  Mr.  Boffin  complacently  thrown 
back  in  his  easy- chair,  and  drooped  over  her 
book. 

"  I  have  let  that  chap,  that  young  man  of 
mine,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  taking  a  trot  up  and 
clown  the  room,  "  get  above  his  work.  It  won't 
do.  I  must  have  him  down  a  peg.  A  man  of 
property  owes  a  duty  to  other  men  of  property, 
and  must  look  sharp  after  his  inferiors." 

Bella  felt  that  Mrs.  Boffin  was  not  comforta- 
ble, and  that  the  eyes  of  that  good  creature 
sought  to  discover  from  her  face  what  attention 
she  had  given  to  this  discourse,  and  what  impres- 
sion it  had  made  upon  her.  For  which  reason 
Bella's  eyes  drooped  more  engrossedly  over  her 
book,  and  she  turned  the  page  with  an  air  of 
profound  absorption  in  it. 

"  Noddy,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  after  thoughtfully 
pausing  in  her  work. 

"My  dear,"  returned  the  Golden  Dustman, 
stopping  short  in  his  trot. 

"Excuse  my  putting  it  to  you,  Noddy,  but 
now  really!  Haven't  you  been  a  little  strict 
with  Mr.  Rokesmith  to-night?  Haven't  you 
been  a  little — just  a  little  little — not  quite  like 
your  old  self?" 

"  Why,  old  woman,  I  hope  so,"  returned  Mr. 
Boffin,  cheerfully,  if  not  boastfully. 

"  Hope  so,  deary?" 

"Our  old  selves  wouldn't  do  here,  old  lady. 
Haven't  you  found  that  out  yet  ?  Our  old  selves 
would  be  fit  for  nothing  here  but  to  be  robbed 
and  imposed  upon.  Our  old  selves  weren't  peo- 
ple of  fortune ;  our  new  selves  are ;  it's  a  great 
difference." 

"  Ah !"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  pausing  in  her  work 
again,  softly  to  draw  a  long  breath  and  to  look 
at  the  fire.     "  A  great  difference." 

"  And  we  must  be  up  to  the  difference,"  pur- 
sued her  husband;  "we  must  be  equal  to  the 
change  ;  that's  what  we  must  be.    We've  got  to 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


207 


hold  our  own  now,  against  every  body  (for  every 
body's  hand  is  stretched  out  to  be  dipped  into 
our  pockets),  and  we  have  got  to  recollect  that 
money  makes  money,  as  well  as  makes  every 
thing  else." 

" Mentioning  recollecting,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin, 
with  her  work  abandoned,  her  eyes  upon  the  fire, 
and  her  chin  upon  her  hand,  "do  you  recollect, 
Noddy,  how  you  said  to  Mr.  Rokesmith  when  he 
first  came  to  see  us  at  the  Bower,  and  you  en- 
gaged him — how  you  said  to  him  that  if  it  had 
pleased  Heaven  to  send  John  Harmon  to  his  for- 
tune safe,  we  could  have  been  content  with  the 
one  Mound  which  was  our  legacy,  and  should 
never  have  wanted  the  rest?" 

"  Ay,  I  remember,  old  lady.  But  we  hadn't 
tried  what  it  was  to  have  the  rest  then.  Our 
new  shoes  had  come  home,  but  we  hadn't  put 
'em  on.  We're  wearing  'em  now,  we're  wear- 
ing 'em,  and  must  step  out  accordingly." 

Mrs.  Boffin  took  up  her  work  again,  and  plied 
her  needle  in  silence. 

"As  to  Rokesmith,  that  young  man  of  mine," 
said  Mr.  Boffin,  dropping  his  voice  and  glanc- 
ing toward  the  door  with  an  apprehension  of 
being  overheard'  by  some  eavesdropper  there, 
"it's  the  same  with  him  as  with  the  footmen.  I 
have  found  out  that  you  must  either  scrunch 
them,  or  let  them  scrunch  you.  If  you  ain't 
imperious  with  'em,  they  won't  believe  in  your 
being  any  better  than  themselves,  if  as  good, 
after  the  stories  (lies  mostly)  that  they  have 
heard  of  your  beginnings.  There's  nothing  be- 
twixt stiffening  yourself  up,  and  throwing  your- 
self away ;  take  my  word  for  that,  old  lady." 

Bella  ventured  for  a  moment  to  look  stealthi- 
ly toward  him  under  her  eyelashes,  and  she  saw 
a  dark  cloud  of  suspicion,  covetousness,  and  con- 
ceit overshadowing  the  once  open  face. 

" Hows'ever,"  said  he,  "this  isn't  entertaining 
to  Miss  Bella.     Is  it,  Bella?" 

A  deceiving  Bella  she  was,  to  look  at  him  with 
that  pensively  abstracted  air,  as  if  her  mind  were 
full  of  her  book,  and  she  had  not  heard  a  single 
word ! 

"Hah!  Better  employed  than  to  attend  to 
it,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "  That's  right,  that's  right. 
Especially  as  you  have  no  call  to  be  told  how  to 
value  yourself,  my  dear." 

Coloring  a  little  under  this  compliment,  Bella 
returned,  "I  hope,  Sir,  you  don't  think  me 
vain?" 

"  Not  a  bit,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  • '  But 
I  think  it's  very  creditable  in  you,  at  your  age, 
to  be  so  well  up  with  the  pace  of  the  world,  and 
to  know  what  to  go  in  for.  You  are  right.  Go 
in  for  money,  my  love.  Money's  the  article. 
You'll  make  money  of  your  good  looks,  and  of 
the  money  Mrs.  Boffin  and  me  will  have  the 
pleasure  of  settling  upon  you,  and  you'll  live 
and  die  rich.  That's  the  state  to  live  and  die 
in !"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  in  an  unctuous  manner. 
"R— r— rich!" 

There  was  an  expression  of  distress  in  Mrs. 
Boffin's  face,  as,  after  watching  her  husband's, 
she  turned  to  their  adopted  girl,  and  said : 
"Don't  mind  him,  Bella,  my  dear." 

"Eh?"  cried  Mr.  Boffin.  "What!  Not 
mind  him?" 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  with 
a  worried  look,  "but  I  mean,  don't  believe  him  J 
to  be  any  thing  but  good  and  generous,  Bella,  I 


because  he  is  the  best  of  men.  No,  I  must  say 
that  much,  Noddy.  You  are  always  the  best  of 
men." 

She  made  the  declaration  as  if  he  were  object- 
ing to  it ;  which  assuredly  he  was  not  in  any  way. 

"And  as  to  you,  my  dear  Bella,"  said  Mrs. 
Boffin, still  with  that  distressed  expression,  "he 
is  so  much  attached  to  you,  whatever  he  says, 
that  your  own  father  has  not  a  truer  interest  in 
you  and  can  hardly  like  you  better  than  he  does." 

"Says  too!'-'  cried  Mr.  Boffin.  "Whatever 
he  says !  Why,  I  say  so,  openly.  Give  me  a 
kiss,  my  dear  child,  in  saying  Good-Night,  and 
let  me  confirm  what  my  old  lady  tells  you.  I 
am  very  fond  of  you,  my  dear,  and  I  am  entire- 
ly of  your  mind,  and  you  and  I  will  take  care 
that  you  shall  be  rich.  These  good  looks  of 
yours  (which  you  have  some  right  to  be  vain  of, 
my  dear,  though  you  are  not,  you  know)  are 
worth  money,  and  you  shall  make  money  of 
'em.  The  money  you  will  have  will  be  worth 
money,  and  you  shall  make  money  of  that  too. 
There's  a  golden  ball  at  your  feet.  Good-night, 
my  dear." 

Somehow,  Bella  was  not  so  well  pleased  with 
this  assurance  and  this  prospect  as  she  might 
have  been.  Somehow,  when  she  put  her  arms 
round  Mrs.  Boffin's  neck  and  said  Good-Night, 
she  derived  a  sense  of  unworthiness  from  the  still 
anxious  face  of  that  good  woman,  and  her  ob- 
vious wish  to  excuse  her  husband.  "Why, 
what  need  to  excuse  him  ?'•'  thought  Bella,  sit- 
ting down  in  her  own  room.  "What  he  said 
was  very  sensible,  I  am  sure,  and  very  true,  I 
am  sure.  It  is  only  what  I  often  say  to  myself. 
Don't  I  like  it  then  ?  No,  I  don't  like  it,  and, 
though  he  is  my  liberal  benefactor,  I  disparage 
him  for  it.  Then  pray,"  said  Bella,  sternly 
putting  the  question  to  herself  in  the  looking- 
glass  as  usual,  "what  do  you  mean  by  this,  you 
inconsistent  little  Beast?" 

The  looking-glass  preserving  a  discreet  minis- 
terial silence  when  thus  called  upon  for  explana- 
tion, Bella  went  to  bed  with  a  weariness  upon 
her  spirit  which  was  more  than  the  weai'iness  of 
want  of  sleep.  And  again  in  the  morning  she 
looked  for  the  cloud,  and  for  the  deepening  of 
the  cloud,  upon  the  Golden  Dustman's  face. 

She  had  begun  by  this  time  to  be  his  frequent 
companion  in  his  morning  strolls  about  the 
streets,  and  it  was  at  this  time  that  he  made  her 
a  party  to  his  engaging  in  a  curious  pursuit. 
Having  been  hard  at  work  in  one  dull  inclosure 
all  his  life,  he  had  a  child's  delight  in  looking 
at  shops.  It  had  been  one  of  the  first  novelties 
and  pleasures  of  his  freedom,  and  was  equally 
the  delight  of  his  wife.  For  many  years  then- 
only  walks  in  London  had  been  taken  on  Sun- 
days when  the  shops  were  shut ;  and  when  every 
day  in  the  week  became  their  holiday  they  de- 
rived an  enjoyment  from  the  variety  and  fancy 
and  beauty  of  the  display  in  the  windows,  which 
seemed  incapable  of  exhaustion.  As  if  the  prin- 
cipal streets  were  a  epeat  Theatre  and  the  play 
were  childishly  new  to  them,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin, from  the  beginning  of  Bella's  intimacy  in 
their  house,  had  been  constantly  in  the  front 
row,  charmed  with  all  they  saw  and  applauding 
vigorously.  But  now,  Mr.  Boffin's  interest  be- 
gan to  centre  in  book-shops;  and  more  than 
that  —  for  that  of  itself  would  not  have  been 
much — in  one  exceptional  kind  of  book. 


208 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


BIBLOMANIA   OP   THE    GOLDEN  DUSTMAN. 


"Look  in  here,  my  dear,"  Mr.  Boffin  would 
say,  checking  Bella's  arm  at  a  bookseller's  win- 
dow ;  "you  can  read  at  sight,  and  your  eyes 
are  as  sharp  as  they're  bright.  Now,  look  well 
about  you,  my  dear,  and  tell  me  if  you  see  any 
book  about  a  Miser." 

If  Bella  saw  such  a  book  Mr.  Boffin  would 
instantly  dart  in  and  buv  it.  And  still,  as  if 
they  had  not  found  it,  they  would  seek  out  an- 
other book-shop,  and  Mr.  Boffin  would  say, 
"Now,  look  well  all  round,  my  dear,  for  a  Life 
of  a  Miser,  or  any  book  of  that  sort ;  any  Lives 
of  odd  characters  who  may  have  been  Misers." 

Bella,  thus  directed,  would  examine  the  win- 
dow with  the  greatest  attention,  while  Mr.  Bof- 
fin would  examine  her  face.     The  moment  she 


pointed  out  any  book  as  being  entitled  Lives  of 
eccentric  personages,  Anecdotes  of  strange  char- 
acters, Records  of  remarkable  individuals,  or 
any  thing  to  that  purpose,  Mr.  Boffin's  counte- 
nance would  light  up,  and  he  would  instantly 
dart  in  and  buy  it.  Size,  price,  quality,  were 
of  no  account.  Any  book  that  seemed  to  prom- 
ise a  chance  of  miserly  biography  Mr.  Boffin 
purchased  without  a  moment's  delay  and  carried 
home.  Happening  to  be  informed  by  a  book- 
seller that  a  portion  of  the  Annual  Register  was 
devoted  to  "Characters,"  Mr.  Boffin  at  once 
bought  a  whole  set  of  that  ingenious  compila- 
tion, and  began  to  carry  it  home  piecemeal, 
confiding  a  volume  to  Bella,  and  bearing  three 
himself.     The  completion  of  this  labor  occupied 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


209 


them  about  a  fortnight.  When  the  task  was 
done,  Mr.  Boffin,  with  his  appetite  for  Misers 
whetted  instead  of  satiated,  began  to  look  out 
again. 

It  very  soon  became  unnecessary  to  tell  Bella 
what  to  look  for,  and  an  understanding  was  es- 
tablished between  her  and  Mr.  Boffin  that  she 
was  always  to  look  for  Lives  of  Misers.  Morn- 
ing after  morning  they  roamed  about  the  town 
together,  pursuing  this  singular  research.  Mi- 
serly literature  not  being  abundant,  the  propor- 
tion of  failures  to  successes  may  have  been  as  a 
hundred  to  one ;  still  Mr.  Boffin,  never  wearied, 
remained  as  avaricious  for  misers  as  he  had 
been  at  the  first  onset.  It  was  curious  that  Bella 
never  saw  the  books  about  the  house,  nor  did 
she  ever  hear  from  Mr.  Boffin  one  word  of  ref- 
erence to  their  contents.  He  seemed  to  save 
irp  his  Misers  as  they  had  saved  up  their  money. 
As  they  had  been  greedy  for  it,  and  secret  about 
it,  and  had  hidden  it,  so  he  was  greedy  for  them, 
and  secret  about  them,  and  hid  them.  But  be- 
yond all  doubt  it  was  to  be  noticed,  and  was  by 
Bella  very  clearly  noticed,  that,  as  he  pursued 
the  acquisition  of  those  dismal  records  with  the 
ardor  of  Don  Quixote  for  his  books  of  chivalry, 
he  began  to  spend  his  money  with  a  more  spar- 
ing hand.  And  often  when  he  came  out  of  a 
shop  with  some  new  account  of  one  of  those 
wretched  lunatics,  she  would  almost  shrink  from 
the  sly  dry  chuckle  with  which  he  would  take 
her  arm  again  and  trot  away.  It  did  not  ap- 
pear that  Mrs.  Boffin  knew  of  this  taste.  He 
made  no  allusion  to  it,  except  in  the  morning 
walks  when  he  and  Bella  were  always  alone; 
and  Bella,  partly  under  the  impression  that  he 
took  her  into  his  confidence  by  implication,  and 
partly  in  remembrance  of  Mrs.  Boffin's  anxious 
face  that  night,  held  the  same  reserve. 

While  these  occurrences  were  in  progress,  Mrs. 
Lammle  made  the  discovery  that  Bella  had  a 
fascinating  influence  over  her.  The  Lammles, 
originally  presented  by  the  dear  Veneerings, 
visited  the  Boffins  on  all  grand  occasions,  and 
Mrs.  Lammle  had  not  previously  found  this  out ; 
but  now  the  knowledge  came  upon  her  all  at 
once.  It  was  a  most  extraordinary  thing  (she 
said  to  Mrs.  Boffin) :  she  was  foolishly  suscep- 
tible of  the  power  of  beauty,  but  it  wasn't  alto- 
gether that ;  she  never  had  been  able  to  resist  a 
natural  grace  of  manner,  but  it  wasn't  altogeth- 
er that ;  it  was  more  than  that,  and  there  was 
no  name  for  the  indescribable  extent  and  degree 
to  which  she  was  captivated  by  this  charming  girl. 
This  charming  girl  having  the  words  repeated 
to  her  by  Mrs.  Boffin  (who  was  proud  of  her  be- 
ing admired,  and  would  have  done  any  thing  to 
give  her  pleasure),  naturally  recognized  in  Mrs. 
Lammle  a  woman  of  penetration  and  taste.  Re- 
sponding to  the  sentiments,  by  being  very  gra- 
cious to  Mrs.  Lammle,  she  gave  that  lady  the 
means  of  so  improving  her  opportunity,  as  that 
the  captivation  became  reciprocal,  though  al- 
ways wearing  an  appearance  of  greater  sobriety 
on  Bella's  part  than  on  the  enthusiastic  Sophro- 
nia's.  Howbeit,  they  were  so  much  together 
that,  for  a  time,  the  Boffin  chariot  held  Mrs. 
Lammle  oftener  than  Mrs.  Boffin :  a  preference 
of  which  the  latter  worthy  soul  was  not  in  the 
least  jealous,  placidly  remarking,  "  Mrs.  Lammle 
is  a  younger  companion  for  her  than  I  am,  and 
Lor!  she's  more  fashionable." 


But  between  Bella  Wilfer  and  Georgiana  Pod- 
snap  there  was  this  one  difference,  among  many 
others,  that  Bella  was  in  no  danger  of  being 
captivated  by  Alfred.  She  distrusted  and  dis- 
liked him.  Indeed,  her  perception  was  so  quick, 
and  her  observation  so  sharp,  that  after  all  she 
mistrusted  his  wife  too,  though  with  her  giddy 
vanity  and  willfulness  she  squeezed  the  mistrust 
away  into  a  corner  of  her  mind,  and  blocked  it 
up  there. 

Mrs.  Lammle  took  the  friendliest  interest  in 
Bella's  making  a  good  match.  Mrs.  Lammle 
said,  in  a  sportive  way,  she  really  must  show 
her  beautiful  Bella  what  kind  of  wealthy  creat- 
ures she  and  Alfred  had  on  hand,  who  would  as 
one  man  fall  at  her  feet  enslaved.  Fitting  occa- 
sion made,  Mrs.  Lammle  accordingly  produced 
the  most  passable  of  those  feverish,  boastful,  and 
indefinably  loose  gentlemen  who  were  always 
lounging  in  and  out  of  the  City  on  questions  of 
the  Bourse  and  Greek  and  Spanish  and  India 
and  Mexican  and  par  and  premium  and  discount 
and  three-quarters  and  seven-eighths.  Who  in 
their  agreeable  manner  did  homage  to  Bella  as 
if  she  were  a  compound  of  fine  girl,  thorough- 
bred horse,  well-built  drag,  and  remarkable  pipe. 
But  without  the  least  effect,  though  even  Mr. 
Fledgeby's  attractions  were  cast  into  the  scale. 

"I  fear,  Bella  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle  one 
day  in  the  chariot,  "that  you  will  be  very  hard 
to  please." 

"I  don't  expect  to  be  pleased,  dear,"  said 
Bella,  with  a  languid  turn  of  her  eyes. 

"Truly,  my  love,"  returned  Sophronia,  shak- 
ing her  head,  and  smiling  her  best  smile,  "it 
would  not  be  very  easy  to  find  a  map  worthy  of 
your  attractions." 

"The  question  is  not  a  man,  my  dear,"  said 
Bella,  coolly,  "but  an  establishment." 

"My  love,"  returned  Mrs.  Lammle,  "your 
prudence  amazes  me — where  did  you  study  life 
so  well! — you  are  right.  In  such  a  case  as 
yours,  the  object  is  a  fitting  establishment.  You 
could  not  descend  to  an  inadequate  one  from 
Mr.  Boffin's  house,  and  even  if  your  beauty  alone 
could  not  command  it,  it  is  to  be  assumed  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  will—" 

"  Oh  !  they  have  already,"  Bella  interposed. 
"  No !     Have  they  really  ?" 
A  little  vexed  by  a  suspicion  that  she  had 
spoken  precipitately,  and  withal  a  little  defiant 
of  her  own  vexation,  Bella  determined  not  to 
retreat. 

"That  is  to  say,"  she  explained,  "they  have 
told  me  they  mean  to  portion  me  as  their  adopted 
child,  if  you  mean  that.  But  don't  mention  it." 
"  Mention  it !"  replied  Mrs.  Lammle,  as  if  she 
were  full  of  awakened  feeling  at  the  suggestion 
of  such  an  impossibility.     "Men-tion  it!" 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Mrs.  Lammle — " 
Bella  began  again. 

"My  love,  say  Sophronia,  or  I  must  not  say 
Bella." 

With  a  little  short,  petulant  "Oh!"  Bella 
complied.  "Oh!  —  Sophronia  then  —  I  don't 
mind  telling  you,  Sophronia,  that  I  am  con- 
vinced I  have  no  heart,  as  people  call  it ;  and 
that  I  think  that  sort  of  thing  is  nonsense." 
"Brave  girl !"  murmured  Mrs.  Lammle. 
"And  so,"  pursued  Bella,  "as  to  seeking  to 
please  myself,  I  don't ;  except  in  tne  one  respect 
I  have  mentioned.    I  am  indifferent  otherwise." 


210 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"But  you  can't  help  pleasing,  Bella,"  said 
Mrs.  Lammle,  rallying  her  with  an  arch  look 
and  her  best  smile,  "you  can't  help  making  a 
proud  and  an  admiring  husband.  You  may  not 
care  to  please  yourself,  and  you  may  not  care  to 
please  him,  but  you  are  not  a  free  agent  as  to 
pleasing :  you  are  forced  to  do  that,  in  spite  of 
yourself,  my  dear ;  so  it  may  be  a  question  wheth- 
er you  may  not  as  well  please  yourself  too,  if  you 
can." 

Now,  the  veiy  grossness  of  this  flattery  put 
Bella  tipon  proving  that  she  actually  did  please 
in  spite  of  herself.  She  had  a  misgiving  that 
she  was  doing  wrong — though  she  had  an  indis- 
tinct foreshadowing  that  some  harm  might  come 
of  it  thereafter,  she  little  thought  what  conse- 
quences it  would  really  bring  about — but  she 
went  on  with  her  confidence. 

"Don't  talk  of  pleasing  in  spite  of  one's  self, 
dear,"  said  Bella.  "I  have  had  enough  of 
that." 

"  Ay  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Lammle.  * '  Am  I  already 
corroborated,  Bella?" 

"Never  mind,  Sophronia,  we  will  not  speak 
of  it  any  more.     Don't  ask  me  about  it." 

This  plainly  meaning  Do  ask  me  about  it, 
Mrs.  Lammle  did  as  she  was  requested. 

"Tell  me,  Bella.  Come,  my  dear.  What 
provoking  burr  has  been  inconveniently  attract- 
ed to  the  charming  skirts,  and  with  difficulty 
shaken  off?" 

"Provoking  indeed,"  said  Bella,  "and  no 
burr  to  boast  of !     But  don't  ask  me." 

"Shall  I  guess?" 

"You  would  never  guess.  "What  would  you 
say  to  our  Secretary?" 

"My  dear!  The  hermit  Secretary,  who 
creeps  up  and  down  the  back  stairs,  and  is  nev- 
er seen!" 

"I  don't  know  about  his  creeping  up  and 
down  the  back  stairs,"  said  Bella,  rather  con- 
temptuously, "further  than  knowing  that  he 
does  no  such  thing ;  and  as  to  his  never  being 
seen,  I  should  be  content  never  to  have  seen 
him,  though  he  is  quite  as  visible  as  you  are. 
But  I  pleased  him  (for  my  sins),  and  he  had  the 
presumption  to  tell  me  so." 

"The  man  never  made  a  declaration  to  you, 
my  dear  Bella !" 

"Are  you  sure  of  that,  Sophronia?"  said 
Bella,  "/am  not.  In  fact,  I  am  sure  of  the 
contrary." 

"  The  man  must  be  mad,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle, 
with  a  kind  of  resignation. 

"He  appeared  to  be  in  his  senses,"  returned 
Bella,  tossing  her  head,  "and  he  had  plenty  to 
say  for  himself.  I  told  him  my  opinion  of  his 
declaration  and  his  conduct,  and  dismissed  him. 
Of  course  this  has  all  been  very  inconvenient  to 
me,  and  very  disagreeable.  It  has  remained  a 
secret,  however.  That  word  reminds  me  to  ob- 
serve, Sophronia,  that  I  have  glided  on  into  tell- 
ing you  the  secret,  and  that  I  rely  upon  you 
never  to  mention  it." 

"Mention  it!"  repeated  Mrs.  Lammle,  with 
her  former  feeling.     "  Men-tion  it !" 

This  time  Sophronia  was  so  much  in  earnest 
that  she  found  it  necessary  to  bend  forward  in 
the  carriage  and  give  Bella  a  kiss.  A  Judas 
order  of  kiss  •  for  she  thought,  while  she  yet 
pressed  Bella's  hand  after  giving  it,  "Upon  your 
own  showing,  you  vain  heartless  girl,  puffed  up 


by  the  doting  folly  of  a  dustman,  I  need  have 
no  relenting  toward  you.  If  my  husband,  who 
sends  me  here,  should  form  any  schemes  for 
making  you  a  victim,  I  should  certainly  not  cross 
him  again."  In  those  very  same  moments  Bella 
was  thinking,  "Why  am  I  always  at  war  with 
myself?  Why  have  I  told,  as  if  upon  compul- 
sion, what  I  knew  all  along  I  ought  to  have  with- 
held? Why  am  I  making  a  friend  of  this  wo- 
man beside  me,  in  spite  of  the  whispers  against 
her  that  I  hear  in  my  heart?" 

As  usual,  there  was  no  answer  in  the  looking- 
glass  when  she  got  home  and  referred  these 
questions  to  it.  Perhaps  if  she  had  consulted 
some  better  oracle  the  result  might  have  been 
more  satisfactory ;  but  she  did  not,  and  all  things 
consequent  marched  the  march  before  them. 

On  one  point  connected  with  the  watch  she 
kept  on  Mr.  Boffin  she  felt  very  inquisitive,  and 
that  was  the  question  whether  the  Secretary 
watched  him  too,  and  followed  the  sure  and 
steady  change  in  him,  as  she  did  ?  Her  very 
limited  intercourse  with  Mr.  Rokesmith  ren- 
dered this  hard  to  find  out.  Their  communi- 
cation now  at  no  time  extended  beyond  the 
preservation  of  commonplace  appearances  before 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  ;  and  if  Bella  and  the  Sec- 
retary were  ever  left  alone  together  by  any 
chance  he  immediately  withdrew.  She  con- 
sulted his  face  when  she  could  do  so  covertly,  as 
she  worked  or  read,  and  could  make  nothing  of 
it.  He  looked  subdued ;  but  he  had  acquired  a 
strong  command  of  feature,  and,  whenever  Mr. 
Boffin  spoke  to  him  in  Bella's  presence,  or  what- 
ever revelation  of  himself  Mr.  Boffin  made,  the 
Secretary's  face  changed  no  more  than  a  wall. 
A  slightly  knitted  brow,  that  expressed  nothing 
but  an  almost  mechanical  attention,  and  a  com- 
pression of  the  mouth,  that  might  have  been  a 
guard  against  a  scornful  smile — these  she  saw 
from  morning  to  night,  from  day  to  day,  from 
week  to  week,  monotonous,  unvarying,  set,  as 
in  a  piece  of  sculpture. 

The  worst  of  the  matter  was  that  it  thus  fell 
out  insensibly — and  most  provokingly,  as  Bella 
complained  to  herself,  in  her  impetuous  little 
manner — that  her  observation  of  Mr.  Boffin  in- 
volved a  continual  observation  of  Mr.  Roke- 
smith. "  Won't  that  extract  a  look  from  him  ?" 
— "  Can  it  be  possible  that  makes  no  impression 
on  him  ?"  Such  questions  Bella  would  propose 
to  herself,  often  as  many  times  in  a  day  as  there 
were  hours  in  it.  Impossible  to  know.  Always 
the  same  fixed  face. 

"  Can  he  be  so  base  as  to  sell  his  very  nature 
for  two  hundred  a  year?"  Bella  would  think. 
And  then,  "  But  why  not?  It's  a  mere  question 
of  price  with  others  besides  him.  I  suppose  I 
would  sell  mine  if  I  could  get  enough  for  it." 
And  so  she  would  come  round  again  to  the  war 
with  herself. 

A  kind  of  illegibility,  though  a  different  kind, 
stole  over  Mr.  Boffin's  face.  Its  old  simplicity 
of  expression  got  masked  by  a  certain  craftiness 
that  assimilated  even  his  good-humor  to  itself. 
His  very  smile  was  cunning,  as  if  he  had  been 
studying  smiles  among  the  portraits  of  his  misers. 
Saving  an  occasional  burst  of  impatience,  or 
coarse  assertion  of  his  mastery,  his  good-humor 
remained  to  him,  but  it  had  now  a  sordid  alloy 
of  distrust ;  and  though  his  eyes  should  twinkle 
and  all  his  face  should  laugh,  he  would  sit  hold- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


211 


ing  himself  in  his  own  arms,  as  if  he  had  an  in- 
clination to  hoard  himself  up,  and  must  always 
grudgingly  stand  on  the  defensive. 

What  with  taking  heed  of  these  two  faces,  and 
what  with  feeling  conscious  that  the  stealthy  oc- 
cupation must  set  some  mark  on  her  own,  Bella 
soon  began  to  think  that  there  was  not  a  candid 
or  a  natural  face  among  them  all  but  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin's. None  the  less  because  it  was  far  less  ra- 
diant than  of  yore,  faithfully  reflecting  in  its 
anxiety  and  regret  every  line  of  change  in  the 
Golden  Dustman's. 

"Rokesmith,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  one  evening 
when  they  were  all  in  his  room  again,  and  he 
and  the  Secretary  had  been  going  over  some  ac- 
counts, "I  am  spending  too  much  money.  Or 
leastways,  you  are  spending  too  much  for  me." 

"You  are  rich,  Sir." 

"I  am  not,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

The  sharpness  of  the  retort  was  next  to  telling 
the  Secretary  that  he  lied.  But  it  brought  no 
change  of  expression  into  the  set  face. 

"I  tell  you  I  am  not  rich,"  repeated  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, "  and  I  won't  have  it." 

"You  are  not  rich,  Sir?"  repeated  the  Secre- 
tary, in  measured  words. 

"  Well,"  returned  Mr.  Boffin,  "  if  I  am,  that's 
my  business.  I  am  not  going  to  spend  at  this 
rate  to  please  you  or  any  body.  You  wouldn't 
like  it  if  it  was  your  money." 

"Even  in  that  impossible  case,  Sir,  I — " 

"Hold  your  tongue  !"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "You 
oughtn't  to  like  it  in  any  case.  There !  I  didn't 
mean  to  be  rude,  but  you  put  me  out  so,  and 
after  all  I'm  master.  I  didn't  intend  to  tell  you 
to  hold  your  tongue.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Don't 
■hold  your  tongue.  Only,  don't  contradict.  Did 
you  ever  come  across  the  life  of  Mr.  Elwes?" 
referring  to  his  favorite  subject  at  last. 

"The  miser?" 

"Ah,  people  called  him  a  miser !  People  are 
always  calling  other  people  something.  Did  you 
ever  read  about  him  ?" 

"I  think  so." 

"He  never  owned  to  being  rich,  and  yet  he 
might  have  bought  me  twice  over.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  Daniel  Dancer?" 

' '  Another  miser  ?    Yes. " 

"He  was  a  good  'un,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "and 
he  had  a  sister  worthy  of  him.  They  never 
called  themselves  rich  neither.  If  they  had 
called  themselves  rich*  most  likely  they  wouldn't 
have  been  so." 

"They  lived  and  died  very  miserably.  Did 
they  not,  Sir?" 

"No,  I  don't  know  that  they  did,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  curtly. 

"Then  they  are  not  the  Misers  I  mean.  Those 
abject  wretches — " 

"Don't  call  names,  Rokesmith,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin. 

" — That  exemplary  brother  and  sister — lived 
and  died  in  the  foulest  and  filthiest  degradation." 

"They  pleased  themselves,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
"and  I  suppose  they  could  have  done  no  more 
if  they  had  spent  their  money.  But,  however,  I 
ain't  going  to  fling  mine  away.  Keep  the  ex- 
penses down.  The  fact  is,  you  ain't  enough  here, 
Rokesmith.  It  wants  constant  attention  in  the 
littlest  things.  Some  of  us  will  be  dying  in  a 
work-house  next." 

"  As  the  persons  you  have  just  cited,"  quietly 


remarked  the  Secretary,  "thought  they  would, 
if  I  remember,  Sir." 

"And  very  creditable  in  'em,  too,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin.  "  Very  independent  in  'em  !  But  never 
mind  them  just  now.  Have  you  given  notice  to 
quit  your  lodgings  ?" 

"Under  your  direction  I  have,  Sir." 

"Then  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Mr.  Boffin; 
"pay  the  quarter's  rent — pay  the  quarter's  rent, 
it'll  be  the  cheapest  thing  in  the  end — and  come 
here  at  once,  so  that  you  may  be  always  on  the 
spot,  day  and  night,  and  keep  the  expenses  down. 
You'll  charge  the  quarter's  rent  to  me,  and  we 
must  try  and  save  it  somewhere.  You've  got 
some  lovely  furniture ;  haven't  you?" 

"The  furniture  in  my  rooms  is  my  own." 

"Then  we  sha'n't  have  to  buy  any  for  you. 
In  case  you  was  to  think  it,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
with  a  look  of  peculiar  shrewdness,  "so  honor- 
ably independent  in  you  as  to  make  it  a  relief  to 
your  mind,  to  make  that  furniture  over  to  me  in 
the  light  of  a  set-off  against  the  quarter's  rent, 
why  ease  your  mind,  ease  your  mind.  I  don't 
ask  it,  but  I  won't  stand  in  your  way  if  you 
should  consider  it  due  to  yourself.  As  to  your 
room,  choose  any  empty  room  at  the  top  of  the 
house." 

"Any  empty  room  will  do  for  me,"  said  the 
Secretary. 

"You  can  take  your  pick,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
"and  it'll  be  as  good  as  eight  or  ten  shillings  a 
week  added  to  your  income.  I  won't  deduct  for 
it ;  I  look  to  you  to  make  it  up  handsomely  by 
keeping  the  expenses  down.  Now,  if  you'll  show 
a  light,  I'll  come  to  your  office-room  and  dispose 
of  a  letter  or  two." 

On  that  clear,  generous  face  of  Mrs.  Boffin's 
Bella  had  seen  such  traces  of  a  pang  at  the  heart 
while  this  dialogue  was  being  held,  that  she  had 
not  the  courage  to  turn  her  eyes  to  it  when  they 
were  left  alone.  Feigning  to  be  intent  on  heV 
embroidery,  she  sat  plying  her  needle  until  her 
busy  hand  was  stopped  by  Mrs.  Boffin's  hand 
being  lightly  laid  upon  it.  Yielding  to  the  touch, 
she  felt  her  hand  carried  to  the  good  soul's  lips, 
and  felt  a  tear  fall  on  it. 

"Oh,  my  loved  husband!"  said  Mrs.  Boffin. 
"This  is  hard  to  see  and  hear.  But  my  dear 
Bella,  believe  me  that  in  spite  of  all  the  change 
in  him  he  is  the  best  of  men." 

He  came  back,  at  the  moment  when  Bella  had 
taken  the  hand  comfortingly  between  her  own. 

"Eh  ?"  said  he,  mistrustfully  looking  in  at  the 
door.     "What's  she  telling  you ?" 

"  She  is  only  praising  you,  Sir,"  said  Bella. 

"Praising  me?  You  are  sure?  Not  blam- 
ing me  for  standing  on  my  own  defense  against 
a  crew  of  plunderers,  who  would  suck  me  dry  by 
dribblets  ?  Not  blaming  me  for  getting  a  little 
hoard  together?" 

He  came  up  to  them,  and  his  wife  folded  her 
hands  upon  his  shoulder,  and  shook  her  head  as 
she  laid  it  on  her  hands. 

"There,  there,  there!"  urged  Mr.  Boffin,  not 
unkindly.     "Don't  take  on,  old  lady." 

"But  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  so,  my  dear." 

"Nonsense!  Recollect,  we  are  not  our  old 
selves.  Recollect,  we  must  scrunch  or  be 
scrunched.  Recollect,  we  must  hold  our  own. 
Recollect,  money  makes  money.  Don't  you  be 
uneasy,  Bella,  my  child ;  dorr?t  you  be  doubtful. 
The  more  I  save,  the  more  you  shall  have." 


212 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Bella  thought  it  was  well  for  his  wife  that  she 
was  musing  with  her  affectionate  face  on  his 
shoulder;  for  there  was  a  cunning  light  in  his 
eyes  as  he  said  all  this  which  seemed  to  cast  a 
disagreeable  illumination  on  the  change  in  him, 
and  make  it  morally  uglier. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE   GOLDEN  DUSTMAN  FALLS   INTO   WORSE 
COMPANY. 

It  had  come  to  pass  that  Mr.  Silas  Wegg  now 
rarely  attended  the  minion  of  fortune  and  the 
worm  of  the  hour,  at  his  (the  worm's  and  min- 
ion's) own  house,  but  lay  under  general  instruc- 
tions to  await  him  within  a  certain  margin  of 
hours  at  the  Bower.  Mr.  Wegg  took  this  ar- 
rangement in  great  dudgeon,  because  the  ap- 
pointed hours  were  evening  hours,  and  those  he 
considered  precious  to  the  progress  of  the  friend- 
ly move.  But  it  was  quite  in  character,  he  bit- 
terly remarked  to  Mr.  Venus,  that  the  upstart 
who  had  trampled  on  those  eminent  creatures, 
Miss  Elizabeth.  Master  George,  Aunt  Jane, 
and  Uncle  Parker,  should  oppress  his  literary 
man. 

The  Roman  Empire  having  worked  out  its  de- 
struction, Mr.  Boffin  next  appeared  in  a  cab 
with  Rollin's  Ancient  History,  which  valuable 
work  being  found  to  possess  lethargic  properties, 
broke  down,  at  about  the  period  when  the  whole 
of  the  army  of  Alexander  the  Macedonian  (at 
that  time  about  forty  thousand  strong)  burst  into 
tears  simultaneously,  on  his  being  taken  with  a 
shivering  fit  after  bathing.  The  Wars  of  the 
Jews,  likewise  languishing  under  Mr.  Wegg's 
generalship,  Mr.  Boffin  arrived  in  another  cab 
with  Plutarch :  whose  Lives  he  found  in  the 
sequel  e'xtremely  entertaining,  though  he  hoped 
Plutarch  might  not  expect  him  to  believe  them 
all.  What  to  believe,  in  the  course  of  his  read- 
ing, was  Mr.  Boffin's  chief  literary  difficulty  in- 
deed ;  for  some  time  he  was  divided  in  his  mind 
between  half,  all,  or  none;  at  length,  when  he 
decided,  as  a  moderate  man,  to  compound  with 
half,  the  question  still  remained,  which  half? 
And  that  stumbling-block  he  never  got  over. 

One  evening,  when  Silas  Wegg  had  grown  ac- 
customed to  the  arrival  of  his  patron  in  a  cab, 
accompanied  by  some  profane  historian  charged 
with  unutterable  names  of  incomprehensible  peo- 
ples, of  impossible  descent,  waging  wars  any 
number  of  years  and  syllables  long,  and  carry- 
ing illimitable  hosts  and  riches  about,  with  the 
greatest  ease,  beyond  the  confines  of  geography 
— one  evening  the  usual  time  passed  by,  and  no 
patron  appeared.  After  half  an  hour's  grace 
Mr.  Wegg  proceeded  to  the  outer  gate,  and  there 
executed  a  whistle,  conveying  to  Mr.  Venus,  if 
perchance  within  hearing,  the  tidings  of  his 
being  at  home  and  disengaged.  Forth  from  the 
shelter  of  a  neighboring  wall  Mr.  Venus  then 
emerged. 

"Brother  in  arms,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  in  excel- 
lent spirits,  "welcome!" 

In  return,  Mr.  Venus  gave  him  a  rather  dry 
good-evening. 

"Walk  in,  brother,"  said  Silas,  clapping  him 
on  the  shoulder,  "and  take  your  seat  in  my 
chimley-corner ;  for  what  says  the  ballad? 


'No  malice  to  dread,  Sir, 
And  no  falsehood  to  fair, 
But  truth  to  delight  me,  Mr.  Venus, 
And  I  forgot  what  to  cheer. 
Li  toddle  dee  om  dee. 
And  something  to  guide, 
My  ain  fireside,  Sir, 
My  ain  fireside.' " 

With  this  quotation  (depending  for  its  neatness 
rather  on  the  spirit  than  the  words)  Mr.  Wegg 
conducted  his  guest  to  his  hearth. 

"And  you  come,  brother,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  in 
a  hospitable  glow,  "  you  come  like  I  don't  know 
what— exactly  like  it— I  shouldn't  know  you 
from  it— shedding  a  halo  all  around  vou." 

"What  kind  of  halo?"  asked  Mr.  Venus. 

"'Ope,  Sir,"  replied  Silas.  "That's  your 
halo." 

Mr.  Venus  appeared  doubtful  on  the  point, 
and  looked  rather  discontentedly  at  the  fire. 

"  We'll  devote  the  evening,  brother,"  ex- 
claimed Wegg,  "  to  prosecute  our  friendly  move. 
And  artervvards,  crushing  a  flowing  wine-cup 
— which  I  allude  to  brewing  rum  and  water — 
we'll  pledge  one  another.  For  what  says  the 
Poet? 

'And  you  needn't  Mr.  Venus  be  your  black  bottle, 
For  surely  I'll  be  mine, 
And  we'll   take  a  glass  with  a  slice  of  lemon  in  it  to 

which  you're  partial, 
For  auld  lang  syne.' " 

This  flow  of  quotation  and  hospitality  in  Wegg 
indicated  his  observation  of  some  little  queru- 
lousness  on  the  part  of  Venus. 

"Why,  as  to  the  friendly  move,"  observed  the 
last-named  gentleman,  rubbing  his  knees  peevish- 
ly, "one  of  my  objections  to  it  is,  that  it  don't 
move." 

"Rome,  brother,"  returned  Wegg:  "a  city 
which  (it  may  not  be  generally  known)  origina- 
ted in  twins  and  a  wolf,  and  ended  in  Imperial 
marble :  wasn't  built  in  a  day." 

"Did  I  say  it  was?"  asked  Venus. 

"No,  you  did  not,  brother.     Well-inquired." 

"But  I  do  say,"  proceeded  Venus,  "that  I 
am  taken  from  among  my  trophies  of  anatomy, 
am  called  upon  to  exchange  my  human  warious 
for  mere  coal-ashes  warious,  and  nothing  comes 
of  it.     I  think  I  must  give  up." 

"No,  Sir!"  remonstrated  Wegg,  enthusiastic- 
ally.    "No,  Sir! 

'Charge,  Chester,  charge, 
On,  Mr.  Venus,  en!' 

Never  say  die,  Sir !     A  man  of  your  mark !" 

"  It's  not  so  much  saying  it  that  I  object  to," 
returned  Mr.  Venus,  "as  doing  it.  And  hav- 
ing got  to  do  it  whether  or  no,  I  can't  afford 
to  waste  my  time  on  groping  for  nothing  in  cin- 
ders." 

"  But  think  how  little  time  you  have  given  to 
the  move,  Sir,  after  all,"  urged  Wegg.  "Add 
the  evenings  so  occupied  together,  and  what  do 
they  come  to  ?  And  you,  Sir,  harmonizer  with 
myself  in  opinions,  views,  and  feelings,  you  with 
the  patience  to  fit  together  on  wires  the  whole 
frame-work  of  society — I  allude  to  the  human 
skelinton — you  to  give  in  so  soon !" 

"I  don't  like  it,"  returned  Mr.  Venus  moodi- 
ly, as  he  put  his  head  between  his  knees  and 
stuck  up  his  dusty  hair.  "And  there's  no  en- 
couragement to  go  on." 

"Not  them  Mounds  without,"  said  Mr.  Wegg, 
extending  his  right  hand  with  an  air  of  solemn 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


213 


reasoning,  "encouragement ?  Not  them  Mounds 
now  looking  down  upon  us  ?" 

"They're  too  big,"  grumbled  Venus.  "What's 
a  scratch  here  and  a  scrape  there,  a  poke  in  this 
place  and  a  dig  in  the  other,  to  -them  ?  Besides ; 
what  have  we  found?" 

"What  have  we  found  ?"  cried  Wegg,  delighted 
to  be  able  to  acquiesce.  "  Ah !  There  I  grant 
you,  comrade.  Nothing.  But  on  the  contrary, 
comrade,  what  may  we  find  ?  There  you'll  grant 
me.     Any  thing." 

"I  don't  like  it,"  pettishly  returned  Venus  as 
before.  "I  came  into  it  without  enough  con- 
sideration. And  besides  again.  Isn't  your  own 
Mr.  Boffin  well  acquainted  with  the  Mounds? 
And  wasn't  he  well  acquainted  with  the  deceased 
and  his  ways  ?  And  has  he  ever  showed  any  ex- 
pectation of  finding  any  thing?" 

At  that  moment  wheels  were  heard. 

"Now,  I  should  be  loth,"  said  Mr.  Wegg, 
with  an  air  of  patient  injury,  "to  think  so  ill  of 
him  as  to  suppose  him  capable  of  coming  at  this 
time  of  night.     And  yet  it  sounds  like  him." 

A  ring  at  the  yard  bell. 

"It is  him,"s^id  Mr.  Wegg,  "and  he  is  capa- 
ble of  it.  I  am  sorry,  because  I  could  have 
wished  to  keep  up  a  little  lingering  fragment  of 
respect  for  him." 

Here  Mr.  Boffin  was  heard  lustily  calling  at 
the  yard  gate,  "Halloa!  Wegg!  Halloa!" 

"Keep  your  seat,  Mr.  Venus,  "said  Wegg. 
"He  may  not  stop."  And  then  called  out, 
"  Halloa,  Sir !  Halloa !  I'm  with  you  directly, 
Sir !  Half  a  minute,  Mr.  Boffin.  Coming,  Sir, 
as  fast  as  my  leg  will  bring  me!"  And  so  with 
a  show  of  much  cheerful  alacrity  stumped  out 
.  to  the  gate  with  a  light,  and  there,  through  the 
window  of  a  cab,  descried  Mr.  Boffin  inside, 
blocked  up  with  books. 

"Here!  lend  a  hand,  Wegg,"  said  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, excitedly,  "I  can't  get  out  till  the  way  is 
cleared  for  me.  This  is  the  Annual  Register, 
Wegg,  in  a  cab-full  of  wollumes.  Do  you  know 
him  ?" 

"  Know  the  Animal  Register,  Sir?"  returned 
the  Impostor,  who  had  caught  the  name  imper- 
fectly. "For  a  trifling  wager,  I  think  I  could 
find  any  Animal  in  him,  blindfold,  Mr.  Boffin." 

"And  here's  Kirby's  Wonderful  Museum," 
said  Mr.  Boffin,  "and  Caulfield's  Characters,  and 
Wilson's.  Such  Characters,  Wegg,  such  Char- 
acters !  I  must  have  one  or  two  of  the  best  of 
'em  to-night.  It's  amazing  what  places  they 
used  to  put  the  guineas  in,  wrapped  up  in  rags. 
Catch  hold  of  that  pile  of  wollumes,  Wegg,  or 
it'll  bulge  out  and  burst  into  the  mud.  Is  there 
any  one  about  to  help  ?" 

"There's  a  friend  of  mine,  Sir,  that  had  the 
intention  of  spending  the  evening  with  me  when 
I  gave  you  up — much  against  my  will — for  the 
night." 

"  Call  him  out,"  cried  Mr.  Boffin,  in  a  bustle ; 
"  get  him  to  bear  a  hand.  Don't  drop  that  one 
under  your  arm.  It's  Dancer.  Him  and  his 
sister  made  pies  of  a  dead  sheep  they  fonnd 
when  they  were  out  a  walking.  Where's  your 
friend?  Oh,  here's  your  friend.  Would  you 
be  so  good  as  help  Wegg  and  myself  with  these 
books  ?  But  don't  take  jemmy  Taylor  of  South- 
wark,  nor  yet  Jemmy  Wood  of  Gloucester. 
*  These  are  the  two  Jemmys.  I'll  carry  them 
myself." 


Not  ceasing  to  talk  and  bustle,  in  a  state  of 
great  excitement  Mr.  Boffin  directed  the  re- 
moval and  arrangement  of  the  books,  appearing 
to  be  in  some  sort  beside  himself  until  they  were 
all  deposited  on  the  floor,  and  the  cab  was  dis- 
missed. 

"  There !"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  gloating  over  them. 
"There  they  are,  like  the  four-and-twenty  fid- 
dlers—all of  a  row.  Get  on  your  spectacles, 
Wegg ;  I  know  where  to  find  the  best  of  'em, 
and  we'll  have  a  taste  at  once  of  what  we  have 
got  before  us.  What's  your  friend's  name  ?" 
Mr.  Wegg  presented  his  friend  as  Mr.  Venus. 
"Eh?"  cried  Mr.  Boffin,  catching  at  the 
name.     "  Of  Clerkenwell  ?" 

"  Of  Clerkenwell,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Venus. 
"  Why,  I've  heard  of  you,"  cried  Mr.  Boffin. 
"I  heard  of  you  in  the  old  man's  time.     You 
knew  him.     Did  you  ever  buy  any  thing  of 
him  ?"     With  piercing  eagerness. 
"No,  Sir,"  returned  Venus. 
"But  he  showed  you  things ;  didn't  he?" 
Mr.  Venus,  with  a  glance  at  his  friend,  re- 
plied in  the  affirmative. 

"What  did  he  showjou  ?"  asked  Mr.  Boffin, 
putting  his  hands  behind  him,  and  eagerly  ad- 
vancing his  head.      "Did  he  show  you  boxes, 
little  cabinets,  pocket-books,  parcels,  any  thing 
locked  or  sealed,  any  thing  tied  up  ?" 
Mr.  Venus  shook  his  head. 
"Are  you  a  judge  of  china?" 
Mr.  Venus  again  shook  his  head. 
' '  Because  if  he  had  ever  showed  you  a  tea- 
pot I  should  be  glad  to  know  of  it,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin.     And  then,  with  his  right  hand  at  his 
lips,  repeated,  thoughtfully,  "  a  Tea-pot,  a  Tea- 
pot," and  glanced  over  the  books  on  the  floor,  as 
if  he  knew  there  was  something  interesting  con- 
nected with  a  tea-pot  somewhere  among  them. 

Mr.  Wegg  and  Mr.  Venus  looked  at  one  anoth- 
er wonderingly :  and  Mr.  Wegg,  in  fitting  on  his 
spectacles,  opened  his  eyes  wide,  over  their  rims, 
and  tapped  the  side  of  his  nose  :  as  an  admoni- 
tion to  Venus  to  keep  himself  generally  wide 
awake. 

"A  Tea-pot,"  repeated  Mr.  Boffin,  continu- 
ing to  muse  and  survey  the  books ;  "a  Tea-pot, 
a  Tea-pot.     Are  you  ready,  Wegg  ?" 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  Sir,"  replied  that  gen- 
tleman, taking  his  usual  seat  on  the  usual  set- 
tle, and  poking  his  wooden  leg  under  the  table 
before  it.  "  Mr.  Venus,  would  you  make  your- 
self useful,  and  take  a  seat  beside  me,  Sir,  for 
the  conveniency  of  snuffing  the  candles?" 

Venus  complying  with  the  invitation  while  it 
was  yet  being  given,  Silas  pegged  at  him  with  his 
wooden  leg,  to  call  his  particular  attention  to 
Mr.  Boffin  standing  musing  before  the  fire,  in 
the  space  between  the  two  settles. 

"  Hem  !  Ahem  !"  coughed  Mr.  Wegg,  to  at- 
tract his  employer's  attention.  "Would  you 
wish  to  commence  with  an  Animal,  Sir — from 
the  Register?" 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "  no,  Wegg."  With 
that,  producing  a  little  book  from  his  breast- 
pocket, he  handed  it  with  great  cam  to  the  liter- 
ary gentleman,  and  inquired,  "What  do  you 
call  that,  Wegg  ?" 

"This,  Sir,"  replied  Silas,  adjusting  his  spec- 
tacles, and  referring  to  the  title-page,  "is  Mer- 
ry weather's  Lives  and  Anecdotes  of  Misers.  Mr. 
Venus,  would  you  make  yourself  useful  and  draw 


214 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


the  candles  a  little  nearer,  Sir?"  This  to  have 
a  special  opportunity  of  bestowing  a  stare  upon 
his  comrade. 

• '  Which  of  'em  have  you  got  in  that  lot  ?"  ask- 
ed Mr.  Boffin.     "  Can  you  find  out  pretty  easy?" 

"Well,  Sir,"  replied  Silas,  turning  to  the  ta- 
ble of  contents  and  slowly  fluttering  the  leaves 
of  the  book,  "I  should  say  they  must  be  pretty 
well  all  here,  Sir ;  here's  a  large  assortment, 
Sir;  my  eye  catches  John  Overs,  Sir,  John  Lit- 
tle, Sir,  Dick  Jarrel,  John  Elwes,  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Jones  of  Blewbury,  Vulture  Hopkins,  Da- 
niel Dancer — " 

"  Give  us  Dancer,  Wegg,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

With  another  stare  at  his  comrade,  Silas 
sought  and  found  the  place. 

"Page  a  hundred  and  nine,  Mr. Boffin.  Chap- 
ter eight.  Contents  of  chapter,  'His  birth  and 
estate.  His  garments  and  outward  appearance. 
Miss  Dancer  and  her  feminine  graces.  The  Mi- 
ser's Mansion.  The  finding  of  a  treasure.  The 
Story  of  the  Mutton  Pies.  A  Miser's  Idea  of 
Death.  Bob,  the  Miser's  cur.  Griffiths  and 
his  Master.  How  to  turn  a  penny.  A  substi- 
tute for  a  Fire.  The  Advantages  of  keeping  a 
Snuff-box.  The  Miser  dies  without  a  Shirt.  The 
Treasures  of  a  Dunghill — '  " 

"  Eh  ?    What's  that  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Boffin. 

"  'The  Treasures,'  Sir,"  repeated  Silas,  read- 
ing very  distinctly,  '"  of  a  Dunghill.'  Mr.  Ve- 
nus, Sir,  would  you  obleege  with  the  snuffers  ?" 
This,  to  secure  attention  to  his  adding  with  his 
lips  only,  "  Mounds  !" 

Mr.  Boffin  drew  an  arm-chair  into  the  space 
where  he  stood,  and  said,  seating  himself  and 
slyly  rubbing  his  hands : 

"Give  us  Dancer." 

Mr.  Wegg  pursued  the  biography  of  that  emi- 
nent man  through  its  various  phases  of  avarice 
and  dirt,  through  Miss  Dancer's  death  on  a  sick 
regimen  of  cold  dumpling,  and  through  Mr. 
Dancer's  keeping  his  rags  together  with  a  hay- 
band,  and  warming  his  dinner  by  sitting  upon 
it,  down  to  the  consolatory  incident  of  his  dying 
naked  in  a  sack.  After  which  he  read  on  as 
follows : 

"  'The  house,  or  rather  the  heap  of  ruins,  in 
which  Mr.  Dancer  lived,  and  which  at  his  death 
devolved  to  the  right  of  Captain  Holmes,  was  a 
most  miserable,  decayed  building,  for  it  had  not 
been  repaired  for  more  than  half  a  century.'  " 

(Here  Mr.  Wegg  eyed  his  comrade  and  the 
room  in  which  they  sat :  which  had  not  been  re- 
paired for  a  long  time.) 

"  'But  though  poor  in  external  structure,  the 
ruinous  fabric  was  very  rich  in  the  interior.  It 
took  many  weeks  to  explore  its  whole  contents  ; 
and  Captain  Holmes  found  it  a  very  agreeable 
task  to  dive  into  the  miser's  secret  hoards.' " 

(Here  Mr.  Wegg  repeated  'secret  hoards,' 
and  pegged  his  comrade  again.) 

"  '  One  of  Mr.  Dancer's  richest  escretoires  was 
found  to  be  a  dung-heap  in  the  cow-house ;  a 
sum  but  little  short  of  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred pounds  was  contained  in  this  rich  piece  of 
manure ;  and  in  an  old  jacket,  carefully  tied, 
and  strongly  nailed  down  to  the  manger,  in 
bank-notes  and  gold  were  found  five  hundred 
pounds  more.'" 

(Here  Mr.  Wegg's  wooden  leg  started  forward 
under  the  table  and  slowly  elevated  itself  as  he 
read  on.) 


"'Several  bowls  were  discovered  filled  with 
guineas  and  half  guineas ;  and  at  different  times 
on  searching  the  corners  of  the  house  they  found 
various  parcels  of  bank-notes.  Some  were 
crammed  into  the  crevices  of  the  wall ;'  " 

(Here  Mr.  Venus  looked  at  the  wall.) 

"  'Bundles  were  hid  under  the  cushions  and 
covers  of  the  chairs ;'  " 

(Here  Mr.  Venus  looked  under  himself  on 
the  settle.) 

"  '  Some  were  reposing  snugly  at  the  back  of 
the  drawers;  and  notes  amounting  to  six  hun- 
dred pounds  were  found  neatly  doubled  up  in 
the  inside  of  an  old  tea-pot.  In  the  stable  the 
Captain  found  jugs  full  of  old  dollars  and  shil- 
lings. The  chimney  was  not  left  unsearched, 
and  paid  very  well  for  the  trouble ;  for  in  nine- 
teen different  holes,  all  filled  with  soot,  were 
found  various  sums  of  money,  amounting  to- 
gether to  more  than  two  hundred  pounds.' " 

On  the  way  to  this  crisis  Mr.  Wegg's  wooden 
leg  had  gradually  elevated  itself  more  and  more, 
and  he  had  nudged  Mr.  Venus  with  his  opposite 
elbow  deeper  and  deeper,  until  at  length  the 
preservation  of  his  balance  became  incompati- 
ble with  the  two  actions,  and  he  now  dropped 
over  sideways  upon  that  gentleman,  squeezing 
him  against  the  settle's  edge.  Nor  did  either 
of  the  two,  for  some  few  seconds,  make  any 
effort  to  recover  himself:  both  remaining  in  a 
kind  of  pecuniary  swoon. 

.  But  the  sight  of  Mr.  Boffin  sitting  in  the  arm- 
chair hugging  himself,  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
fire,  acted  as  a  restorative.  Counterfeiting  a 
sneeze  to  cover  their  movements,  Mr.  Wegg, 
with  a  spasmodic  "Tish-ho!"  pulled  himself 
and  Mr.  Venus  up  in  a  masterly  manner. 

"Let's  have  some  more,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
hungrily. 

"John  Elwes  is  the  next,  Sir.  Is  it  your 
pleasure  to  take  John  Elwes  ?" 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "Let's  hear  what 
John  did." 

He  did  not  appear  to  have  hidden  any  thing, 
so  went  off  rather  flatly.  But  an  exemplary 
lady  named  Wilcocks,  who  had  stowed  away 
gold  and  silver  in  a  pickle-pot  in  a  clock-case, 
a  canister-full  of  treasure  in  a  hole  under  her 
stairs,  and  a  quantity  of  money  in  an  old  rat- 
trap,  revived  the  interest.  To  her  succeeded 
another  lady,  claiming  to  be  a  pauper,  whose 
wealth  was  found  wrapped  up  in  little  scraps  of 
paper  and  old  rag.  To  her,  another  lady,  apple- 
woman  by  trade,  who  had  saved  a  fortune  of  ten 
thousand  pounds  and  hidden  it  "here  and  there, 
in  cracks  and  corners,  behind  bricks  and  under 
the  flooring."  To  her,  a  French  gentleman, 
who  had  crammed  up  his  chimney,  rather  to  the 
detriment  of  its  drawing  powers,  "a  leather 
valise,  containing  twenty  thousand  francs,  gold 
coins,  and  a  large  quantity  of  precious  stones," 
as  discovered  by  a  chimney-sweep  after  his 
death.  By  these  steps  Mr.  Wegg  arrived  at  a 
concluding  instance  of  the  human  Magpie  : 

"  '  Many  years  ago  there  lived  at  Cambridge 
a  miserly  old  couple  of  the  name  of  Jardine : 
they  had  two  sons:  the  father  was  a  perfect 
miser,  and  at  his  death  one  thousand  guineas 
were  discovered  secreted  in  his  bed.  The  two 
sons  grew  up  as  parsimonious  as  their  sire. 
When  about  twenty  years  of  age  they  com- 
menced business  at  Cambridge  as  drapers,  and 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


211 


they  continued  there  until  their  death.  The  es- 
tablishment of  the  Messrs.  Jardine  was  the  most 
dirty  of  all  the  shops  in  Cambi'idge.  Customers 
seldom  went  in  to  purchase,  except  perhaps  out 
of  curiosity.  The  brothers  were  most  disreputa- 
ble-looking beings;  for,  although  surrounded 
with  gay  apparel  as  their  staple  in  trade,  they 
wore  the  most  filthy  rags  themselves.  It  is  said 
that  they  had  no  bed,  and,  to  save  the  expense 
of  one,  always  slept  on  a  bundle  of  packing- 
cloths  under  the  counter.  In  their  housekeep- 
ing they  were  penurious  in  the  extreme.  A 
joint  of  meat  did  not  grace  their  board  for 
twenty  years.  Yet  when  the  first  of.  the  broth- 
ers died,  the  other,  much  to  his  surprise,  found 
large  sums  of  money  which  had  been  secreted 
even  from  him." 

"There!"  cried  Mr.  Boffin.  "Even  from 
him,  you  see !  There  was  only  two  of  'em,  and 
yet  one  of  'em  hid  from  the  other." 

Mr.  Venus,  who  since  his  introduction  to  the 
French  gentleman  had  been  stooping  to  peer  up 
the  chimney,  had  his  attention  recalled  by  the 
last  sentence,  and  took  the  liberty  of  repeat- 
ing it. 

"Do  you  like  it?"  asked  Mr.  Boffin,  turning 
suddenly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir ?" 

"Do  you  like  what  Wegg's  been  a-reading?" 

Mr  Venus  answered  that  he  found  it  extreme- 
ly interesting. 

"Then  come  again,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "and 
hear  some  more.  Come  when  you  like-,  come 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  half  an  hour  sooner. 
There's  plenty  more ;  there's  no  end  to  it." 

Mr.  Ve^us  expressed  his  acknowledgments 
and  accepted  the  invitation. 

"It's  wonderful  what's  been  hid  at  one  time 
and  another,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  ruminating; 
"truly  wonderful." 

"Meaning,  Sir,"  observed  Wegg,  with  a  pro- 
pitiatory face  to  draw  him  out,  and  with  another 
peg  at  his  friend  and  brother,  "in  the  way  of 
money." 

"Money,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "Ah!  And 
papers." 

Mr.  "Wegg,  in  a  languid  transport,  again 
dropped  over  on  Mr.  Venus,  and  again  recover- 
ing himself,  masked  his  emotions  with  a  sneeze. 

"Tish-ho!  Did  you  say  papers  too,  Sir? 
Been  hidden,  Sir?" 

"Hidden  and  forgot,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 
"  Why  the  bookseller  that  sold  me  the  Wonder- 
ful Museum — where's  the  Wonderful  Museum  ?" 
He  was  on  his  knees  on  the  floor  in  a  moment, 
groping  eagerly  among  the  books. 

"  Can  I  assist  you,  Sir  ?"  asked  Wegg. 

"  No,  I  have  got  it ;  here  it  is,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  dusting  it  with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat. 
"  Wollume  four.  I  know  it  was  the  fourth  wol- 
lume  that  the  bookseller  read  it  to  me  out  of. 
Look  for  it,  Wegg." 

Silas  took  the  book  and  turned  the  leaves. 

"Remarkable petrefaction,  Sir ?" 

wNo,  that's  not  it,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "It 
can't  have  been  a  petrefaction." 

"Memoirs  of  General  John  Reid,  common- 
ly called  The  Walking  Rushlight,  Sir?  With 
portrait?" 

"No,  nor  yet  him,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"Remarkable  case  of  a  man  who  swallowed 
a  crown  piece,  Sir  ?" 


"To  hide  it?"  asked  Mr.  Boffin. 

"Why,  no,  Sir,"  replied  Wegg,  consulting 
the  text.  "  it  appears  to  have  been  done  by  acci- 
dent. Oh!  This  next  must  be  it.  'Singular 
discovery  of  a  will,  lost  twenty-one  years.'  " 

"That's  it !"  cried  Mr.  Boffin.  "  Read  that." 

,*'  'A  most  extraordinary  case,'"  read  Silas 
Wegg  aloud,  "  •  was  tried  at  the  last  Marybor- 
ough assizes  in  Ireland.  It  was  briefly  this: 
Robert  Baldwin,  in  March,  1782,  made  his  will, 
in  which  he  devised  the  lands  now  in  question 
to  the  children  of  his  youngest  son ;  soon  after 
which  his  faculties  failed  him,  and  he  became 
altogether  childish  and  died,  above  eighty  years 
old.  The  defendant,  the  eldest  son,  immediate- 
ly afterward  gave  out  that  his  father  had  de- 
stroyed the  will;  and  no  will  being  found  he 
entered  into  possession  of  the  lands  in  question, 
and  so  matters  remained  for  twenty-one  years, 
the  whole  family  during  all  that  time  believing 
that  the  father  had  died  without  a  will.  But 
after  twenty-one  years  the  defendant's  wife  died, 
and  he  very  soon  afterward,  at  the  age  of  sev- 
enty-eight, married  a  very  young  woman  :  which 
caused  some  anxiety  to  his  two  sons,  whose 
poignant  expressions  of  this  feeling  so  exasper- 
ated their  father,  that  he  in  his  resentment  exe- 
cuted a  will  to  disinherit  his  eldest  son,  and  in 
his  fit  of  anger  showed  it  to  his  second  son,  who 
instantly  determined  to  get  at  it,  and  destroy 
it,  in  order  to  preserve  the  property  to  his  broth- 
er. With  this  view,  he  broke  open  his  father's 
desk,  where  he  found — not  his  father's  will  which 
he  sought  after,  but  the  will  of  his  grandfather, 
which  was  then  altogether  forgotten  in  the  fam- 
ily.'" 

"There !"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  " See  what  men 
put  away  and  forget,  or  mean  to  destroy,  and 
don't!"  He  then  added  in  a  slow  tone,  "As — 
ton — ish — ing !"  And  as  he  rolled  his  eyes  all 
round  the  room,  Wegg  and  Venus  likewise  roll- 
ed their  eyes  all  round  the  room.  And  then 
Wegg,  singly,  fixed  his  eyes  on  Mr.  Boffin  looking 
at  the  fire  again  ;  as  if  he  had  a  mind  to  spring 
upon  him  and  demand  his  thoughts  or  his  life. 

"However,  time's  up  for  to-night,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  waving  his  hand  after  a  silence.  "  More 
the  day  after  to-morrow.  Range  the  books  upon 
the  shelves,  Wegg.  I  dare  say  Mr.  Venus  will 
be  so  kind  as  help  you." 

While  speaking,  he  thrust  his  hand  into  the 
breast  of  his  outer  coat,  and  struggled  with  some 
object  there  that  was  too  large  to  be  got  out 
easily.  What  was  the  stupefaction  of  the  friend- 
ly movers  when  this  object  at  last  emerging, 
proved  to  be  a  much -dilapidated  dark  lantern  ! 

Without  at  all  noticing  the  effect  produced  by 
this  little  instrument,  Mr.  Boffin  stood  it  on  his 
knee,  and,  producing  a  box  of  matches,  delib- 
erately lighted  the  candle  in  the  lantern,  blew 
out  the  kindled  match,  and  cast  the  end  into  the 
fire.  "I'm  going,  Wegg,"  he  then  announced, 
"to  take  a  turn  about  the  place  and  round  the 
yard.  I  don't  want  you.  Me  and  this  same 
lantern  have  taken  hundreds — thousands — of 
such  turns  in  our  time  together." 

"But  I  couldn't  think,  Sir — not  on  any  ac- 
count, I  couldn't," — Wegg  was  politely  begin- 
ning, when  Mr.  Boffin,  who  had  risen  and  was 
going  toward  the  door,  stopped : 

"I  have  told  you  that  I  don't  want  vou, 
Wegg." 


216 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Wegg  looked  intelligently  thoughtful,  as  if 
that  had  not  occurred  to  his  mind  until  he  now 
brought  it  to  bear  on  the  circumstance.  He 
had  nothing  for  it  but  to  let  Mr.  Boffin  go  out 
and  shut  the  door  behind  him.  But  the  instant 
he  was  on  the  other  side  of  it  Wegg  clutched 
Venus  with  both  hands,  and  said  in  a  choking 
whisper,  as  if  he  were  being  strangled : 

"Mr.  Venus,  he  must  be  followed,  he  must 
be  watched,  he  mustn't  be  lost  sight  of  for  a 
moment." 

"Why  mustn't  he?"  asked  Venus,  also 
strangling. 

"Comrade,  you  might  have  noticed  I  was  a 
little  elewated  in  spirits  when  you  come  in  to- 
night.    I've  found  something." 

"What  have  you  found?"  asked  Venus, 
clutching  him  with  both  hands,  so  that  they 
stood  interlocked  like  a  couple  of  preposterous 
gladiators. 

"There's  no  time  to  tell  you  now.  I  think  he 
must  have  gone  to  look  for  it.  We  must  have 
an  eye  upon  him  instantly." 

Releasing  each  other,  they  crept  to  the  door, 
opened  it  softly,  and  peeped  out.  It  was  a 
cloudy  night,  and  the  black  shadow  of  the 
Mounds  made  the  dark  yard  darker.  "If  not 
a  double  swindler,"  whispered  Wegg,  "why  a 
dark  lantern  ?  We  could  have  seen  what  he 
was  about  if  he  had  carried  a  light  one.  Soft- 
ly, this  way." 

Cautiously  along  the  path  that  was  bordered 
by  fragments  of  crockery  set  in  ashes  the  two 
stole  after  him.  They  could  hear  him  at  his  pe- 
culiar trot,  crushing  the  loose  cinders  as  he  went. 
"  He  knows  the  place  by  heart,"  muttered  Silas, 
"and  don't  need  to  turn  his  lantern  on,  con- 
found him !"  But  he  did  tui'n  it  on,  almost  in 
that  same  instant,  and  flashed  its  light  upon  the 
first  of  the  Mounds. 

"Is  that  the  spot  ?"  asked  Venus  in  a  whisper. 

"He's  warm,"  said  Silas  in  the  same  tone. 
"  He's  precious  warm.  He's  close.  I  think  he 
must  be  going  to  look  for  it.  What's  that  he's 
got  in  his  hand  ?" 

"A  shovel,"  answered  Venus.  "And  he 
knows  how  to  use  it,  remember,  fifty  times  as 
well  as  either  of  us." 

"If  he  looks  for  it  and  misses  it,  partner," 
suggested  Wegg,  "what  shall  we  do?" 

"First  of  all,  wait  till  he  does,"  said  Venus. 

Discreet  advice  too,  for  he  darkened  his  lan- 
tern again,  and  the  mound  turned  black.  After 
a  few  seconds  he  turned  the  light  on  once  more, 
and  was  seen  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  second 
mound,  slowly  raising  the  lantern  little  by  little 
until  he  held  it  up  at  arm's-length,  as  if  he  were 
examining  the  condition  of  the  whole  surface. 

"That  can't  be  the  spot  too?"  said  Venus. 

"No,"  said  Wegg,  "he's  getting  cold." 

"It  strikes  me,"  whispered  Venus,  "that  he 
wants  to  find  out  whether  any  one  has  been 
groping  about  there." 

"  Hush !"  returned  Wegg,  "he's  getting  cold- 
er and  colder. — Now  he's  freezing!" 

This  exclamation  was  elicited  by  his  having 
turned  the  lantern  off  again,  and  on  again,  and 
being  visible  at  the  foot  of  the  third  mound. 

"  Why,  he's  going  up  it !"  said  Venus. 

"  Shovel  and  all!"  said  Wegg. 

At  a  nimbler  trot,  as  if  the  shovel  over  his 
shoulder  stimulated  him  by  reviving  old  associ- 


ations, Mr.  Boffin  ascended  the  "serpentining 
walk,"  up  the  Mound  which  he  had  described 
to  Silas  Wegg  on  the  occasion  of  their  beginning 
to  decline  and  fall.  On  striking  into  it  he  turn- 
ed his  lantern  off.  The  two  followed  him,  stoop- 
ing low,  so  that  their  figures  might  make  no 
mark  in  relief  against  the  sky  when  he  should 
turn  his  lantern  on  again.  Mr.  Venus  took  the 
lead,  towing  Mr.  Wegg,  in  order  that  his  re- 
fractory leg  might  be  promptly  extricated  from 
any  pitfalls  it  should  dig  for  itself.  They  could 
just  make  out  that  the  Golden  Dustman  stopped 
to  breathe.  Of  course  they  stopped  too,  in- 
stantly. 

"This  is  his  own  Mound,"  whispered  Wegg, 
as  he  recovered  his  wind,  "this  one." 

"Why  all  three  are  his  own,"  returned  Ve- 
nus. 

"So  he  thinks;  but  he's  used  to  call  this  his 
own,  because  it's  the  one  first  left  to  him ;  the 
one  that  was  his  legacy  when  it  was  all  he  took 
under  the  will." 

"  When  he  shows  his  light,"  said  Venus, 
keeping  watch  upon  his  dusky  figure  all  the 
time,  "drop  lower  and  keep  closer." 

He  went  on  again,  and  they  followed  again. 
Gaining  the  top  of  the  Mound,  he  turned  on  his 
light — but  only  partially — and  stood  it  on  the 
ground.  A  bare  lopsided  weather-beaten  pole 
was  planted  in  the  ashes  there,  and  had  been 
there  many  a  year.  Hard  by  this  pole  his  lan- 
tern stood :  lighting  a  few  feet  of  the  lower  part 
of  it  and  a  little  of  the  ashy  surface  around,  and 
then  casting  off  a  purposeless  little  clear  trail  of 
light  into  the  air. 

"He  can  never  be  going  to  dig  up  the  pole !" 
whispered  Venus  as  they  dropped  low  and  kept 
close. 

"Perhaps  it's  holler  and  full  of  something," 
whispered  Wegg. 

He  was  going  to  dig,  with  whatsoever  object, 
for  he  tucked  up  his  cuffs  and  spat  on  his  hands, 
and  then  went  at  it  like  an  old  digger  as  he  was. 
He  had  no  design  upon  the  pole,  except  that^he 
measured  a  shovel's  length  from  it  before  begin- 
ning, nor  was  it  his  purpose  to  dig  deep.  Some 
dozen  or  so  of  expert  strokes  sufficed.  Then  he 
stopped,  looked  down  into  the  cavity,  bent  over 
it,  and  took  out  what  appeared  to  be  an  ordinary 
case-bottle  :  one  of  those  squat,  high-shouldered, 
short-necked  glass  bottles  which  the  Dutchman 
is  said  to  keep  his  Courage  in.  As  soon  as  he 
had  done  this  he  turned  off  his  lantern,  and 
they  could  hear  that  he  was  filling  up  the  hole 
in  the  dark.  The  ashes  being  easily  moved  by 
a  skillful  hand,  the  spies  took  this  as  a  hint  to 
make  off  in  good  time.  Accordingly,  Mr.  Ve- 
nus slipped  past  Mr.  Wegg  and  towed  him  down. 
But  Mr.  Wegg's  descent  was  not  accomplished 
without  some  personal  inconvenience,  for  his 
self-willed  leg  sticking  into  the  ashes  about  half- 
way down,  and  time  pressing,  Mr.  Venus  took 
the  liberty  of  hauling  him  from  his  tether  by  the 
collar:  which  occasioned  him  to  make  the  rest 
of  the  journey  on  his  back,  with  his  head  envel- 
oped in  the  skirts  of  his  coat,  and  his  wooden 
leg  coming  last,  like  a  drag.  So  flustered  was 
Mr.  Wegg  by  this  mode  of  traveling,  that  when 
he  was  set  on  the  level  ground  with  his  intel- 
lectual developments  uppermost,  he  was  quite 
unconscious  of  his  bearings,  and  had  not  the 
least  idea  where  his  place  of  residence  was  to 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


217 


be  found,  until  Mr.  Venus  shoved  him  into  it. 
Even  then  he  staggered  round  and  round,  weak- 
ly staring  about  him,  until  Mr.  Venus  with  a 
hard  brush  brushed  his  senses  into  him  and  the 
dust  out  of  him. 

Mr.  Boffin  came  down  leisurely,  for  this  brush- 
ing process  had  been  well  accomplished,  and  Mr. 
Venus  had  had  time  to  take  his  breath,  before 
he  reappeared.  That  he  had  the  bottle  some- 
where about  him  could  not  be  doubted ;  where, 
was  not  so  clear.  He  wore  a  large  rough  coat, 
buttoned  over,  and  it  might  be  in  any  one  of 
half  a  dozen  pockets. 

"What's  the  matter,  Wegg?"  said  Mr.  Bof- 
fin.    "  You  are  as  pale  as  a  candle." 

Mr.  Wegg  replied,  with  literal  exactness,  that 
he  felt  as  if  he  had  had  a  turn. 

"Bile," said  Mr.  Boffin,  blowing  out  the  light 
in  the  lantern,  shutting  it  up,  and  stowing  it 
away  in  the  breast  of  his  coat  as  before.  "  Are 
you  subject  to  bile,  Wegg  ?" 

Mr.  Wegg  again  replied,  with  strict  adher- 
ence to  truth,  that  he  didn't  think  he  had  ever 
had  a  similar  sensation  in  his  head,  to  any  thing 
like  the  same  extent. 

"Physic  yourself  to-morrow,  Wegg,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  "to  be  in  order  for  next  night.  By-the- 
by,  this  neighborhood  is  going  to  have  a  loss, 
Wegg." 

"A  loss,  Sir?'' 

"  Going  to  lose  the  Mounds." 

The  friendly  movers  made  such  an  obvious 
effort  not  to  look  at  one  another,  that  they  might 
as  well  have  stared  at  one  another  with  all  their 
might. 

"Have  you  parted  with  them,  Mr.  Boffin?" 
asked  Silas. 

"  Yes ;  they're  going.  Mine's  as  good  as  gone 
already." 

"You  mean  the  little  one  of  the  three,  with 
the  pole  atop,  Sir." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  rubbing  his  ear  in  his 
old  way,  with  that  new  touch  of  craftiness  added 
to  it.  "  It  has  fetched  a  penny.  It'll  begin  to 
be  carted  off  to-morrow." 

"  Have  you  been  out  to  take  leave  of  your  old 
friend,  Sir  ?"  asked  Silas,  jocoselv. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "What  the  devil 
put  that  in  your  head  ?" 

He  was  so  sudden  and  rough,  that  Wegg,  who 
had  been  hovering  closer  and  closer  to  his  skirts, 
dispatching  the  back  of  his  hand  on  exploring 
expeditions  in  search  of  the  bottle's  surface,  re- 
tired two  or  three  paces. 

"  No  offense,  Sir,"  said  Wegg,  humbly.  "  No 
offense." 

Mr.  Boffin  eyed  him  as  a  dog  might  eye  an- 
other dog  who  wanted  his  bone ;  and  actually 
retorted  with  a  low  growl,  as  the  dog  might  have 
retorted. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said,  after  having  sunk  into 
a  moody  silence,  with  his  hands  clasped  behind 
him,  and  his  eyes  suspiciously  wandering  about 
Wegg.  "  No !  stop  there.  I  know  the  way  out, 
and  I  want  no  light." 

Avarice,  and  the  evening's  legends  of  avarice, 
and  the  inflammatory  effect  of  what  he  had  seen, 
and  perhaps  the  rush  of  his  ill-conditioned  blood 
to  his  brain  in  his  descent,  wrought  Silas  Wegg 
to  such  a  pitch  of  insatiable  appetite,  that  when 
the  door  closed  he  made  a  swoop  at  it  and  drew 
Venus  along  with  him. 


"He  mustn't  go!"  he  cried.  "We  mustn't 
let  him  go !  He  has  got  that  bottle  about  him. 
We  must  have  that  bottle !" 

"Why,  you  wouldn't  take  it  by  force?"  said 
Venus,  restraining  him. 

"Wouldn't  I?  Yes  I  would.  I'd  take  it  by 
any  force,  I'd  have  it  at  any  price !  Are  you  so 
afraid  of  one  old  man  as  to  let  him  go,  you 
coward  ?" 

"I  am  so  afraid  of  you  as  not  to  let  you  go," 
muttered  Venus,  sturdily,  clasping  him  in  his 
arms. 

' '  Did  you  hear  him  ?"  retorted  Wegg.  ' '  Did 
you  hear  him  say  that  he  was  resolved  to  disap- 
point us  ?  Did  you  hear  him  say,  you  cur,  that 
he  was  going  to  have  the  Mounds  cleared  off, 
when  no  doubt  the  whole  place  will  be  rum- 
maged ?  If  you  haven't  the  spirit  of  a  mouse  to 
defend  your  rights,  I  have.  Let  me  go  after  him." 

As  in  his  wildness  he  was  making  a  strong 
struggle  for  it,  Mr.  Venus  deemed  it  expedient 
to  lift  him,  throw  him,  and  fall  with  him ;  well 
knowing  that,  once  down,  he  would  not  be  up 
again  easily  with  his  wooden  legft  So  they  both 
rolled  on  the  floor,  and,  as  they  did  so,  Mr. 
Boffin  shut  the  gate. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   FRIENDLY  MOVE   TAKES   UP  A   STRONG 
POSITION. 

The  friendly  movers  sat  upright  on  the  floor, 
panting  and  eying  one  another,  after  Mr.  Boffin 
had  slammed  the  gate  and  gone  away.  In  the 
weak  eyes  of  Venus,  and  in  every  reddish  dust- 
colored  hair  in  his  shock  of  hair,  there  was  a 
marked  distrust  of  Wegg  and  an  alertness  to  fly 
at  him  on  perceiving  the  smallest  occasion.  In 
the  hard-grained  face  of  Wegg,  and  in  his  stiff 
knotty  figure  (he  looked  like  a  German  wooden 
toy),  there  was  expressed  a  politic  conciliation, 
which  had  no  spontaneity  in  it.  Both  were 
flushed,  flustered,  and  rumpled,  by  the  late 
scuffle;  and  Wegg,  in  coming  to  the  ground, 
had  received  a  humming  knock  on  the  back  of 
his  devoted  head,  which  caused  him  still  to  rub 
it  with  an  air  of  having  been  highly — but  dis- 
agreeably— astonished.  Each  was  silent  for  some 
time,  leaving  it  to  the  other  to  begin. 

"Brother,"  said  Wegg,  at  length  breaking  the 
silence,  "you  were  right,  and  I  was  wrong.  I 
forgot  myself." 

Mr.  Venus  knowingly  cocked  his  shock  of  hair, 
as  rather  thinking  Mr.  Wegg  had  remembered 
himself,  in  respect  of  appearing  without  any  dis- 
guise.' 

"But  comrade,"  pursued  Wegg,  "  it  was  never 
your  lot  to  know  Miss  Elizabeth,  Master  George, 
Aunt  Jane,  nor  Uncle  Parker." 

Mr.  Venus  admitted  that  he  had  never  known 
those  distinguished  persons,  and  added,  in  effect, 
that  he  had  never  so  much  as  desired  the  honor 
of  their  acquaintance. 

"Don't  say  that,  comrade!"  retorted  Wegg. 
"No,  don't  say  that!  Because,  without  having 
known  them,  you  never  can  fully  know  what  it 
is  to  be  stimilated  to  frenzy  by  the  sight  of  the 
Usurper." 

Offering  these  excusatory  words  as  if  they  re- 
flected great  credit  on  himself,  Mr.  Wegg  im- 


218 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


pelled  himself  with  his  hands  toward  a  chair  in 
a  corner  of  the  room,  and  there,  after  a  variety 
of  awkward  gambols,  attained  a  perpendicular 
position.     Mr.  Venus  also  rose. 

1 '  Comrade, "  said  Wegg,  ' '  take  a  seat.  Com- 
rade, what  a  speaking  countenance  is  yours !" 

Mr.  Venus  involuntarily  smoothed  his  coun- 
tenance, and  looked  at  his  hand,  as  if  to  see 
whether  any  of  its  speaking  properties  came  off. 

"For  clearly  do  I  know,  mark  you,"  pursued 
Wegg,  pointing  his  words  with  his  forefinger, 
"  clearly  do  I  know  what  question  your  express- 
ive features  puts  to  me." 

"  What  question  ?"  said  Venus. 

"The  question,"  returned  Wegg,  with  a  sort 
of  joyful  affability,  "  why  I  didn't  mention  sooner 
that  I  had  found  something.  Says  your  speak- 
ing countenance  to  me :  '  Why  didn't  you  com- 
municate that  when  I  first  come  in  this  even- 
ing ?  Why  did  you  keep  it  back  till  you  thought 
Mr.  Boffin  had  come  to  look  for  the  article?' 
Your  speaking  countenance,"  said  Wegg,  "puts 
it  plainer  than  language.  Now,  you  can't  read 
in  my  face  what  answer  I  give  ?" 

"No,  I  can't,"  said  Venus. 

' '  I  knew  it !  And  why  not  ?"  returned  Wegg, 
with  the  same  joyful  candor.  "Because  I  lay 
no  claims  to  a  speaking  countenance.  Because 
I  am  well  aware  of  my  deficiencies.  All  men 
are  not  gifted  alike.  But  I  can  answer  in  words. 
And  in  what  words  ?  These.  I  wanted  to  give 
you  a  delightful  sap — pur — ize  !" 

Having  thus  elongated  and  emphasized  the 
word  Surprise,  Mr.  Wegg  shook  his  friend  and 
brother  by  both  hands,  and  then  clapped  him  on 
both  knees,  like  an  affectionate  patron  who  en- 
treated him  not  to  mention  so  small  a  service  as 
that  which  it  had  been  his  happy  privilege  to 
render. 

"Your  speaking  countenance,"  said  Wegg, 
"being  answered  to  its  satisfaction,  only  asks 
then,  '  What  have  you  found  ?'  Why,  I  hear  it 
say  the  words!" 

"Well?"  retorted  Venus,  snappishly,  after 
waiting  in  vain.  "  If  you  hear  it  say  the  words, 
why  don't  you  answer  it  ?" 

"Hear  me  out !"  said  Wegg.  "I'm  a-going 
to.  Hear  me  out !  Man  and  brother,  partner 
in  feelings  equally  with  undertakings  and  ac- 
tions, I  have  found  a  cash-box." 

"Where?" 

"  — Hear  me  out !"  said  Wegg.  (He  tried  to 
reserve  whatever  he  could,  and,  whenever  dis- 
closure was  forced  upon  him,  broke  into  a  radi- 
ant gush  of  Hear  me  out.)  "  On  a  certain  day, 
Sir — " 

"When?"  said  Venus,  bluntly. 

"N — no,"  returned  Wegg,  shaking  hi*  head 
at  once  observantly,  thoughtfully,  and  playfully. 
"No,  Sir!  That's  not  your  expressive  counte- 
nance which  asks  that  question.  That's  your 
voice;  merely  your  voice.  To  proceed.  On  a 
certain  day,  Sir,' I  happened  to  be  walking  in 
the  yard — taking  my  lonely  round — for  in  the 
words  of  a  friend  of  my  own  family,  the  author 
of  All's  Well  arranged  as  a  duet : 

'  Deserted,  as  you  will  remember,  Mr.  Venus,  by  the 

waning  moon, 
"When  stars,  it  will  occur  to  you  before  I  mention  it, 

proclaim  night's  cheerless  noon, 
On  tower,  fort,  or  tented  ground, 
The  sentry  walks  his  lonely  round, 
The  sentry  walks:' 


— under  those  circumstances,  Sir,  I  happened  to 
be  walking  in  the  yard  early  one  afternoon,  and 
happened  to  have  an  iron  rod  in  my  hand,  with 
which  I  have  been  sometimes  accustomed  to  be- 
guile the  monotony  of  a  literary  life,  when  I 
struck  it  against  an  object  not  necessary  to  trou- 
ble you  by  naming — " 

"It  is  necessary.  What  object?"  demanded 
Venus,  in  a  wrathful  tone. 

"  — Hear  me  out !"  said  Weprg.  "The Pump. 
— When  I  struck  it  against  the  Pump,  and  found, 
not  only  that  the  top  was  loose  and  opened  with 
a  lid,  but  that  something  in  it  rattled.  That 
something,  comrade,  I  discovered  to  be  a  small 
flat  oblong  cash-box.  Shall  I  say  it  was  disap- 
pintingly  light  ?" 

"There  were  papers  in  it,"  said  Venus. 

"There  your  expressive  countenance  speaks 
indeed!"  cried  Wegg.  "A  paper.  The  box 
was  locked,  tied  up,  and  sealed,  and  on  the  out- 
side was  a  parchment  label,  with  the  writing, 

'  MY  WILL,  JOHN  HARMON,  TEMPORARILY  DEPOS- 
ITED HERE.'  " 

"We  must  know  its  contents,"  said  Venus. 

" — Hear  me  out !"  cried  Wegg.  "I  said  so, 
and  I  broke  the  box  open." 

"Without  coming  to  me!"  exclaimed  Ve- 
nus. 

"Exactly  so,  Sir!"  returned  Wegg,  blandly 
and  buoyantly.  "  I  see  I  take  you  with  me ! 
Hear,  hear,  hear!  Resolved,  as  your  discrim- 
inating good  sense  perceives,  that  if  you  was  to 
have  a  sap — pur — ize  it  should  be  a  complete 
one !  Well,  Sir.  And  so,  as  you  have  hon- 
ored me  by  anticipating,  I  examined  the  docu- 
ment. Regularly  executed,  regularly  witnessed, 
very  short.  Inasmuch  as  he  has  never  made 
friends,  and  has  ever  had  a  rebellious  family, 
he,  John  Harmon,  gives  to  Nicodemus  Boffin 
the  Little  Mound,  which  is  quite  enough  for 
him,  and  gives  the  whole  rest  and  residue  of  his 
property  to  the  Crown." 

"The  date  of  the  will  that  has  been  proved 
must  be  looked  to,"  remarked  Venus.  "It  may 
be  later  than  this  one." 

" — Hear  me  out!"  cried  Wegg.  "I said  so. 
I  paid  a  shilling  (never  mind  your  sixpence  of 
it)  to  look  up  that  will.  Brother,  that  will  is 
dated  months  before  this  will.  And  now,  as  a 
fellow-man,  and  as  a  partner  in  a  friendly  move," 
added  Wegg,  benignantly  taking  him  by  both 
hands  again,  and  clapping  him  on  both  knees 
again,  "say  have  I  completed  my  labor  of  love 
to  your  perfect  satisfaction,  and  are  you  sap — 
pur — ized?" 

Mr.  Venus  contemplated  his  fellow-man  and 
partner  with  doubting  eyes,  and  then  rejoined 
stiffly : 

"This  is  great  news  indeed,  Mr.  Wegg. 
There's  no  denying  it.  But  I  could  have  wish- 
ed you  had  told  it  me  before  you  got  your  fright 
to-night,  and  I  could  have  wished  you  had  ever 
asked  me  as  your  partner  what  we  were  to  do, 
before  you  thought  you  were  dividing  a  respons- 
ibility." 

" — Hear  me  out!"  cried  Wegg.  "I  knew 
you  was  a-going  to  say  so.  But  alone  I  bore 
the  anxiety,  and  alone  I'll  bear  the  blame!" 
This  with  an  air  of  great  magnanimity. 

"Now,"  said  Venus.  " Let's  see  this  will  and 
this  box." 

"Do  I  understand,  brother,"  returned  Wegg 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


219 


with  considerable  reluctance,  "that  it  is  your 
wish  to  see  this  will  and  this — " 

Mr.  Venus  smote  the  table  with  his  hand. 
" — Hear  me  out!"  said  Wegg.     "Hear  me 
out!     I'll  go  and  fetch  'em." 

After  being  some  time  absent,  as  if  in  his  cov- 
etousness  he  could  hardly  make  up  his  mind  to 
produce  the  treasure  to  his  partner,  he  returned 
with  an  old  leathern  hat-box,  into  which  he  had 
put  the  other  box,  for  the  better  preservation  of 
commonplace  appearances,  and  for  the  disarm- 
ing of  suspicion.  "But  I  don't  half  like  open- 
ing it  here,"  said  Silas,  in  a  low  voice,  looking 
around:  "he  might  come  back,  he  may  not  be 
gone ;  we  don't  know  what  he  may  be  up  to, 
after  what  we've  seen." 

"There's  something  in  that,"  assented  Venus. 
"  Come  to  my  place." 

Jealous  of  the  custody  of  the  box,  and  yet 
fearful  of  opening  it  under  the  existing  circum- 
stances, Wegg  hesitated.  "Come,  I  tell  you," 
repeated  Venus,  chafing,  "to  my  place."  Not 
very  well  seeing  his  way  to  a  refusal,  Mr.  Wegg 
then  rejoined  in  a  gush,  " — Hear  me  out! — 
Certainly."  So  he  locked  up  the  Bower  and 
they  set  forth :  Mr.  Venus  taking  his  arm,  and 
keeping  it  with  remarkable  tenacity. 

They  found  the  usual  dim  light  burning  in 
the  window  of  Mr.  Venus's  establishment,  im- 
perfectly disclosing  to  the  public  the  usual  pair 
Of  preserved  frogs,  sword  in  hand,  with  their 
point  of  honor  still  unsettled.  Mr.  Venus  had 
closed  his  shop  door  on  coming  out,  and  now 
opened  it  with  the  key  and  shut  it  again  as  soon 
as  they  were  within ;  but  not  before  he  had  put 
up  and  barred  the  shutters  of  the  shop  window. 
"No  one  can  get  in  without  being  let  in,"  said 
he  then,  "  and  we  couldn't  be  more  snug  than 
here."  So  he  raked  together  the  yet  warm  cin- 
ders in  the  rusty  grate,  and  made  a  fire,  and 
trimmed  the  candle  on  the  little  counter.  As 
the  fire  cast  its  flickering  gleams  here  and  there 
upon  the  dark  greasy  walls,  the  Hindoo  baby, 
the  African  baby,  the  articulated  English  baby, 
the  assortment  of  skulls,  and  the  rest  of  the  col- 
lection, came  starting  to  their  various  stations 
as  if  they  had  all  been  out,  like  their  master, 
and  were  punctual  in  a  general  rendezvous  to 
assist  at  the  secret.  The  French  gentleman  had 
grown  considerably  since  Mr.  Wegg  last  saw  him, 
being  now  accommodated  with  a  pair  of  legs  and 
a  head,  though  his  arms  were  yet  in  abeyance. 
To  whomsoever  the  head  had  originally  belonged, 
Silas  Wegg  would  have  regarded  it  as  a  personal 
favor  if  he  had  not  cut  quite  so  many  teeth. 

Silas  took  his  seat  in  silence  on  the  wooden 
box  before  the  fire,  and  Venus  dropping  into  his 
low  chair  produced  from  among  his  skeleton 
hands  his  tea-tray  and  tea-cups,  and  put  the 
kettle  on.  Silas  inwardly  approved  of  these 
preparations,  trusting  they  might  end  in  Mr. 
Venus's  diluting  his  intellect. 

"Now,  Sir,"  said  Venus,  "all  is  safe  and 
quiet.     Let  us  see  this  discovery." 

With  still  reluctant  hands,  and  not  without 
several  glances  toward  the  skeleton  hands,  as  if 
he  mistrusted  that  a  couple  of  them  might  spring 
forth  and  clutch  the  document,  Wegg  opened 
the  hat-box  and  revealed  the  cash-box,  opened 
the  cash-box  and  repealed  the  will.  He  held  a 
corner  of  it  tight,  while  Venus,  taking  hold  of  an- 
other corner,  searchingly  and  attentively  read  it. 


"Was  I  correct  in  my  account  of  it,  partner?" 
said  Mr.  Wegg  at  length. 

"  Partner,  you  were,"  said  Mr.  Venus. 

Mr.  Wegg  thereupon  made  an  easy,  graceful 
movement,  as  though  he  would  fold  it  up ;  but 
Mr.  Venus  held  on  by  his  corner. 

"No,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Venus,  winking  his  weak 
eyes  and  shaking  his  head.  ' '  No,  partner.  The 
question  is  now  brought  up,  who  is  going  to  take 
care  of  this.  Do  you  know  who  is  going  to  take 
care  of  this,  partner?" 

"I  am,"  said  Wegg. 

"  Oh  dear  no,  partner,"  retorted  Venus. 
"  That's  a  mistake.  I  am.  Now  look  here,  Mr. 
Wegg.  I  don't  want  to  have  any  words  with 
you,  and  still  less  do  I  want  to  have  any  ana- 
tomical pursuits  with  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Wegg,  quickly. 

"I  mean,  partner,"  replied  Venus,  slowly, 
"  that  it's  hardly  possible  for  a  man  to  feel  in  a 
more  amiable  state  toward  another  man  than  I 
do  toward  you  at  this  present  moment.  But  I 
am  on  my  own  ground,  I  am  surrounded  by  the 
trophies  of  my  art,  and  my  tools  is  very  handy." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Venus?"  asked 
Wegg  again. 

"I  am  surrounded,  as  I  have  observed,"  said 
Mr.  Venus,  placidly,  "by  the  trophies  of  my 
art.  They  are  numerous,  my  stock  of  human  wa- 
rious  is  large,  the  shop  is  pretty  well  crammed, 
and  I  don't  just  now  want  any  more  trophies  of 
my  art.  But  I  like  my  art,  and  I  know  how  to 
exercise  my  art." 

"No  man  better,"  assented  Mr.  Wegg,  with  a 
somewhat  staggered  air. 

"There's  the  Miscellanies  of  several  human 
specimens,"  said  Venus,  "(though  you  mightn't 
think  it)  in»the  box  on  which  you're  sitting. 
There's  the  Miscellanies  of  several  human  speci- 
mens in  the  lovely  compo-one  behind  the  door;" 
with  a  nod  toward  the  French  gentleman.  "  It 
still  wants  a  pair  of  arms.  I  don't  say  that  I'm 
in  any  hurry  for  'em." 

"  You  must  be  wandering  in  your  mind,  part- 
ner," Silas  remonstrated. 

"You'll  excuse  me  if  I  wander,"  returned 
Venus;  "I  am  sometimes  rather  subject  to  it. 
I  like  my  art,  and  I  know  how  to  exercise  my 
art,  and  I  mean  to  have  the  keeping  of  this  doc- 
ument." 

"But  what  has  that  got  to  do  with  your  art, 
partner  ?"  asked  Wegg,  in  an  insinuating  tone. 

Mr.  Venus  winked  his  chronically  -  fatigued 
eyes  both  at  once,  and  adjusting  the  kettle  on 
the  fire,  remarked  to  himself,  in  a  hollow  voice, 
"  She'll  bile  in  a  couple  of  minutes." 

Silas  Wegg  glanced  at  the  kettle,  glanced  at 
the  shelves,  glanced  at  the  French  gentleman 
behind  the  door,  and  shrank  a  little  as  he  glanced 
at  Mr.  Venus  winking  his  red  eyes,  and  feel- 
ing in  his  waistcoat  pocket — as  for  a  lancet,  say 
— with  his  unoccupied  hand.  He  and  Venus 
were  necessarily  seated  close  together,  as  each 
held  a  corner  of  the  document,  which  was  but  a 
common  sheet  of  paper. 

"Partner,"  said  Wegg,  even  more  insinua- 
tingly than  before,  ' '  I  propose  that  we  cut  it  in 
half,  and  each  keep  a  half." 

Venus  shook  his  shock  of  hair,  as  he  replied, 
"It  wouldn't  do  to  mutilate  it,  partner.  It 
might  seem  to  be  canceled. 

"Partner,"  said  Wegg,  after  a  silence,  during 


220 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


which  they  had  contemplated  one  another,  "  don't 
your  speaking  countenance  say  that  you're  a-go- 
ing to  suggest  a  middle  course  ?" 

Venus  shook  his  shock  of  hair  as  he  replied, 
"Partner,  you  have  kept  this  paper  from  me 
once.  You  shall  never  keep  it  from  me  again. 
I  offer  you  the  box  and  the  label  to  take  care  of, 
but  I'll  take  care  of  the  paper." 

Silas  hesitated  a  little  longer,  and  then  sud- 
denly releasing  his  corner,  and  resuming  his 
buoyant  and  benignant  tone,  exclaimed,  "What's 
life  without  trustfulness !  What's  a  fellow-man 
without  honor !  You're  welcome  to  it,  partner, 
in  a  spirit  of  trust  and  confidence." 

Continuing  to  wink  his  red  eyes  both  together 
— but  in  a  self-communing  way,  and  without  any 
show  of  triumph — Mr.  Venus  folded  the  paper 
now  left  in  his  hand,  and  locked  it  in  a  drawer 
behind  him,  and  pocketed  the  key.  He  then 
proposed  "A  cup  of  tea,  partner?"  To  which 
Mr.  Wegg  returned,  "  Thank'ee,  partner,"  and 
the  tea  was  made  and  poured  out. 

"Next,"  said  Venus,  blowing  at  his  tea  in 
his  saucer,  and  looking  over  it  at  his  confiden- 
tial friend,  "comes  the  question,  What's  the 
course  to  be  pursued  ?" 

On  this  head  Silas  Wegg  had  much  to  say. 
Silas  had  to  say  That,  he  would  beg  to  remind 
his  comrade,  brother,  and  partner,  of  the  im- 
pressive passages  they  had  read  that  evening ; 
of  the  evident  parallel  in  Mr.  Boffin's  mind  be- 
tween them  and  the  late  owner  of  the  Bower, 
and  the  present  circumstances  of  the  Bower  ;  of 
the  bottle  ;  and  of  the  box.  That,  the  fortunes 
of  his  brother  and  comrade,  and  of  himself,  were 
evidently  made,  inasmuch  as  they  had  but  to 
put  their  price  upon  this  document,  and  get  that 
price  from  the  minion  of  fortune  and  the  worm 
of  the  hour :  who  now  appeared  to  be  less  of  a 
minion  and  more  of  a  worm  than  had  been  pre- 
viously supposed.  That,  he  considered  it  plain 
that  such  price  was  stateable  in  a  single  express- 
ive word,  and  that  the  word  was,  "Halves!" 
That,  the  question  then  arose  when  "  Halves !" 
should  be,  called.  That,  here  he  had  a  plan  of 
action  to  recommend,  with  a  conditional  clause. 
That,  the  plan  of  action  was  that  they  should 
lie  by  with  patience  ;  that,  they  should  allow  the 
Mounds  to  be  gradually  leveled  and  cleared 
away,  while  retaining  to  themselves  their  pres- 
ent opportunity  of  watching  the  process — which 
would  be,  he  conceived,  to  put  the  trouble  and 
cost  of  daily  digging  and  delving  upon  some- 
body else,  while  they  might  nightly  turn  such 
complete  disturbance  of  the  dust  to  the  account 
of  their  own  private  investigations — and  that, 
when  the  Mounds  were  gone,  and  they  had 
worked  those  chances  for  their  own  joint  benefit 
solely,  they  should  then,  and  not  before,  explode 
on  the  minion  and  worm.  But  here  came  the 
conditional  clause,  and  to  this  he  entreated  the 
special  attention  of  his  comrade,  brother,  and 
partner.  It  was  not  to  be  borne  that  the  min- 
ion and  worm  should  carry  off  any  of  that  prop- 
erty which  was  now  to  be  regarded  as  their  own 
pi'operty.  When  he,  Mr.  Wegg,  had  seen  the 
minion  surreptitiously  making  off  with  that  bot- 
tle, and  its  precious  contents  unknown,  he  had 
looked  upon  him  in  the  light  of  a  mere  robber, 
and,  as  such,  would  have  despoiled  him  of  his 
ill-gotten  gain,  but  for  the  judicious  interference 
of  his  comrade,  brother,  and  partner.     There- 


fore, the  conditional  clause  he  proposed  was, 
that,  if  the  minion  should  return  in  his  late 
sneaking  manner,  and  if,  being  closely  watched, 
he  should  be  found  to  possess  himself  of  any 
thing,  no  matter  what,  the  sharp  sword  impend- 
ing over  his  head  should  be  instantly  shown  him, 
he  should  be  strictly  examined  as  to  what  he 
knew  or  suspected,  should  be  severely  handled 
by  them  his  masters,  and  should  be  kept  in  a 
state  of  abject  moral  bondage  and  slavery  until 
the  time  when  they  should  see  fit  to  permit  him 
to  purchase  his  freedom  at  the  price  of  half  his 
possessions.  If,  said  Mr.  Wegg  by  way  of  per- 
oration, he  had  erred  in  saying  only  "  Halves  !" 
he  trusted  to  his  comrade,  brother,  and  partner 
not  to  hesitate  to  set  him  right,  and  to  reprove 
his  weakness.  It  might  be  more  according  to 
the  rights  of  things,  to  say  Two-thirds  ;  it  might 
be  more  according  to  the  rights  of  things,  to  say 
Three-fourths.  On  those  points  he  was  ever 
open  to  correction. 

Mr.  Venus,  having  wafted  his  attention  to 
this  discourse  over  three  successive  saucers  of 
tea,  signified  his  concurrence  in  the  views  ad- 
vanced. Inspirited  hereby,  Mr.  Wegg  extended 
his  right  hand,  and  declared  it  to  be  a  hand 
which  never  yet.  Without  entering  into  more 
minute  pai'ticulars.  Mr.  Venus,  sticking  to  his 
tea,  briefly  professed  his  belief,  as  polite  forms 
required  of  him,  that  it  was  a  hand  which  never 
yet.  But  contented  himself  with  looking  at  it, 
and  did  not  take  it  to  his  bosom. 

"Brother,"  said  Wegg,  when  this  happy  un- 
derstanding was  established,  "  I  should  like  to 
ask  you  something.  You  remember  the  night 
when  I  first  looked  in  here,  and  found  you  float- 
ing your  powerful  mind  in  tea?" 

Still  swilling  tea,  Mr.  Venus  nodded  assent. 

"  And  there  you  sit,  Sir,"  pursued  Wegg  with 
an  air  of  thoughtful  admiration,  "as  if  you  had 
never  left  off!  There  you  sit,  Sir,  as  if  you  had 
an  unlimited  capacity  of  assimilating  the  fla- 
grant article !  There  you  sit,  Sir,  in  the  midst 
of  your  Works,  looking  as  if  you'd  been  called 
upon  for  Home,  Sweet  Home,  and  was  obleeg- 
ing  the  company ! 

lA  exile  from  home  splendor  dazzles  in  vain, 
O  give  you  your  lowly  Preparations  again, 
The  birds  stuffed  so  sweetly  that  can't  be  expected  to 

come  at  your  call, 
Give  you  these  with  the  peace  of  mind  dearer  than  all. 
Home,  Home,  Home,  sweet  Home!' 

— Be  it  ever,"  added  Mr.  Wegg  in  prose  as  he 
glanced  about  the  shop,  "ever  so  ghastly,  all 
things  considered,  there's  no  place  like  it." 

"You  said  you'd  like  to  ask  something;  but 
you  haven't  asked  it,"  remarked  Venus,  very  un- 
sympathetic in  manner. 

"Your  peace  of  mind,"  said  Wegg,  offering 
condolence,  "  your  peace  of  mind  was  in  a  poor 
way  that  night.  Hoio's  it  going  on.  Is  it  look- 
ing up  at  all?" 

"  She  does  not  wish,"  replied  Mr.  Venus  with 
a  comical  mixture  of  indignant  obstinacy  and 
tender  melancholy,  "to  regard  herself,  nor  yet 
to  be  regarded,  in*  that  particular  light.  There's 
no  more  to  be  said." 

"Ah,  dear  me,  dear  me!"  exclaimed  Wegg 
with  a  sigh,  but  eying  him  while  pretending  to 
keep  him  company  in  eying  the  fire,  "  such  is 
Woman !  And  I  remember  you  said  that  night, 
sitting  there  as  I  sat  here — said  that  night  when 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


221 


your  peace  of  mind  was  first  laid  low,  that  you 
had  taken  an  interest  in  these  very  affairs.  Such 
is  coincidence!" 

"Her  father,"  rejoined  Venus,  and  then  stopped 
to  swallow  more  tea,  "  her  father  was  mixed  up 
in  them." 

"You  didn't  mention  her  name,  Sir,  I  think?" 
observed  Wegg,  pensively.  "No,  you  didn't 
mention  her  name  that  night." 

"Pleasant  Riderhood." 

"  In — deed ! "  cried  Wegg.  ' '  Pleasant  Rider- 
hood.  There's  something  moving  in  the  name. 
Pleasant.  Dear  me !  Seems  to  express  what 
she  might  have  been  if  she  hadn't  made  that  un- 
pleasant remark — and  what  she  ain't  in  conse- 
quence of  having  made  it.  Would  it  at  all  pour 
balm  into  your  wounds,  Mr.  Venus,  to  inquire 
how  you  came  acquainted  with  her?" 

"I  was  down  at  the  water-side,"  said  Venus, 
taking  another  gulp  of  tea  and  mournfully  wink- 
ing at  the  fire — "looking  for  parrots" — taking 
another  gulp  and  stopping. 

Mr.  Wegg  hinted,  to  jog  his  attention  :  "You 
could  hardly  have  been  out  parrot-shooting  in 
the  British  climate,  Sir  ?" 

"No,  no,  no,"  said  Venus,  fretfully.  "I  was 
down  at  the  water-side  looking  for  parrots  brought 
home  by  sailors,  to  buy  for  stuffing." 

"Ay,  ay,  ay,  Sir!" 

" — And  looking  for  a  nice  pair  of  rattle- 
snakes, to  articulate  for  a  Museum — when  I  was 
doomed  to  fall  in  with  her  and  deal  with  her. 
It  was  just  at  the  time  of  that  discovery  in  the 
river.  Her  father  had  seen  the  discovery  being 
towed  in  the  river.  I  made  the  popularity  of 
the  subject  a  reason  for  going  back  to  improve 
the  acquaintance,  and  I  have  never  since  been 
the  man  I  was.  My  very  bones  is  rendered  flab- 
by by  brooding  over  it.  If  they  could  be  brought 
to  me  loose,  to  sort,  I  should  hardly  have  the 
face  to  claim  'em  as  mine.  To  such  an  extent 
have  I  fallen  off  under  it." 

Mr.  Wegg,  less  interested  than  he  had  been, 
glanced  at  one  particular  shelf  in  the  dark. 

"Why  I  remember,  Mr. Venus,"  he  said,  in 
a  tone  of  friendly  commiseration  "(for  I  re- 
member every  word  that  falls  from  you,  Sir),  I 
remember  that  you  said  that  night,  you  had  got 
up  there — and  then  your  words  was,  'Never 
mind.' " 

" — The  parrot  that  I  bought  of  her,"  said 
Venus,  with  a  despondent  rise  and  fall  of  his 
eyes.  "Yes ;  there  it  lies  on  its  side,  dried  up ; 
except  for  its  plumage,  very  like  myself.  I've 
never  had  the  heart  to  prepare  it,  and  I  never 
shall  have  now." 

With  a  disappointed  face,  Silas  mentally  con- 
signed this  parrot  to  regions  more  than  tropical, 
and,  seeming  for  the  time  to  have  lost  his  power 
of  assuming  an  interest  in  the  woes  of  Mr.  Ve- 
nus, fell  to  tightening  his  wooden  leg  as  a  prep- 
aration for  departure:  its  gymnastic  perform- 
ances of  that  evening  having  severely  tried  its 
constitution. 

After  Silas  had  left  the  shop,  hat-box  in  hand, 
and  had  left  Mr.  Venus  to  lower  himself  to  obliv- 
ion-point with  the  requisite  weight  of  tea,  it 
greatly  preyed  on  his  ingenuous  mind  that  he 
had  taken  this  artist  into  partnership  at  all.  He 
bitterly  felt  that  he  had  overreached  himself  in 
the  .beginning  by  grasping  at  Mr.  Venus's  mere 
straws  of  hints,  now  shown  to  be  worthless  for 


his  purpose.  Casting  about  for  ways  and  means 
of  dissolving  the  connection  without  loss  of  mon- 
ey, reproaching  himself  for  having  be$n  betrayed 
into  an  avowal  of  his  secret,  and  complimenting 
himself  beyond  measure  on  his  purely  accidental 
good-luck,  he  beguiled  the  distance  between 
Clerkenwell  and  the  mansion  of  the  Golden 
Dustman. 

For  Silas  Wegg  felt  it  to  be  quite  out  of  the 
question  that  he  could  lay  his  head  upon  his 
pillow  in  peace  without  first  hovering  over  Mr. 
Boffin's  house  in  the  superior  character  of  its 
Evil  Genius.  Power  (unless  it  be  the  power  of 
intellect  or  virtue)  has  ever  the  greatest  attrac- 
tion for  the  lowest  natures;  and  the  mere  defi- 
ance of  the  unconscious  house-front,  with  his 
power  to  strip  the  roof  off  the  inhabiting  family 
like  the  roof  of  a  house  of  cards,  was  a  treat 
which  had  a  charm  for  Silas  Wegg. 

As  he  hovered  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  exulting,  the  carriage  drove  up. 

"There'll  shortly  be  an  end  of  you"  said 
Wegg,  threatening  it  with  the  hat-box.  "  Your 
varnish  is  fading." 

Mrs.  Boffin  descended  and  went  in. 

"  Look  out  for  a  fall,  my  Lady  Dustwoman," 
said  Wegg. 

Bella  lightly  descended,  and  ran  in  after 
her. 

"How  brisk  we  are!"  said  Wegg.  "You 
won't  run  so  gayl'y  to  your  old.  shabby  home,  my 
girl.     You'll  have  to  go  there,  though." 

A  little  while,  and  the  Secretary  came  out. 

"I  was  passed  over  for  you,"  said  Wegg. 
"But  you  had  better  provide  yourself  with  an- 
other situation,  young  man." 

Mr.  Boffin's  shadow  passed  upon  the  blinds 
of  three  large  windows  as  he  trotted  down  the 
room,  and  passed  again  as  he  went  back. 

"Yoop!"  cried  Wegg.  "You're  there,  are 
you  ?  Where's  the  bottle  ?  You  would*  give 
your  bottle  for  my  box,  Dustman!" 

Having  now  composed  his  mind  for  slumber, 
he  turned  homeward.  Such  was  the  greed  of 
the  fellow,  that  his  mind  had  shot  beyond  halves, 
two-thirds,  three-fourths,  and  gone  straight  to 
spoliation  of  the  whole.  ' '  Though  that  wouldn't 
quite  do,"  he  considered,  growing  cooler  as  he 
got  away.  "That's  what  would  happen  to  him 
if  he  didn't  buy  us  up.  We  should  get  nothing 
by  that." 

We  so  judge  others  by  ourselves,  that  it  had 
never  come  into  his  head  before  that  he  might 
not  buy  us  up,  and  might  prove  honest,  and  pre- 
fer to  be  poor.  It  caused  him  a  slight  tremor  as 
it  passed ;  but  a  very  slight  one,  for  the  idle 
thought  was  gone  directly. 

"He's  grown  too  fond  of  mortey  for  that," 
said  Wegg;  "he's  grown  too  fond  of  money." 
The  burden  fell  into  a  strain  or  tune  as  he 
stumped  along  the  pavements.  All  the  way 
home  he  stumped  it  out  of  the  rattling  streets, 
piano  with  his  own  foot,  and  forte  with  his  wood- 
en leg,  "  He's  grown  too  fond  of  money  for 

THAT,  he's  GROWN  tOO  FOND  of  MONET. " 

Even  next  day  Silas  soothed  himself  with  this 
melodious  strain,  when  he  was  called  out  of  bed 
at  daybreak  to  set  open  the  yard-gate  and  admit 
the  train  of  carts  and  horses  that  came  to  carry 
off  the  little  Mound.  And  all  day  long,  as  he 
kept  unwinking  watch  on  the  slow  process  which 
promised  to  protract  itself  through  many  days 


222 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


THE   EVIL   GENIUS    OF   THE    HOUSE   OF   BOFFIN. 


and  weeks,  whenever  (to  save  himself  from  being 
choked  with  dust)  he  patrolled  a  little  cinderous 
beat  he  established  for  the  purpose,  without  tak- 
ing his  eyes  from  the  diggers,  he  still  stumped 
to  the  tune:  "  He's  grown  too  fond  of  money 
for  that,  he's  grown  too  fond  of  money." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   END  OF   A   LONG   JOURNEY. 

The  train  of  carts  and  horses  came  and 
went  all  day  from  dawn  to  nightfall,  making 
little  or  no  daily  impression  on  the  heap  of 
ashes,  though,  as  the  days  passed  on,  the  heap 
was  seen  to  be  slowly  melting.     My  lords  and 


gentlemen  and  honorable  boards,  when  you  in 
the  course  of  your  dust-shoveling  and  cinder- 
raking  have  piled  up  a  mountain  of  pretentious 
failure,  you  must  off  with  your  honorable  coats 
for  the  removal  of  it,  and  fall  to  the  work  with 
the  power  of  all  the  queen's  horses  and  all  the 
queen's  men,  or  it  will  come  rushing  down  and 
bury  us  alive. 

Yes,  verily,  my  lords  and  gentlemen  and  hon- 
orable boards,  adapting  your  Catechism  to  the 
occasion,  and  by- God's  help  so  you  must.  For 
when  we  have  got  things  to  the  pass  that  with 
an  enormous  treasure  at  disposal  to  relieve  the 
poor,  the  best  of  the  poor  detest  our  mercies, 
hide  their  heads  from  us,  and  shame  us  by  starv- 
ing to  death  in  the  midst  of  us,  it  is  a  pass  im- 
possible of  prosperity,  impossible  of  continuance. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


223 


It  may  not  be  so  written  in  the  Gospel  accord- 
ing to  Podsnappery ;  you  may  not  "find  these 
words"  for  the  text  of  a  sermon,  in  the  Returns 
of  the  Board  of  Trade ;  but  they  have  been  the 
truth  since  the  foundations  of  the  universe  were 
laid,  and  they  will  be  the  truth  until  the  founda- 
tions of  the  universe  are  shaken  by  the  Builder. 
This  boastful  handiwork  of  ours,  which  fails  in 
its  terrors  for  the  professional  pauper,  the  sturdy 
breaker  of  windows  and  the  rampant  tearer  of 
clothes,  strikes  with  a  cruel  and  a  wicked  stab 
at  the  stricken  sufferer,  and  is  a  horror  to  the 
deserving  and  unfortunate.  We  must  mend  it, 
lords  and  gentlemen  and  honorable  boards,  or  in 
its  own  evil  hour  it  will  mar  every  one  of  us. 

Old  Betty  Higden  fared  upon  her  pilgrimage 
as  many  ruggedly  honest  creatures,  women  and 
men,  fare  on  their  toiling  way  along  the  roads 
of  life.  Patiently  to  earn  a  spare  bare  living,  and 
quietly  to  die,  untouched  by  work-house  hands — 
this  was  her  highest  sublunary  hope. 

Nothing  had  been  heard  of  her  at  Mr.  Boffin's 
house  since  she  trudged  off.  The  weather  had 
been  hard  and  the  roads  had  been  bad,  and  her 
spirit  was  up.  A  less  stanch  spirit  might  have 
been  subdued  by  such  adverse  influences ;  but 
the  loan  for  her  little  outfit  was  in  no  part  re- 
paid, and  it  had  gone  worse  with  her  than  she 
had  foreseen,  and  she  was  put  upon  proving  her 
case  and  maintaining  her  independence. 

Faithful  soul !  When  she  had  spoken  to  the 
Secretary  of  that  "  deadness  that  steals  over  me 
at  times,"  her  fortitude  had  made  too  little  of 
it.  Oftener  and  ever  oftener,  it  came  stealing 
over  her;  darker  and  ever  darker,  like  the  shad- 
ow of  advancing  Death.  That  the  shadow  should 
be  deep  as  it  came  on,  like  the  shadow  of  an 
actual  presence,  was  in  accordance  with  the  laws 
of  the  physical  world,  for  all  the  Light  that  shone 
on  Betty  Higden  lay  beyond  Death. 

The  poor  old  creature  had  taken  the  upward 
course  of  the  river  Thames  as  her  general  track ; 
it  was  the  track  in  which  her  last  home  lay,  and 
of  which  she  had  last  had  local  love  and  knowl- 
edge. She  had  hovered  for  a  little  while  in  the 
near  neighborhood  of  her  abandoned  dwelling, 
and  had  sold,  and  knitted  and  sold,  and  gone  on. 
In  the  pleasant  towns  of  Chertsey,  Walton, 
Kingston,  and  Staines,  her  figure  came  to  be 
quite  well  known  for  some  short  weeks,  and  then 
again  passed  on. 

She  would  take  her  stand  in  market-places, 
where  there  were  such  things,  on  market-days  ; 
at  other  times,  in  the  busiest  (that  was  seldom 
very  busy)  portion  of  the  little  quiet  High  Street ; 
at  still  other  times  she  would  explore  the  outly- 
ing roads  for  great  houses,  and  would  ask  leave 
at  the  Lodge  to  pass  in  with  her  basket,  and 
would  not  often  get  it.  But  ladies  in  carriages 
would  frequently  make  purchases  from  her  trifling 
stock,  and  were  usually  pleased  with  her  bright 
eyes  and  her  hopeful  speech.  In  these  and  her 
clean  dress  originated  a  fable  that  she  was  well- 
to-do  in  the  world  :  one  might  say,  fur  her  sta- 
tion, rich.  As  making  a  comfortable  provision 
for  its  subject  which  costs  nobody  any  thing,  this 
class  of  fable  has  long  been  popular. 

In  those  pleasant  little  towns  on  Thames  you 
may  hear  the  fall  of  the  water  over  the  weirs,  or 
even,  in  still  weather,  the  rustle  of  the  rushes  ; 
and  from  the  bridge  you  may  see  the  young  riv- 
er, dimpled  like  a  young  child,  playfully  gliding 


away  among  the  trees,  unpolluted  by  the  defile- 
ments that  lie  in  wait  for  it  on  its  course,  and  as 
yet  out  of  hearing  of  the  deep  summons  of  the 
sea.  It  were  too  much  to  pretend  that  Betty 
Higden  made  out  such  thoughts ;  no ;  but  she 
heard  the  tender  river  whispering  to  many  like 
herself,  "Come  to  me,  come  to  me !  When  the 
cruel  shame  and  terror  you  have  so  long  fled 
from  most  beset  you,  come  to  me !  I  am  the 
Relieving  Officer  appointed  by  eternal  ordinance 
to  do  my  work ;  I  am  not  held  in  estimation  ac- , 
cording  as  I  shirk  it.  My  breast  is  softer  than 
the  pauper-nurse's ;  death  in  my  arms  is  peace- 
fuller  than  among  the  pauper-wards.  Come  to 
me!" 

There  was  abundant  place  for  gentler  fancies 
too,  in  her  untutored  mind.  Those  gentlefolks 
and  their  children  inside  those  fine  houses,  could 
they  think,  as  they  looked  out  at  her,  what  it 
was  to  be  really  hungry,  really  cold  ?  Did  they 
feel  any  of  the  wonder  about  her  that  she  felt 
about  them  ?  Bless  the  dear  laughing  children ! 
If  they  could  have  seen  sick  Johnny  in  her  arms 
would  they  have  cried  for  pity?  If  they  could 
have  seen  dead  Johnny  on  that  little  bed  would 
they  have  understood  it  ?  Bless  the  dear  chil- 
dren, for  his  sake,  any  how !  So  with  the  hum- 
bler houses  in  the  little  street,  the  inner  fire- 
light shining  on  the  panes  as  the  outer  twilight 
darkened.  When  the  families  gathered  indoors 
there,  for  the  night,  it  was  only  a  foolish  fancy 
to  feel  as  if  it  were  a  little  hard  in  them  to  close 
the  shutter  and  blacken  the  flame.  So  with  the 
lighted  shops,  and  speculations  whether  their 
masters  and  mistresses  taking  tea  in  a  perspec- 
tive of  back-parlor — not  so  far  within  but  that 
the  flavor  of  tea  and  toast  came  out,  mingled 
with  the  glow  of  light,  into  the  street— ate  or 
drank  or  wore  what  they  sold,  with  the  greater 
relish  because  they  dealt  in  it.  So  with  the 
church-yard  on  a  branch  of  the  solitary  way  to 
the  night's  sleeping-place.  "Ah  me !  The  dead 
and  I  seem  to  have  it  pretty  much  to  ourselves 
in  the  dark  and  in  this  weather !  But  so  much 
the  better  for  all  who  are  warmly  housed  at 
home."  The  poor  soul  envied  no  one  in  bitter- 
ness, and  grudged  no  one  any  thing. 

But  the  old  abhorrence  grew  stronger  on  her 
as  she  grew  weaker,  and  it  found  more  sustain- 
ing food  than  she  did  in  her  wanderings.  Now, 
she  would  light  upon  the  shameful  spectacle  of 
some  desolate  creature — or  some  wretched  rag- 
ged groups  of  either  sex,  or  of  both  sexes,  with 
children  among  them  huddled  together  like  the 
smaller  vermin  for  a  little  warmth — lingering 
and  lingering  on  a  doorstep,  while  the  appointed 
evader  of  the  public  trust  did  his  dirty  office  of 
trying  to  weary  them  out  and  so  get  rid  of  them. 
Now,  she  would  light  upon  some  poor  decent 
person,  like  herself,  going  afoot  on  a  pilgrimage 
of  many  weary  miles  to  see  some  worn-out  rela- 
tive or  friend  who  had  been  charitably  clutched 
off  to  a  great  blank  barren  Union  House,  as  far 
from  old  home  as  the  County  Jail  (the  remote- 
ness of  which  is  always  its  worst  punishment  for 
small  rural  offenders),  and  in  its  dietary,  and  in  • 
its  lodging,  and  in  its  tending  of  the  sick,  a 
much  more  penal  establishment.  Sometimes  she 
would  hear  a  newspaper  read  out,  and  would 
learn  how  the  Registrar-General  cast  up  the  units 
that  had  within  the  last  week  died  of  want  and 
of  exposure  to  the  weather  :  for  which  that  Re- 


224 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


cording  Angel  seemed  to  have  a  regular  fixed 
place  in  his  sum,  as  if  they  were  its  half-pence. 
All  such  things  she  would  hear  discussed,  as  we, 
my  lords  and  gentlemen  and  honorable  boards, 
in  our  unapproachable  magnificence  never  hear 
them,  and  from  all  such  things  she  would  fly 
with  the  wings  of  raging  Despair. 

This  is  not  to  be  received  as  a  figure  of  speech. 
Old  Betty  Higden  however  tired,  however  foot- 
sore, would  start  up  and  be  driven  away  by  her 
awakened  horror  of  falling  into  the  hands  of 
Charity.  It  is  a  remarkable  Christian  improve- 
ment, to  have  made  a  pursuing  Fury  of  the 
Good  Samaritan  ;  but  it  was  so  in  this  case,  and 
it  is  a  type  of  many,  many,  many. 

Two  incidents  united  to  intensify  the  old  un- 
reasoning abhorrence  —  granted  in  a  previous 
place  to  be  unreasoning,  because  the  people  al- 
ways are  unreasoning,  and  invariably  make  a 
point  of  producing  all  their  smoke  without  fire. 

One  day  she  was  sitting  in  a  market-place  on 
a  bench  outside  an  inn,  with  her  little  wares  for 
sale,  when  the  deadness  that  she  strove  against 
came  over  her  so  heavily  that  the  scene  depart- 
ed from  before  her  eyes  ;  when  it  returned,  she 
found  herself  on  the  ground,  her  head  supported 
by  some  good-natured  market-women,  and  a  lit- 
tle crowd  about  her. 

"Are  you  better  now,  mother?"  asked  one 
of  the  women.  "Do  you  think  you  can  do 
nicely  now?" 

"Have  I  been  ill  then ?"  asked  old  Betty. 

"  You  have  had  a  faint  like,"  was  the  answer, 
"or  a  fit.  It  ain't  that  you've  been  a-strug- 
gling,  mother,  but  you've  been  stiff  and  numbed." 

"Ah!"  said  Betty,  recovering  her  memory. 
"  It's  the  numbness.  Yes.  It  comes  over  me 
at  times." 

"Was  it  gone ?"  the  women  asked  her. 

"It's  gone  now,"  said  Betty.  "I  shall  be 
stronger  than  I  was  afore.  Many  thanks  to  ye, 
my  dears,  and  when  you  come  to  be  as  old  as  I 
am,  may  others  do  as  much  for  you  !" 

They  assisted  her  to  rise,  but  she  could  not 
stand  yet,  and  they  supported  her  when  she  sat 
down  again  upon  the  bench. 

"My  head's  a  bit  light,  and  my  feet  are  a  bit 
heavy,"  said  old  Betty,  leaning  her  face  drowsi- 
ly on  the  breast  of  the  woman  who  had  spoken 
before.  "They'll  both  come  nat'ral  in  a  min- 
ute.    There's  nothing  more  the  matter." 

"  Ask  her,"  said  some  farmers  standing  by, 
who  had  come  out  from  their  market-dinner, 
"  who  belongs  to  her." 

"Are  there  any  folks  belonging  to  you,  mo- 
ther ?"  said  the  woman. 

"Yes,  sure,"  answered  Betty.  "I  heerd  the 
gentleman  say  it,  but  I  couldn't  answer  quick 
enough.  There's  plenty  belonging  to  me.  Don't 
ye  fear  for  me,  my  dear." 

"  But  are  any  of  'em  near  here  ?"  said  the 
men's  voices ;  the  women's  voices  chiming  in 
when  it  was  said,  and  prolonging  the  strain. 

"Quite  near  enough,"  said  Betty,  rousing 
herself.  "Don't  ye  be  afeard  for  me,  neigh- 
bors." 

"But  you  are  not  fit  to  travel.  Where  are 
you  going  ?"  was  the  next  compassionate  chorus 
she  heard. 

"I'm  agoing  to  London  when  I've  sold  out 
all,"  said  Betty,  rising  with  difficulty.  "I've 
right  good  friends  in  London.     I  want  for  no- 


thing. I  shall  come  to  no  harm.  Thankye. 
Don't  ye  be  afeard  for  me." 

A  well-meaning  by-stander,  yellow-legginged 
and  purple  -  faced,  said  hoarsely  over  his  red 
comforter,  as  she  rose  to  her  feet,  that  she 
"oughtn't  to  be  let  to  go." 

"For  the  Lord's  love  don't  meddle  with  me  !" 
cried  old  Betty,  all  her  fears  crowding  on  her. 
"  I  am  quite  well  now,  and  I  must  go  this  min- 
ute." 

She  caught  up  her  basket  as  she  spoke  and 
was  making  an  unsteady  rush  away  from  them, 
when  the  same  by-stander  checked  her  with  his 
hand  on  her  sleeve,  and  urged  her  to  come  with 
him  and  see  the  parish  doctor.  Strengthening 
herself  by  the  utmost  exercise  of  her  resolution, 
the  poor  trembling  creature  shook  him  off,  al- 
most fiercely,  and  took  to  flight.  Nor  did  she 
feel  safe  until  she  had  set  a  mile  or  two  of  by- 
road between  herself  and  the  market-place,  and 
had  crept  into  a  copse,  like  a  hunted  animal,  to 
hide  and  recover  breath.  Not  until  then  for  the 
first  time  did  she  venture  to  recall  how  she  had 
looked  over  her  shoulder  before  turning  out  of 
the  town,  and  had  seen  the  sign  of  the  White 
Lion  hanging  across  the  road,  and  the  fluttering 
market  booths,  and  the  old  gray  church,  and  the 
little  crowd  gazing  after  her  but  not  attempting 
to  follow  her. 

The  second  frightening  incident  was  this.  She 
had  been  again  as  bad,  and  had  been  for  some 
days  better,  and  was  traveling  along  by  a  part 
of  the  road  where  it  touched  the  river,  and  in 
wet  seasons  was  so  often  overflowed  by  it  that 
there  were  tall  white  posts  set  up  to  mark  the 
way.  A  barge  was  being  towed  toward  her,  and 
she  sat  down  on  the  bank  to  rest  and  watch  it. 
As  the  tow-rope  was  slackened  by  a  turn  of  the 
stream  and  dipped  into  the  water,  such  a  con- 
fusion stole  into  her  mind  that  she  thought  she 
saw  the  forms  of  her  dead  children  and  dead 
grandchildren  peopling  the  barge,  and  waving 
their  hands  to  her  in  solemn  measure ;  then,  as 
the  rope  tightened  and  came  up,  dropping  dia- 
monds, it  seemed  to  vibrate  into  two  parallel 
ropes  and  strike  her,  with  a  twang,  though  it 
was  far  off.  When  she  looked  again,  there  was 
no  barge,  no  river,  no  daylight,  and  a  man  whom 
she  had  never  before  seen  held  a  candle  close 
to  her  face. 

"Now,  Missus,"  said  he;  "where  did  you 
come  from  and  where  are  you  going  to  ?" 

The  poor  soul  confusedly  asked  the  counter- 
question  where  she  was  ? 

"  I  am  the  Lock,"  said  the  man. 

"The  Lock?" 

"I  am  the  Deputy. Lock,  on  job,  and  this  is 
the  Lock-house.  (Lock  or  Deputy  Lock,  it's  all 
one,  while  the  t'other  man's  in  the  hospital.) 
What's  your  Parish?" 

"Parish  !"  She  was  up  from  the  truckle-bed 
directly,  wildly  feeling  about  her  for  her  basket, 
and  gazing  at  him  in  affright. 

"You'll  be  asked  the  question  down  town," 
said  the  man.  "They  won't  let  you  be  more 
than  a  Casual  there.  They'll  pass  you  on  to 
your  settlement,  Missis,  with  all  speed.  You're 
not  in  a  state  to  be  let  come  upon  strange  par- 
ishes 'ceptin  as  a  Casual." 

"  Twasthe  deadness  again !"  murmured  Betty 
Higden,  with  her  hand  to  her  head. 

"It  was  the  deadness,  there's  not  a  doubt 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


225 


about  it,"  returned  the  man.  "I  should  have 
thought  the  deadness  was  a  mild  word  for  it,  if 
it  had  been  named  to  me  when  we  brought  you 
in.     Have  you  got  any  friends,  Missis  ?" 

"The  best  of  friends,  Master." 

"  I  should  recommend  your  looking  'em  up  if 
you  consider  'em  game  to  do  any  thing  for  you," 
said  the  Deputy  Lock.  "  Have  you  got  any 
money?" 

"  Just  a  morsel  of  money,  Sir." 

"  Do  you  want  to  keep  it  ?" 

"Sure  I  do!" 

"Well,  you  know,"  said  the  Deputy  Lock, 
shrugging  Tiis  shoulders  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  shaking  his  head  in  a  sulkily  omin- 
ous manner,  "the  parish  authorities  down  town 
will  have  it  out  of  you,  if  you  go  on,  you  may 
take  your  Alfred  David." 


"Then  I'll  not  go  on." 

"  They'll  make  you  pay,  as  fur  as  your  money 
will  go,"  pursued  the  Deputy,  "for  your  relief  asa 
Casual  and  for  your  being  passed  to  your  Parish." 

"Thank  ye  kindly,  Master,  for  your  warning, 
thank  ye  for  your  shelter,  and  good-night." 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  said  the  Deputy,  striking  in  be- 
tween her  and  the  door.  "  Why  are  you  all  of 
a  shake,  and  what's  your  hurry,  Missis  ?" 

"Oh,  Master,  Master,"  returned  Betty  Hig- 
den,  "I've  fought  against  the  Parish  and  fled 
from  it,  all  my  life,  and  I  want  to  die  free  of 
it!" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  Deputy,  with  delib- 
eration, "  as  I  ought  to  let  you  go.  I'm  a  hon- 
est man  as  gets  my  living  by  the  sweat  of  my 
brow,  and  I  may  fall  into  trouble  by  letting  you 
go.     I've  fell  into  trouble  afore  now,  by  George, 


226 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


and  I  know  what  it  is,  and  it's  made  me  careful. 
You  might  be  took  with  your  deadness  again, 
half  a  mile  off — or  half  of  half  a  quarter,  for 
the  matter  of  that — and  then  it  would  be  asked, 
Why  did  that  there  honest  Deputy  Lock  let  her 
go,  instead  of  putting  her  safe  with  the  Parish  ? 
That's  what  a  man  of  his  character  ought  to 
have  done,  it  would  be  argueyfied,"  said  the 
Deputy  Lock,  cunningly  harping  on  the  strong 
string  of  her  terror ;  "he  ought  to  have  handed 
her  over  safe  to  the  Parish.  That  was  to  be  ex- 
pected of  a  man  of  his  merits." 

As  he  stood  in  the  doorway  the  poor  old  care- 
worn wayworn  woman  burst  into  tears,  and 
clasped  her  hands,  as  if  in  a  very  agony  she 
prayed  to  him. 

"As  I've  told  you,  Master,  I've  the  best  of 
friends.  This  letter  will  show  how  true  I  spoke, 
and  they  will  be  thankful  for  me." 

The  Deputy  Lock  opened  the  letter  with  a 
grave  face,  which  underwent  no  change  as  he 
eyed  its  contents.  But  it  might  have  done,  if  he 
could  have  read  them. 

"What  amount  of  small  change,  Missis,"  he 
said,  with  an  abstracted  air,  after  a  little  medi- 
tation, "  might  you  call  a  morsel  of  money  ?" 

Hurriedly  emptying  her  pocket,  old  Betty  laid 
down  on  the  table  a  shilling,  and  two  sixpenny 
pieces,  and  a  few  pence. 

"If  I  was  to  let  you  go  instead  of  handing 
you  over  safe  to  the  Parish,"  said  the  Deputy, 
counting  the  money  with  his  eyes,  "  might  it  be 
your  own  free  wish  to  leave  that  there  behind 
you?" 

"Take  it,  Master,  take  it,  and  welcome  and 
thankful !" 

"I'm  a  man,"  said  the  Deputy,  giving  her 
back  the  letter,  and  pocketing  the  coins,  one  by 
one,  "as  earns  his  living  by  the  sweat  of  his 
brow;"  here  he  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  fore- 
head, as  if  this  particular  portion  of  his  humble 
gains  were  the  result  of  sheer  hard  labor  and 
virtuous  industry;  "and  I  won't  stand  in  your 
way.     Go  where  you  like." 

She  was  gone  out  of  the  Lock-house  as  soon 
as  he  gave  her  this  permission,  and  her  tottering 
steps  were  on  the  road  again.  But,  afraid  to  go 
back  and  afraid  to  go  forward  ;  seeing  what  she 
fled  from,  in  the  sky-glare  of  the  lights  of  the 
little  town  before  her,  and  leaving  a  confused 
horror  of  it  every  where  behind  her,  as  if  she 
had  escaped  it  in  every  stone  of  every  market- 
place ;  she  struck  off  by  side  ways,  among  which 
she  got  bewildered  and  lost.  That  night  she 
took  refuge  from  the  Samaritan  in  his  latest  ac- 
credited form,  under  a  farmer's  rick ;  and  if — 
worth  thinking  of,  perhaps,  my  fellow-Chris- 
tians—  the  Samaritan  had  in  the  lonely  night 
"passed  by  on  the  other  side,"  she  would  have 
most  devoutly  thanked  High  Heaven  for  her  es- 
cape from  him. 

The  morning  found  her  afoot  again,  but  fast 
declining  as  to  the  clearness  of  her  thoughts, 
though  not  as  to  the  steadiness  of  her  purpose. 
Comprehending  that  her  strength  was  quitting 
her,  and  that  the  struggle  of  her  life  was  al- 
most ended,  she  could  neither  reason  out  the 
means  of  getting  back  to  her  protectors,  nor 
even  form  the  idea.  The  overmastei-ing  dread, 
and  the  proud  stubborn  resolution  it  engendered 
in  her  to  die  undegraded,  were  the  two  distinct 
impressions  left  in  her  failing  mind.     Supported 


only  by  a  sense  that  she  was  bent  on  conquering 
in  her  life-long  fight,  she  went  on. 

The  time  was  come  now  when  the  wants  of 
this  little  life  were  passing  away  from  her.  She 
could  not  have  swallowed  food  though  a  table 
had  been  spread  for  her  in  the  next  field.  The 
day  was  cold  and  wet,  but  she  scarcely  knew  it. 
She  crept  on,  poor  soul,  like  a  criminal  afraid 
of  being  taken,  and  felt  little  beyond  the  terror 
of  falling  down  while  it  was  yet  daylight,  and 
being  found  alive.  She  had  no  fear  that  she 
would  live  through  another  night. 

Sewn  in  the  breast  of  her  gown,  the  money  to 
pay  for  her  burial  was  still  intact.  If  she  could 
wear  through  the  day,  and  then  lie  down  to  die 
under  cover  of  the  darkness,  she  would  die  in- 
dependent. If  she  were  captured  previously, 
the  money  would  be  taken  from  her  as  a  pauper 
who  had  no  right  to  it,  and  she  would  be  carried 
to  the  accursed  work-house.  Gaining  her  end, 
the  letter  would  be  found  in  her  breast,  along 
with  the  money,  and  the  gentlefolks  would  say 
when  it  was  given  back  to  them,  "She  prized 
it,  did  old  Betty  Higden ;  she  was  true  to  it ; 
and  while  she  lived  she  would  never  let  it  be 
disgraced  by  falling  into  the  hands  of  those  that 
she  held  in  horror."  Most  illogical,  inconse- 
quential, and  light-headed,  this ;  but  travelers 
in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  are  apt  to 
be  light-headed ;  and  worn-out  old  people  of  low 
I  estate  have  a  trick  of  reasoning  as  indifferently 
as  they  live,  and  doubtless  would  appreciate  our 
Poor  Law  more  philosophically  on  an  income 
of  ten  thousand  a  year. 

So,  keeping  to  by-ways,  and  shunning  human 
approach,  this  troublesome  old  woman  hid  her- 
self, and  fared  on  all  through  the  dreary  day. 
Yet  so  unlike  was  she  to  vagrant  hiders  in  gen- 
eral that  sometimes,  as  the  day  advanced,  there 
was  a  bright  fire  in  her  eyes,  and  a  quicker  beat- 
ing at  her  feeble  heart,  as  though  she  said  ex- 
ultingly,  "The  Lord  will  see  me  through  it!" 

By  what  visionary  hands  she  was  led  along 
upon  that  journey  of  escape  from  the  Samaritan  ; 
by  what  voices,  hushed  in  the  grave,  she  seemed 
to  be  addressed ;  how  she  fancied  the  dead  child 
in  her  arms  again,  and  times  innumerable  ad- 
justed her  shawl  to  keep  it  warm  ;  what  infinite 
variety  of  forms  of  tower  and  roof  and  steeple 
the  trees  took ;  how  many  furious  horsemen  rode 
at  her,  crying,  "There  she  goes!  Stop!  Stop, 
Betty  Higden !"  and  melted  away  as  they  came 
close ;  be  these  things  left  untold.  Faring  on 
and  hiding,  hiding  and  faring  on,  the  poor  harm- 
less creature,  as  though  she  were  a  Murderess 
and  the  whole  country  were  up  after  her,  wore 
out  the  day  and  gained  the  night. 

' '  Water-meadows,  or  such  like,"  she  had  some- 
times murmured,  on  the  day's  pilgrimage,  when 
she  had  raised  her  head  and  taken  any  note  of 
the  real  objects  about  her.  There  now  arose  in 
the  darkness  a  great  building,  full  of  lighted 
windows.  Smoke  was  issuing  from  a  high  chim- 
ney in  the  rear  of  it,  and  there  was  the  sound  of 
a  water-wheel  at  the  side.  Between  her  and  the 
building  lay  a  piece  of  water,  in  which  the  light- 
ed windows  were  reflected,  and  on  ^ts  nearest 
margin  was  a  plantation  of  trees.  "I  humbly 
thank  the  Power  and  the  Glory,"  said  Betty 
Higden,  holding  up  her  withered  hands,  "that 
I  have  come  to  my  journey's  end  !" 
She  crept  among  the  trees  to  the  trunk  of  a 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


227 


tree  whence  she  could  see,  beyond  some  inter- 
vening trees  and  branches,  the  lighted  windows, 
both  in  their  reality  and  their  reflection  in  the 
water.  She  placed  her  orderly  little  basket  at 
her  side,  and  sank  upon  the  ground,  supporting 
herself  against  the  tree.  It  brought  to  her  mind 
the  foot  of  the  Cross,  and  she  committed  her- 
self to  Him  who  died  upon  it.  Her  strength 
held  out  to  enable  her  to  arrange  the  letter  in 
her  breast,  so  as  that  it  could  be  seen  that  she 
had  a  paper  there.  It  had  held  out  for  this, 
and  it  departed  when  this  was  done. 

"I  am  safe  here,"  was  her  last  benumbed 
thought.  "When  I  am  found  dead  at  the  foot 
of  the  Cross  it  will  be  by  some  of  my  own  sort ; 
some  of  the  working  people  who  work  among 
the  lights  yonder.  I  can  not  see  the  lighted 
windows  now,  but  they  are  there.  I  am  thank- 
ful for  all !" 

****** 

The  darkness  gone,  and  a  face  bending 
down. 

"It  can  not  be  the  boofer  lady?" 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  say.  Let  me 
wet  your  lips  again  with  this  brandy.  I  have 
been  away  to  fetch  it.  Did  you  think  that  I 
was  long  gone?" 

It  is  as  the  face  of  a  woman,  shaded  by  a 
quantity  of  rich  dark  hair.  It  is  the  earnest 
face  of  a  woman  who  is  young  and  handsome. 
But  all  is  over  with  me  on  earth,  and  this  must 
be  an  Angel. 

"Have  I  been  long  dead?" 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  say.  Let  me 
wet  your  lips  again.  I  hurried  all  I  could,  and 
brought  no  one  back  with  me,  lest  you  should 
die  of  the  shock  of  strangers." 

"Am  I  not  dead?" 

"I  can  not  understand  what  you  say.  Your 
voice  is  so  low  and  broken  that  I  can  not  hear 
you.     Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  mean  Yes  ?" 
„     "Yes." 

"  I  was  coming  from  my  work  just  now,  along 
the  path  outside  (I  was  up  with  the  night-hands 
last  night),  and  I  heard  a  groan,  and  found  you 
lying  here." 

"What  work,  deary?" 

"Did  you  ask  what  work?  At  the  paper- 
mill." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"Your  face  is  turned  up  to  the  sky,  and  you 
can't  see  it.  It  is  close  by.  You  can  see  my 
face,  here,  between  you  and  the  sky?" 

"Yes." 

"Dare  I  lift  you?" 

"Not  yet." 

"  Not  even  lift  your  head  to  get  it  on  my  arm  ? 
T  will  do  it  by  very  gentle  degrees.  You  shall 
hardly  feel  it." 

"Not  yet.     Paper.     Letter." 

"This  paper  in  your  breast  ?" 

"Bless  ye!" 

"Let  me  wet  your  lips  again.  Am  I  to  open 
it?     To  read  it?" 

"Bless  ye !" 

She  reads  it  with  surprise,  and  looks  down 
with  a  new  expression  and  an  added  interest  on 
the  motionless  face,  she  kneels  beside. 

"I  know  these  names.  I  have  heard  them 
often." 


"Will  you  send  it,  my  dear?" 

"I  can  not  understand  you.  Let  me  wet 
your  lips  again,  and  your  forehead.  There. 
O  poor  thing,  poor  thing !"  These  words 
through  her  fast-dropping  tears.  "What  was 
it  that  you  asked  me?  Wait  till  I  bring  my 
ear  quite  close." 

"Will  you  send  it,  my  dear?" 

"  Will  I  send  it  to  the  writers  ?  Is  that  your 
wish?     Yes,  certainly." 

"  You'll  not  give  it  up  to  any  one  but  them  ?" 

"No." 

"  As  you  must  grow  old  in  time,  and  come  to 
your  dying  hour,  my  dear,  you'll  not  give  it  up 
to  any  one  but  them  ?" 

"  No.     Most  solemnly." 

"Never  to  the  Parish!"  with  a  convulsed 
struggle. 

"No.     Most  solemnly." 

"Nor  let  the  Parish  touch  me,  nor  yet  so 
much  as  look  at  me !"  with  another  struggle. 

"No.     Faithfully." 

A  look  of  thankfulness  and  triumph  lights  the 
worn  old  face.  The  eyes,  which  have  been  dark- 
ly fixed  upon  the  sky,  turn  with  meaning  in  them 
toward  the  compassionate  face  from  which  the 
tears  are  dropping,  and  a  smile  is  on  the  aged 
lips  as  they  ask : 

"What  is  your  name,  my  dear?" 

"My  name  is  Lizzie  Hexam." 

"I  must  be  sore  disfigured.  Are  you  afraid 
to  kiss  me?" 

The  answer  is,  the  ready  pressure  of  her  lips 
upon  the  cold  but  smiling  mouth. 

"  Bless  ye  !     Now  lift  me,  my  love." 

Lizzie  Hexam  very  softly  raised  the  weather- 
stained  gray  head  and  lifted  her  as  high  as 
Heaven. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


SOMEBODY  BECOMES   THE    SUBJECT  OF   A   PRE- 
DICTION. 

"  'We  give  thee  hearty  thanks  for  that 
it  hath  pleased  thee  to  deliver  this  our 
sister  out  of  the  miseries  of  this  sinful 
world.'"  So  read  the  Reverend  Frank  Mil- 
vey  in  a  not  untroubled  voice,  for  his  heart  mis- 
gave him  that  all  was  not  quite  right  between 
us  and  our  sister — or  say  our  sister  in  Law — 
Poor  Law — and  that  we  sometimes  read  these 
words  in  an  awful  manner  over  our  Sister  and 
our  Brother  too. 

And  Sloppy — on  whom  the  brave  deceased 
had  never  turned  her  back  until  she  ran  away 
from  him,  knowing  that  otherwise  he  would  not 
be  separated  from  her — Sloppy  could  not  in  his 
conscience  as  yet  find  the  hearty  thanks  required 
of  it.  Selfish  in  Sloppy,  and  yet  excusable,  it 
may  be  humbly  hoped,  because  our  sister  had 
been  more  than  his  mother. 

The  words  were  read  above  the  ashes  of  Betty 
Higden,  in  a  corner  of  a  church-yard  near  the 
river;  in  a  church-yard  so  obscure  that  there 
was  nothing  in  it  but  grass-mounds,  not  so  much 
as  one  single  tombstone.  It  might  not  be  to  do 
an  unreasonably  great  deal  for  the  diggers  and 
hewers,  in  a  registering  age,  if  we  ticketed  their 
graves  at  the  common  charge ;  so  that  a  new 
generation  might  know  which  was  which:  so 
that  the  soldier,  sailor,  emigrant,  coming  home, 


228 


OUR  MUTUAL  FMEXD. 


should  be  able  to  identify  the  resting-place  of 
father,  mother,  playmate,  or  betrothed.  For 
we  turn  up  our  eyes  and  say  that  we  are  all 
alike  in  death,  and  we  might  turn  them  down 
and  work  the  saying  out  in  this  world,  so  far. 
It  would  be  sentimental,  perhaps?  jBut  how 
say  ye,  my  lords  and  gentlemen  and  honorable 
boards,  shall  we  not  find  good  standing-room  left 
f  jr  a  little  sentiment,  if  we  look  into  our  crowds  ? 

Near  unto  the  Reverend  Frank  Milvey  as  he 
read  stood  his  little  wife,  John  Rokesmith  the 
Secretary,  and  Bella  Wilfer.  These,  over  and 
above  Sloppy,  were  the  mourners  at  the  lowly 
grave.  Not  a  penny  had  been  added  to  the 
money  sewn  in  her  dress:  what  her  honest 
spirit  had  so  long  projected  was  fulfilled. 

"I've  took  it  in  my  head,"  said  Sloppy,  lay- 
ing it,  inconsolable,  against  the  church  door, 
when  all  was  done :  "  I've  took  it  in  my  wretch- 
ed head  that  I  might  have  sometimes  turned  a 
little  harder  for  her,  and  it  cuts  me  deep  to  think 
so  now." 

The  Reverend  Frank  Milvey,  comforting 
Sloppy,  expounded  to  him  how  the  best  of  us 
were  more  or  less  remiss  in  our  turnings  at  our 
respective  Mangles — some  of  us  very  much  so — 
and  how  we  were  all  a  halting,  failing,  feeble, 
and  inconstant  crew. 

"She  warn't,  Sir,"  said  Sloppy,  taking  this 
ghostly  counsel  rather  ill,  in  behalf  of  his  late 
benefactress.  "Let  us  speak  for  ourselves,  Sir. 
She  went  through  with  whatever  duty  she  had 
to  do.  She  went  through  with  me,  she  went 
through  with  the  Minders,  she  went  through 
with  herself,  she  went  through  with  every  think. 
Q  Mrs.  Higden,  Mrs.  Higden,  you  was  a  wo- 
man and  a  mother  and  a  mangier  in  a  million 
million !" 

With  those  heart-felt  words  Sloppy  removed 
his  dejected  head  from  the  church  door,  and 
took  it  back  to  the  grave  in  the  corner,  and  laid 
it  down  there,  and  wept  alone.  "Not  a  very 
poor  grave,"  said  the  Reverend  Frank  Milvey, 
brushing  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  "  when  it  has 
that  homely  figure  on  it.  Richer,  I  think,  than 
it  could  be  made  by  most  of  the  sculpture  in 
Westminster  Abbey !" 

They  left  him  undisturbed  and  passed  out  at 
the  wicket-gate.  The  water-wheel  of  the  paper- 
mill  was  audible  there,  and  seemed  to  have  a 
softening  influence  on  the  bright  wintry  scene. 
They  had  arrived  but  a  little  while  before,  and 
Lizzie  Hexam  now  told  them  the  little  she  could 
add  to  the  letter  in  which  she  had  inclosed  Mr. 
Rokesmith's  letter  and  had  asked  for  their  in- 
structions. This  was  merely  how  she  had  heard 
the  groan,  and  what  had  afterward  passed,  and 
how  she  had  obtained  leave  for  the  remains 
to  be  placed  in  that  sweet,  fresh,  empty  store- 
room of  the  mill  from  which  they  had  just 
accompanied  them  to  the  church-yard,  and 
how  the  last  requests  had  been  religiously  ob- 
served. 

"I  could  not  have  done  it  all,  or  nearly  all, 
of  myself,"  said  Lizzie.  "I  should  not  have 
wanted  the  will ;  but  I  should  not  have  had  the 
power,  without  our  managing  partner." 

"Surely  not  the  Jew  who  received  us?"  said 
Mrs.  Milvey. 

("  My  dear,"  observed  her  husband  in  paren- 
thesis, "why  not?") 

"The  gentleman  certainly  is  a  Jew,"  said 


Lizzie,  "  and  the  Lady,  his  wife,  is  a  Jewess, 
and  I  was  first  brought  to  their  notice  by  a  Jew. 
But  I  think  there  can  .not  be  kinder  people  in 
the  world." 

"But  suppose  they  try  to  convert  you!"  sug- 
gested Mrs.  Milvey,  bristling  in  her  good  little 
way,  as  a  clergyman's  wife. 

"To  do  what,  ma'am?"  asked  Lizzie,  with  a 
modest  smile. 

"To  make  you  change  your  religion,"  said 
Mrs.  Milvey. 

Lizzie  shook  her  head,  still  smiling.  "They 
have  never  asked  me  what  my  religion  is.  They 
asked  me  what  my  story  was,  and  I  told  them. 
They  asked  me  to  be  industrious  and  faithful, 
and  I  promised  to  be  so.  They  most  willingly 
and  cheerfully  do  their  duty  to  all  of  us  who  are 
employed  here,  and  we  try  to  do  ours  to  them. 
Indeed  they  do  much  more  than  their  duty  to 
us,  for  they  are  wonderfully  mindful  of  us  in 
many  ways." 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  you're  a  favorite,  my  dear," 
said  little  Mrs.  Milvey,  not  quite  pleased. 

"It  would  be  very  ungrateful  in  me  to  say  I 
am  not,"  returned  Lizzie,  "for  I  have  been  al- 
ready raised  to  a  place  of  confidence  here.  But 
that  makes  no  difference  in  their  following  their 
own  religion  and  leaving  all  of  us  to  ours.  They 
never  talk  of  theirs  to  us,  and  they  never  talk 
of  ours  to  us.  If  I  was  the  last  in  the  mill  it 
would  be  just  the  same.  They  never  asked  me 
what  religion  that  poor  thing  had  followed." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Milvey,  aside  to  the 
Reverend  Frank,  "I  wish  you  would  talk  to 
her." 

"My  dear,"  said  the  Reverend  Frank  aside 
to  his  good  little  wife,  "  I  think  I  will  leave  it  to 
somebody  else.  The  circumstances  are  hardly 
favorable.  There  are  plenty  of  talkers  going 
about,  my  love,  and  she  will  soon  find  one." 

While  this  discourse  was  interchanging,  both 
Bella  and  the  Secretary  observed  Lizzie  Hexam 
with  great  attention.  Brought  face  to  face  for 
the  first  time  with  the  daughter  of  his  supposed 
murderer,  it  was  natural  that  John  Harmon 
should  have  his  own  secret  reasons  for  a  careful 
scrutiny  of  her  countenance  and  manner.  Bella 
knew  that  Lizzie's  father  had  been  falsely  ac- 
cused of  the  crime  which  had  had  so  great  an 
influence  on  her  own  life  and  fortunes ;  and  her 
interest,  though  it  had  no  secret  springs,  like 
that  of  the  Secretary,  was  equally  natural.  Both 
had  expected  to  see  something  very  different 
from  the  real  Lizzie  Hexam,  and  thus  it  fell  out 
that  she  became  the  unconscious  means  of  bring- 
ing them  together. 

For,  when  they  had  walked  on  with  her  to  the 
little  house  in  the  clean  village  by  the  paper- 
mill,  where  Lizzie  had  a  lodging  with  an  elder- 
ly couple  employed  in  the  establishment,  and 
when  Mrs.  Milvey  and  Bella  had  been  up  to  see 
her  room  and  had  come  down,  the  mill  bell 
rang.  This  called  Lizzie  away  for  the  time, 
and  left  the  Secretary  and  Bella  standing  rather 
awkwardly  in  the  small  street;  Mrs.  Milvey 
being  engaged  in  pursuing  the  village  children, 
and  her  investigations  whether  they  were  in 
danger  of  becoming  children  of  Israel ;  and  the 
Reverend  Frank  being  engaged — to  say  the  truth 
— in  evading  that  branch  of  his  spiritual  func- 
tions, and  getting  out  of  sight  surreptitiously. 

Bella  at  length  said : 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


229 


"Hadn't  we  better  talk  about  the  commission 
we  have  undertaken,  Mr.  Rokesmith  ?" 

"By  all  means,"  said  the  Secretary. 

"I  suppose,"  faltered  Bella,  "that  we  are 
both  commissioned,  or  we  shouldn't  both  be 
here  ?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  was  the  Secretary's  answer. 

"When  I  proposed  to  come  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Milvey,"  said  Bella,  "Mrs.  Boffin  urged  me  to 
do  so,  in  order  that  I  might  give  her  my  small 
report — it's  not  worth  any  thing,  Mr.  Rokesmith, 
except  for  it's  being  a  woman's — which  indeed- 
with  you  may  be  a  fresh  reason  for  it's  being 
worth  nothing — of  Lizzie  Hexam." 

"Mr.  Boffin,"  said  the  Secretary,  "directed 
me  to  come  for  the  same  purpose." 

As  they  spoke  they  were  leaving  the  little 
street  and  emerging  on  the  wooded  landscape  by 
the  river. 

"You  think  well  of  her,  Mr.  Rokesmith?" 
pursued  Bella,  conscious  of  making  all  the  ad- 
vances. 

"I  think  highly  of  her." 

"I  am  so  glad  of  that!  Something  quite  re- 
fined in  her  beauty,  is  there  not  ?" 

"  Her  appearance  is  very  striking." 

"There  is  a  shade  of  sadness  upon  her  that  is 
quite  touching.  At  least  I — I  am  not  setting  up 
my  own  poor  opinion,  you  know,  Mr.  Roke- 
smith," said  Bella,  excusing  and  explaining  her- 
self in  a  pretty  shy  way;  "I  am  consulting 
you." 

"  I  noticed  that  sadness.  I  hope  it  may  not," 
said  the  Secretary  in  a  lower  voice,  "be  the  re- 
sult of  the  false  accusation  which  has  been  re- 
tracted." 

When  they  had  passed  on  a  little  further  with- 
out speaking,  Bella,  after  stealing  a  glance  or 
two  at  the  Secretary,  suddenly  said  : 

"Oh,  Mr.  Rokesmith,  don't  be  hard  with  me, 
don't  be  stern  with  me;  be  magnanimous!  I 
want  to  talk  with  you  on  equal  terms." 

The  Secretary  as  suddenly  brightened,  and 
returned :  "  Upon  my  honor  I  had  no  thought 
but  for  you.  I  forced  myself  to  be  constrained, 
lest  you  might  misinterpret  my  being  more  natu- 
ral.    There.     It's  gone." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Bella,  holding  out  her  lit- 
tle hand.     "Forgive  me." 

"  No  !"  cried  the  Secretary,  eagerly.  "  For- 
give me!"  For  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  they  were  prettier  in  his  sight  (though  they 
smote  him  on  the  heart  rather  reproachfully 
too)  than  any  other  glitter  in  the  world. 

When  they  had  walked  a  little  further  : 

"You  were  going  to  speak  to  me,"  said  the 
Secretary,  with  the  shadow  so  long  on  him  quite 
thrown  off  and  cast  away,  "  about  Lizzie  Hex- 
am.  So  was  I  going  to  speak  to  you,  if  I  could 
have  begun." 

"  Now  that  you  can  begin ;  Sir,"  returned  Bel- 
la, with  a  look  as  if  she  italicized  the  word  by 
putting  one  of  her  dimples  under  it,  "what  were 
you  going  to  say?" 

"You  remember,  of  course,  that  in  her  short 
letter  to  Mrs.  Boffin — short,  but  containing  ev- 
ery thing  to  the  purpose — she  stipulated  that 
either  her  name,  or  else  her  place  of  residence, 
must  be  kept  strictly  a  secret  among  us." 
Bella  nodded  Yes. 

"It  is  my  duty  to  find  out  why  she  made  that 
stipulation.    I  have  it  in  charge  from  Mr.  Boffin 


to  discover,  and  I  am  very  desirous  for  myself 
to  discover,  whether  that  retracted  accusation 
still  leaves  any  stain  upon  her.  I  mean  whether 
it  places  her  at  any  disadvantage  toward  any 
one,  even  toward  herself." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bella,  nodding  thoughtfully ;  "I 
understand.  That  seems  wise  and  considerate." 
"  You  may  not  have  noticed,  Miss  Wilfer,  that 
she  has  the  same  kind  of  interest  in  you  that  you 
have  in  her.  Just  as  you  are  attracted  by  "her 
beaut —  by  her  appearance  and  manner,  she  is 
attracted  by  yours." 

"I  certainly  have  not  noticed  it,"  returned 
Bella,  again  italicizing  with  the  dimple,  "and  I 
should  have  given  her  credit  for — " 

The  Secretary  with  a  smile  held  up  his  hand, 
so  plainly  interposing  "not  for  better  taste"  that 
Bella's  color  deepened  over  the  little  piece  of 
coquetry  she  was  checked  in. 

"And  so,"  resumed  the  Secretary,  "  if  you 
would  speak  with  her  alone  before  we  go  away 
from  here,  I  feel  quite  sure  that  a  natural  and 
easy  confidence  would  arise  between  you.  Of 
course  you  would  not  be  asked  to  betray  it ;  and 
of  course  you  would  not,  if  you  were.  But  if 
you  do  not  object  to  put  this  question  to  her — to 
ascertain  for  us  her  own  feeling  in  this  one  matter 
— you  can*do  so  at  a  far  greater  advantage  than  I 
or  any  else  could.  Mr.  Boffin  is  anxious  on  the 
subject.  And  I  am,"  added  the  Secretary  after 
a  moment,  "for  a  special  reason,  very  anxious." 
"I  shall  be  happy,  Mr.  Rokesmith,"  returned 
Bella,  to  be  of  the  least  use  ;  for  I  feel,  after  the 
serious  scene  of  to-day,  that  I  am  useless  enough 
in  this  world." 

"Don't  say  that,"  urged  the  Secretary. 
"Oh,  but  I  mean  that,"  said  Bella,  raising 
her  eyebrows. 

"No  one  is  useless  in  this  world,"  retorted  the 
Secretary,  "who  lightens  the  burden  of  it  for 
any  one  else." 

"But  I  assure  you  I  don't,  Mr.  Rokesmith," 
said  Bella,  half  crying. 
"Not  for  your  father  ?" 

"  Dear,  loving,  self-forgetting,  easily-satisfied 
Pa!     Oh  yes!     He  thinks  so." 

"It  is  enough  if  he  only  thinks  so,"  said  the 
Secretary.  "Excuse  the  interruption:  I  don't 
like  to  hear  you  depreciate  yourself." 

"  But  you  once  depreciated  me,  Sir,"  thought 
Bella,  pouting,  "  and  I  hope  you  may  be  satis- 
fied with  the  consequences  you  brought  upon 
your  head !"  However,  she  said  nothing  to  that 
purpose  ;  she  even  said  something  to  a  different 
purpose.  . 

"Mr.  Rokesmith,  it  seems  so  long  since  we 
spoke  together  naturally,  that  I  am  embarrassed 
in  approaching  another  subject.  Mr.  Boffin. 
You  know  I  am  very  grateful  to  him  ;  don't 
you  ?  You  know  I  feel  a  true  respect  for  him, 
and  am  bound  to  him  by  the  strong  ties  of  his 
own  generosity  ;  now  don't  you  ?" 

"  Unquestionably.  And  also  that  you  are  his 
favorite  companion." 

"That  makes  it,"  said  Bella,  "so  very  diffi- 
cult to  speak  of  him.  But —  Does  he  treat 
you  well?" 

"You  see  how  he  treats  me,"  the  Secretary 
answered;  with  a  patient  and  yet  proud  air. 

"Yes,  and  I  see  it  with  pain,"  said  Bella, 
very  energetically. 

The  Secretary  gave  her  such  a  radiant  look, 


230 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


that  if  he  had  thanked  her  a  hundred  times  he 
could  not  have  said  as  much  as  the  look  said. 

"I  see  it  with  pain,"  repeated  Bella,  "and  it 
often  makes  me  miserable.  Miserable,  because 
I  can  not  bear  to  be  supposed  to  approve  of  it, 
or  have  any  indirect  share  in  it.  Miserable,  be- 
cause I  can  not  bear  to  be  forced  to  admit  to 
myself  that  Fortune  is  spoiling  Mr.  Boffin." 

' '  Miss  Wilfer, "  said  the  Secretary,  with  a 
beaming  face,  "if  you  could  know  with  what 
delight  I  make  the  discovery  that  Fortune  is  not 
spoiling  you,  you  would  know  that  it  more  than 
compensates  me  for  any  slight  at  any  other 
hands." 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  of  me,"  said  Bella,  giving 
herself  an  impatient  little  slap  with  her  glove. 
"You  don't  know  me  as  well  as — " 

"As  you  know  yourself?"  suggested  the  Sec- 
retary, finding  that  stopped.  "  Bo  you  know 
yourself?" 

"  I  know  quite  enough  of  myself,"  said  Bella, 
with  a  charming  air  of  being  inclined  to  give 
herself  up  as  a  bad  job,  "and  I  don't  improve 
upon  acquaintance.     But  Mr.  Boffin." 

"That  Mr.  Boffin's  manner  to  me,  or  consid- 
eration for  me,  is  not  what  it  used  to  be,"  ob- 
served the  Secretary,  "  must  be  admitted.  It 
is  too  plain  to  be  denied." 

"  Are  you  disposed  to  deny  it,  Mr.  Roke- 
smith  ?"  asked  Bella,  with  a  look  of  wonder. 

"Ought  I  not  to  be  glad  to  do  so,  if  I  could  ; 
though  it  were  only  for  my  own  sake  ?" 

"Truly,"  returned  Bella,  "it  must  try  you 
very  much,  and — you  must  please  promise  me 
that  you  won't  take  ill  what  I  am  going  to  add, 
Mr.  Rokesmith  ?" 

"I  promise  it  with  all  my  heart." 

" — And  it  must  sometimes,  I  should  think," 
said  Bella,  hesitating,  "  a  little  lower  you  in 
your  own  estimation  ?" 

Assenting  with  a  movement  of  his  head, 
though  not  at  all  looking  as  if  it  did,  the  Secre- 
tary replied : 

"  I  have  very  strong  reasons,  Miss  Wilfer,  for 
bearing  with  the  drawbacks  of  my  position  in 
the  house  we  both  inhabit.  Believe  that  they 
are  not  all  mercenary,  although  I  have,  through 
a  series  of  strange  fatalities,  faded  out  of  my 
place  in  life.  If  what  you  see  with  such  a 
gracious  and  good  sympathy  is  calculated  to 
rouse  my  pride,  there  are  other  considerations 
(and  those  you  do  not  see)  urging  me  to  quiet 
endurance.  The  latter  are  by  far  the  stron- 
ger." 

"I  think  I  have  noticed,  Mr.  Rokesmith," 
said  Bella,  looking  at  him  with  curiosity,  as  not 
quite  making  him  out,  "that  you  repress  your- 
self, and  force  yourself,  to  act  a  passive  part." 

"You  are  right.  I  repress  myself  and  force 
myself  to  act  a  part.  It  is  not  in  tameness  of 
spirit  that  I  submit.     I  have  a  settled  purpose." 

"And  a  good  one,  I  hope,"  said  Bella. 

"And  a  good  one,  I  hope,"  he  answered, 
looking  steadily  at  her. 

"Sometimes  I  have  fancied,  Sir,"  said  Bella, 
turning  away  her  eyes,  "that  your  great  regard 
for  Mrs.  Boffin  is  a  very  powerful  motive  with 
you." 

"You  are  right  again  ;  it  is.  I  would  do  any 
thing  for  her,  bear  any  thing  for  her.  There 
are  no  words  to  express  how  I  esteem  that  good, 
good  woman." 


"As  I  do  too !  May  I  ask  you  one  thing 
more,  Mr.  Rokesmith?" 

"Any  thing  more." 

"Of  course  you  see  that  she  really  suffers 
when  Mr.  Boffin  shows  how  he  is  changing?" 

"I  see  it,  every  day,  as  you  see  it,  and  am 
grieved  to  give  her  pain." 

"To  give  her  pain?"  said  Bella,  repeating 
the  phrase  quickly,  with  her  eyebrows  raised. 

"I  am  generally  the  unfortunate  cause  of  it." 

"Perhaps  she  says  to  you,  as  she  often  says 
to  me,  that  he  is  the  best  of  men,  in  spite  of 
all." 

"I  often  overhear  her,  in  her  honest  and 
beautiful  devotion  to  him,  saying  so  to  you," 
returned  the  Secretary,  with  the  same  steady 
look,  "  but  I  can  not  assert  that  she  ever  says  so 
to  me." 

Bella  met  the  steady  look  for  a  moment  with 
a  wistful,  musing  little  look  of  her  own,  and 
then,  nodding  her  pretty  head  several  times,  like 
a  dimpled  philosopher  (of  the  very  best  school) 
who  was  moralizing  on  Life,  heaved  a  little  sigh, 
and  gave  up  things  in  general  for  a  bad  job,  as 
she  had  previously  been  inclined  to  give  up  her- 
self. 

But  for  all  that  they  had  a  very  pleasant 
walk.  The  trees  were  bare  of  leaves,  and  the 
river  was  bare  of  water-lilies ;  but  the  sky  was 
not  bare  of  its  beautiful  blue,  and  the  water  re- 
flected it,  and  a  delicious  wind  ran  with  the 
stream,  touching  the  surface  crisply.  Perhaps 
the  old  mirror  was  never  yet  made  by  human 
hands,  which,  if  all  the  images  it  has  in  its  time 
reflected  could  pass  across  its  surface  again, 
would  fail  to  reveal  sone  scene  of  horror  or  dis- 
tress. But  the  great  serene  mirror  of  the  river 
seemed  as  if  it  might  have  reproduced  all  it  had 
ever  reflected  between  those  placid  banks,  and 
brought  nothing  to  the  light  save  what  was 
peaceful,  pastoral,  and  blooming. 

So,  they  walked,  speaking  of  the  newly  filled- 
up  grave,  and  of  Johnny,  and  of  many  things. 
So,  on  their  return,  they  met  brisk  Mrs.  Milvey 
coming  to  seek  them,  with  the  agreeable  intelli- 
gence that  there  was  no  fear  for  the  village 
children,  there  being  a  Christian  school  in  the 
village,  and  no  worse  Judaical  interference  with 
it  than  to  plant  its  garden.  So,  they  got  back 
to  the  village  as  Lizzie  Hexam  was  coming  from 
the  paper-mill,  and  Bella  detached  herself  to 
speak  with  her  in  her  own  home. 

"lam  afraid  it  is  a  poor  room  for  you,"  said 
Lizzie,  with  a  smile  of  welcome,  as  she  offered 
the  post  of  honor  by  the  fireside. 

"  Not  so  poor  as  you  think,  my  dear,"  returned 
Bella,  "if  you  knew  all."  Indeed,  though  at- 
tained by  some  wonderful  winding  narrow  stairs, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  erected  in  a  pure 
white  chimney,  and  though  very  low  in  the  ceil- 
ing, and  very  rugged  in  the  floor,  and  rather 
blinking  as  to  the  proportions  of  its  lattice  win- 
dow, it  was  a  pleasanter  room  than  that  despised 
chamber  once  at  home,  in  which  Bella  had  first 
bemoaned  the  miseries  of  taking  lodgers. 

The  day  was  closing  as  the  two  girls  looked 
at  one  another  by  the  fireside.  The  dusky  room 
was  lighted  by  the  fire.  The  grate  might  have 
been  the  old  brazier,  and  the  glow  might  have 
been  the  old  hollow  down  by  the  flare. 

"It's  quite  new  to  me,"  said  Lizzie,  "to  be 
visited  by  a  lady  so  nearly  of  my  own  age,  and 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


231 


so  pretty,  as  you.  It's  a  pleasure  to  me  to  look 
at  you." 

"I  have  nothing  left  to  begin  with,"  returned 
Bella,  blushing,  "because  I  was  going  to  say 
that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to  look  at  you,  Liz- 
zie. But  we  can  begin  without  a  beginning, 
can't  we  ?" 

Lizzie  took  the  pretty  little  hand  that  was  held 
out  in  as  pretty  a  little  frankness. 

"Now,  dear,"  said  Bella,  drawing  her  chair 
a  little  nearer,  and  taking  Lizzie's  arm  as  if 
they  were  going  out  for  a  walk,  "  I  am  com- 
missioned with  something  to  say,  and  I  dare  say 
I  shall  say  it  wrong,  but  I  won't  if  I  can  help 
it.  It  is  in  reference  to  your  letter  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Boffin,  and  this  is  what  it  is.  Let  me  see. 
Oh  yes !     This  is  what  it  is." 

With  this  exordium  Bella  set  forth  that  re- 
quest of  Lizzie's  touching  secrecy,  and  delicately 
spoke  of  that  false  accusation  and  its  retracta- 
tion, and  asked  might  she  beg  to  be- informed 
whether  it  had  any  bearing,  near  or  remote,  on 
such  request.  "I  feel,  my  dear,"  said  Bella, 
quite  amazing  herself  by  the  business-like  man- 
ner in  which  she  was  getting  on,  "  that  the  sub- 
ject must  be  a  painful  one  to  you,  but  I  am 
mixed  up  in  it  also ;  for — I  don't  know  whether 
you  may  know  it  or  suspect  it — I  am  the  willed- 
away  girl  who  was  to  have  been  married  to  the 
unfortunate  gentleman,  if  he  had  been  pleased  to 
approve  of  me.  So  I  was  dragged  into  the  sub- 
ject without  my  consent,  and  you  were  dragged 
into  it  without  your  consent,  and  there  is  very 
little  to  choose  between  us." 

"I  had  no  doubt,"  said  Lizzie,  "that  you 
were  the  Miss  Wilfer  I  have  often  heard  named. 
Can  you  tell  me  who  my  unknown  friend  is  ?" 

"  Unknown  friend,  my  dear?"  said  Bella. 

"Who  caused  the  charge  against  poor  father 
to  be  contradicted,  and  sent  me  the  written 
paper." 

Bella  had  never  heard  of  him.  Had  no  no- 
tion who  he  was. 

"  I  should  have  been  glad  to  thank  him,"  re- 
turned Lizzie.  "  He  has  done  a  great  deal  for 
me.  I  must  hope  that  he  will  let  me  thank  him 
some  day.  You  asked  me  has  it  any  thing  to 
do—" 

"It  or  the  accusation  itself,"  Bella  put  in. 

"Yes.  Has  either  any  thing  to  do  with  my 
wishing  to  live  quite  secret  and  retired  here"?  No.*" 

As  Lizzie  Hexam  shook  her  head  in  giving 
this  reply  and  as  her  glance  sought  the  fire,  there 
was  a  quiet  resolution  in  her  folded  hands,  not 
lost  on  Bella's  bright  eyes. 

"Have  you  lived  much  alone?"  asked  Bella. 

"  Yes.  It's  nothing  new  to  me.  I  used  to  be 
always  alone  many  hours  together,  in  the  day 
and  in  the  night,  when  poor  father  was  alive." 

"You  have  a  brother,  I  have  been  told." 

"I  have  a  brother,  but  he  is  not  friendly  with 
me.  He  is  a  very  good  boy  though,  and  has 
raised  himself  by  his  industry.  I  don't  complain 
of  him." 

As  she  said  it,  with  her  eyes  upon  the  fire- 
glow,  there  was  an  instantaneous  escape  x>f  dis- 
tress into  her  face.  Bella  seized  the  moment  to 
touch  her  hand. 

"Lizzie,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  whether 
you  have  any  friend  of  your  own  sex  and  age." 

"I  have  lived  that  lonely  kind  of  life  that  I 
have  never  had  one,"  was  the  answer. 


"Nor  I  neither,"  said  Bella.  "Not  that  my 
life  has  been  lonely,  for  I  could  have  sometimes 
wished  it  lonelier,  instead  of  having  Ma  going 
on  like  the  Tragic  Muse  with  a  face-ache  in 
majestic  corners,  and  Lavvy  being  spiteful — 
though  of  course  I  am  very  fond  of  them  both. 
I  wish  you  could  make  a  friend  of  me,  Lizzie. 
Do  you  think  you  could  ?  I  have  no  more  of 
what  they  call  character,  my  dear,  than  a  cana- 
ry-bird, but  I  know  I  am  trust-worthy." 

The  wayward,  playful,  affectionate  nature, 
giddy  for  want  of  the  weight  of  some  sustaining 
purpose,  and  capricious  because  it  was  always 
fluttering  among  little  things,  was  yet  a  capti- 
vating one.  To  Lizzie  it  was  so  new,  so  pretty, 
at  once  so  womanly  and  so  childish,  that  it  won 
her  completely.  And  when  Bella  said  again, 
"Do  you  think  you  could,  Lizzie?"  with  her 
eyebrows  raised,  her  head  inquiringly  on  one 
side,  and  an  odd  doubt  about  it  in  her  own  bo- 
som, Lizzie  showed  beyond  all  question  that  she 
thought  she  could. 

"Tell  me,  my  dear,"  said  Bella,  "  what  is  the 
matter,  and  why  you  live  like  this." 

Lizzie  presently  began,  by  way  of  prelude, 
"You  must  have  many  lovers — "  when  Bella 
checked  her  with  a  little  scream  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"  My  dear,  I  haven't  one." 

"Not  one?" 

"Well!  Perhaps  one,"  said  Bella.  "lam 
sure  I  don't  know.  I  had  one,  but  what  he  may 
think  about  it  at  the  present  time  I  can't  say. 
Perhaps  I  have  half  a  one  (of  course  I  don't 
count  that  Idiot,  George  Sampson).  However, 
never  mind  me.     I  want  to  hear  about  you." 

"There  is  a  certain  man,"  said  Lizzie,  "a 
passionate  and  angry  man,  who  says  he  loves 
me,  and  who  I  must  believe  does  love  me.  He- 
is  the  friend  of  my  brother.  I  shrank  from  him 
within  myself  when  my  brother  first  brought  him 
to  me ;  but  the  last  time  I  saw  him  he  terrified 
me  more  than  I  can  say."     There  she  stopped. 

"Did  you  come  here  to  escape  from  him, 
Lizzie?" 

"  I  came  here  immediately  after  he  so  alarm- 
ed me." 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  him  here  ?" 

"I  am  not  timid  generally,  but  I  am  always 
afraid  of  him.  I  am  afraid  to  see  a  newspaper, 
or  to  hear  a  word  spoken  of  what  is  done  in 
London,  lest  he  should  have  done  some  violence." 

"Then  you  are  not  afraid  of  him  for  yourself, 
dear?"  said  Bella,  after  pondering  on  the  words. 

"  I  should  be  even  that,  if  I  met  him  about 
here.  I  look  round  for  him  always,  as  I  pass  to 
and  fro  at  night." 

"Are  you  afraid  of  any  thing  he  may  do  to 
himself  in  London,  my  dear?" 

"No.  He  might  be  fierce  enough  even  to  do 
some  violence  to  himself,  but  I  don't  think  of 
that." 

"Then  it  would  almost  seem,  dear,"  said 
Bella,  quaintly,  "as  if  there  must  be  somebody 
else?" 

Lizzie  put  her  hands  before  her  face  for  a 
moment  before  replying:  "The  words  are  al- 
ways in  my  ears,  and  the  blow  he  struck  upon  a 
stone-wall  as  he  said  them  is  always  before  my 
eyes.  I  have  tried  hard  to  think  it  not  worth 
remembering,  but  I  can  not  make  so  little  of  it. 
His  hand  was  trickling  down  with  blood  as  he 


232 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


said  to  me,  '  Then  I  hope  that  I  may  never  kill 
him!'" 

Rather  startled,  Bella  made  and  clasped  a  gir- 
dle of  her  arms  round  Lizzie's  waist,  and  then 
asked  quietly,  in  a  soft  voice,  as  they  both  looked 
at  the  fire : 

"  Kill  him  !     Is  this  man  so  jealous,  then  ?" 

"  Of  a  gentleman,"  said  Lizzie.  "  — I  hardly 
know  how  to  tell  you — of  a  gentleman  far  above 
me  and  my  way  of  life,  who  broke  father's  death 
to  me,  and  has  shown  an  interest  in  me  since." 

"  Does  he  love  you  ?" 

Lizzie  shook  her  head. 

"Does  he  admire  you?" 

Lizzie  ceased  to  shake  her  head,  and  pressed 
her  hand  upon  her  living  girdle. 

"Is  it  through  his  influence  that  you  came 
here?" 

"  O  no  !  And  of  all  the  world  I  wouldn't  have 
him  know  that  I  am. here,  or  get  the  least  clew 
where  to  find  me." 

"Lizzie,  dear!  Why?"  asked  Bella,  in  amaze- 
ment at  this  burst.  But  then  quickly  added, 
reading  Lizzie's  face :  "  No.  Don't  say  why. 
That  was  a  foolish  question  of  mine.  I  see,  I 
see." 

There  was  silence  between  them.  Lizzie, 
with  a  drooping  head,  glanced  down  at  the  glow 
in  the  fire  where  her  first  fancies  had  been  nursed, 
and  her  first  escape  made  from  the  grim  life  out 
of  which  she  had  plucked  her  brother,  foresee- 
ing her  reward. 

"You  know  all  now,"  she  said,  raising  her 
eyes  to  Bella's.  "There  is  nothing  left  out. 
This  is  my  reason  for  living  secret  here,  with 
the  aid  of  a  good  old  man  who  is  my  true  friend. 
For  a  short  part  of  my  life  at  home  with  father 
I  knew  of  things — don't  ask  me  what — that  I  set 
my  face  against,  and  tried  to  better.  I  don't 
think  I  could  have  done  more,  then,  without  let- 
ting my  hold  on  father  go ;  but  they  sometimes 
lie  heavy  on  my  mind.  By  doing  all  for  the 
best,  I  hope  I  may  wear  them  out." 

"And  wear  out  too,"  said  Bella,  soothingly, 
"  this  weakness,  Lizzie,  in  favor  of  one  who  is 
not  worthy  of  it." 

"No.  I  don't  want  to  wear  that  out,"  was 
the  flushed  reply,  "nor  do  I  want  to  believe, 
nor  do  I  believe,  that  he  is  not  worthy  of  it. 
What  should  I  gain  by  that,  and  how  much 
should  I  lose !" 

Bella's  expressive  little  eyebrows  remonstrated 
with  the  fire  for  some  short  time  before  she  re- 
joined : 

"Don't  think  that  I  press  you,  Lizzie;  but 
wouldn't  you  gain  in  peace,  and  hope,  and  even 
in  freedom  ?  Wouldn't  it  be  better  not  to  live  a 
secret  life  in  hiding,  and  not  to  be  shut  out  from 
your  natural  and  wholesome  prospects?  For- 
give my  asking  you,  would  that  be  no  gain  ?" 

"Does  a  woman's  heart  that — that  has  that 
weakness  in  it  which  you  have  spoken  of,"  re- 
turned Lizzie,  "seek  to  gain  any  thing?" 

The  question  was  so  directly  at  variance  with 
Bella's  views  in  life,  as  set  forth  to  her  father, 
that  she  said,  internally,  "There,  you  little  mer- 
cenary wretch !  Do  you  hear  that  ?  Ain't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself?"  and  unclasped  the  girdle 
of  her  arms,  expressly  to  give  herself  a  peniten- 
tial poke  in  the  side. 

"But  you  said,  Lizzie,"  observed  Bella,  re- 
turning to  her  subject  when  she  had  administer- 


ed this  chastisement,  "that  you  would  lose,  be- 
sides. Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  you 
would  lose,  Lizzie?" 

' '  I  should  lose  some  of  the  best  recollections, 
best  encouragements,  and  best  objects,  that  I 
carry  through  my  daily  life.  I  should  lose  my 
belief  that  if  I  had  been  his  equal,  and  he  had 
loved  me,  I  should  have  tried  with  all  my  might 
to  make  him  better  and  happier,  as  he  would 
have  made  me.  I  should  lose  almost  all  the 
value  that  I  put  upon  the  little  learning  I  have, 
which  is  all  owing  to  him,  and  which  I  con- 
quered the  difficulties  of,  that  he  might  not 
think  it  thrown  away  upon  me.  I  should  lose 
a  kind  of  picture  of  him — or  of  what  he  might 
have  been,  if  I  had  been  a  lady,  and  he  had 
loved  me — which  is  always  with  me,  and  which 
I  somehow  feel  that  I  could  not  do  a  mean  or  a 
wrong  thing  before.  I  should  leave  off  prizing 
the  remembrance  that  he  has  done  me  nothing 
but  good  since  I  have  known  him,  and  that  he 
has  made  a  change  within  me,  like — like  the 
change  in  the  grain  of  these  hands,  which  were 
coarse,  and  cracked,  and  hard,  and  brown  when 
I  rowed  on  the  river  with  father,  and  are  soft- 
ened and  made  supple  by  this  new  work  as  you 
see  them  now." 

They  trembled,  but  with  no  weakness,  as  she 
showed  them. 

"Understand  me,  my  dear;"  thus  she  went 
on.  "I  have  never  dreamed  of  the  possibility 
of  his  being  any  thing  to  me  on  this  earth  but 
the  kind  of  picture  that  I  know  I  could  not  make 
you  understand,  if  the  understanding  was  not  in 
your  own  breast  already,  i  have  no  more  dream- 
ed of  the  possibility  of  my  being  his  wife  than 
he  ever  has — and  words  could  not  be  stronger 
than  that.  And  yet  I  love  him.  I  love  him 
so  much,  and  so  dearly,  that  when  I  sometimes 
think  my  life  may  be  but  a  weary  one,  I  am 
proud  of  it  and  glad  of  it.  I  am  proud  and  glad 
to  suffer  something  for  him,  even  though  it  is 
of  no  service  to  him,  and  he  will  never  know  of 
it  or  care  for  it." 

Bella  sat  enchained  by  the  deep,  unselfish 
passion  of  this  girl  or  woman  of  her  own  age, 
courageously  revealing  itself  in  the  confidence 
of  her  sympathetic  perception  of  its  truth.  And 
yet  she  had  never  experienced  any  thing  like  it, 
or  thought  of  the  existence  of  any  thing  like  it. 

"It 'was  late  upon  a  wretched  night,"  said 
Lizzie,  "when  his  eyes  first  looked  at  me  in  my 
old  river-side  home,  very  different  from  this. 
His  eyes  may  never  look  at  me  again.  I  would 
rather  that  they  never  did ;  I  hope  that  they 
never  may.  But  I  would  not  have  the  light  of 
them  taken  out  of  my  life  for  any  thing  my  life 
can  give  me.  I  have  told  you  every  thing  now, 
my  dear.  If  it  comes  a  little  strange  to  me  to 
have  parted  with  it,  I  am  not  sorry.  I  had  no 
thought  of  ever  parting  with  a  single  word  of  it 
a  moment  before  you  came  in ;  but  you  came 
in,  and  my  mind  changed." 

Bella  kissed  her  on  the  cheek,  and  thanked 
her  warmly  for  her  confidence.  "I  only  wish," 
said  Bella,  "I  was  more  deserving  of  it." 

"  More  deserving  of  it?"  repeated  Lizzie,  with 
an  incredulous  smile. 

"I  don't  mean  in  respect  of  keeping  it,"  said 
Bella,  ' '  because  any  one  should  tear  me  to  bits 
before  getting  at  a  syllable  of  it — though  there's 
no  merit  in  that,  for  I  am  naturally  as  obstinate 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


233 


as  a  Pig.  What  I  mean  is,  Lizzie,  that  I  am 
a  mere  impertinent  piece  of  conceit,  and  you 
shame  me." 

Lizzie  put  up  the  pretty  brown  hair  that  came 
tumbling  down,  owing  to  the  energy  with  which 
Bella  shook  her  head ;  and  she  remonstrated 
while  thus  engaged,  "My  dear!" 

"  Oh,  it's  all  very  well  to  call  me  your  dear," 
said  Bella,  with  a  pettish  whimper,  "and  I  am 
glad  to  be  called  so,  though  I  have  slight  enough 
claim  to  be.    But  I  am  such  a  nasty  little  thing !" 

"My  dear!"  urged  Lizzie  again. 

"Such  a  shallow,  cold,  worldly,  Limited  lit- 
tle brute !"  said  Bella,  bringing  out  her  last  ad- 
jective with  culminating  force. 

"Do  you  think,"  inquired  Lizzie  with  her 
quiet  smile,  the  hair  being  now  secured,  "that 
I  don't  know  better  ?" 

"jDo  you  know  better  though?"  said  Bella. 
"Do  you  really  believe  you  know  better?  Oh, 
I  should  be  so  glad  if  you  did  know  better,  but 
I  am  so  very  much  afraid  that  I  must  know 
best !" 

Lizzie  asked  her,  laughing  outright,  whether 
she  ever  saw  her  own  face  or  heard  her  own 
voice  ? 

"  I  suppose  so,"  returned  Bella;  "  I  look  in  the 
glass  often  enough,  and  I  chatter  like  a  Magpie." 

"I  have  seen  your  face,  and  heard  your  voice, 
at  any  rate,"  said  Lizzie,  "  and  they  have  tempt- 
ed me  to  say  to  you — with  a  certainty  of  not 
going  wrong — what  I  thought  I  should  never 
say  to  any  one.     Does  that  look  ill  ?" 

"No,  I  hope  it  doesn't,"  pouted  Bella,  stop- 
ping herself  in  something  between  a  humored 
laugh  and  a  humored  sob. 

"  I  used  once  to  see  pictures- in  the  fire,"  said 
Lizzie,  playfully,  "to  please  my  brother.  Shall 
I  tell  you  what  I  see  down  there  where  the  fire 
is  glowing?" 

They  had  risen,  and  were  standing  on  the 
hearth,  the  time  being  come  for  separating ; 
each  had  drawn  an  arm  around  the  other  to 
take  leave. 

"Shall  I  tell  you,"  asked  Lizzie,  "what  I 
see  down  there?" 

"  Limited  little  b  ?"  suggested  Bella  with  her 
eyebrows  raised. 

"A  heart  well  worth  winning  and  well  won. 
A  heart  that,  once  won,  goes  through  fire  and 
water  for  the  winner,  and  never  changes,  and  is 
never  daunted." 

"  Girl's  heart?"  asked  Bella,  with  accompany- 
ing eyebrows. 

Lizzie  nodded.  "  And  the  figure  to  which  it 
belongs — " 

"Is  yours,"  suggested  Bella. 

"No.     Most  clearly  and  distinctly  yours." 

So  the  interview  terminated  with  pleasant 
words  on  both  sides,  and  with  many  reminders 
on  the  part  of  Bella  that  they  were  friends,  and 
pledges  that  she  would  soon  come  down  into 
that  part  of  the  country  again.  Therewith  Liz- 
zie returned  to  her  occupation,  and  Bella  ran 
over  to  the  little  inn  to  rejoin  her  company. 

"You  look  rather  serious,  Miss  Wilfer,"  was 
the  Secretary's  first  remark. 

"I  feel  rather  serious,"  returned  Miss  Wilfer. 

She  had  nothing  else  to  tell  him  but  that  Liz- 
zie Hexam's  secret  had  no  reference  whatever  to 
the  cruel  charge,  or  its  withdrawal.  Oh  yes 
though !  said  Bella  ;  she  might  as  well  mention 


one  other  thing;  Lizzie  was  very  desirous  to 
thank  her  unknown  friend  who  had  sent  her  the 
written  retractation.  Was  she,  indeed  ?  observed 
the  Secretary.  Ah !  Bella  asked  him,  had  he 
any  notion  who  that  unknown  friend  might  be  ? 
He  had  no  notion  whatever. 

They  were  on  the  borders  of  Oxfordshire,  so  far 
had  poor  old  Betty  Higden  strayed.  They  were 
to  return  by  the  train  presently,  and,  the  station 
being  near  at  hand,  the  Reverend  Frank  and 
Mrs.  Frank,  and  Sloppy  and  Bella  and  the  Sec- 
retary, set  out  to  walk  to  it.  Few  rustic  paths 
are  wide  enough  for  five,  and  Bella  and  the 
Secretary  dropped  behind. 

"  Can  you  believe,  Mr.  Rokesmith,"  said  Bella, 
"  that  I  feel  as  if  whole  years  had  passed  since  I 
went  into  Lizzie  Hexam's  cottage  ?" 

"  We  have  crowded  a  good  deal  into  the  day," 
he  returned,  "  and  you  were  much  affected  in 
the  church-yard.     You  are  over-tired." 

"  No,  I  am  not  at  all  tired.  I  have  not  quite 
expressed  what  I  mean.  I  don't  mean  that  I 
feel  as  if  a  great  space  of  time  had  gone  by,  but 
that  I  feel  as  if  much  had  happened — to  myself, 
you  know." 

"For  good,  I  hope?" 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Bella. 

"  You  are  cold ;  I  felt  you  tremble.  Pray  let 
me  put  this  wrapper  of  mine  about  you.  May  I 
fold  it  over  this  shoulder  without  injuring  your 
dress  ?  Now,  it  will  be  too  heavy  and  too  long. 
Let  me  carry  this  end  over  my  arm,  as  you  have 
no  arm  to  give  me." 

Yes  she  had  though.  How  she  got  it  out,  in 
her  muffled  state,  Heaven  knows;  but  she  got 
it  out  somehow — there  it  was — and  slipped  it 
through  the  Secretary's. 

"  I  have  had  a  long  and  interesting  talk  with 
Lizzie,  Mr.  Rokesmith,  and  she  gave  me  her  full 
confidence." 

"  She  could  not  withhold  it,"  said  the  Secre- 
tary. 

"I  wonder  how  you  come,"  said  Bella,  stop- 
ping short  as  she  glanced  at  him,  "  to  say  to  me 
just  what  she  said  about  it!" 

"  I  infer  that  it  must  be  because  I  feel  just  as 
she  felt  about  it." 

"And  how  was  that,  do  you  mean  to  say, 
Sir  ?"  asked  Bella,  moving  again. 

"That  if  you  were  inclined  to  win  her  confi- 
dence— any  body's  confidence — you  were  sure  to 
do  it." 

The  railway,  at  this  point,  knowingly  shutting 
a  green  eye  and  opening  a  red  one,  they  had  to 
run  for  it.  As  Bella  could  not  run  easily  so 
wrapped  up,  the  Secretary  had  to  help  her. 
When  she  took  her  opposite  place  in  the  car- 
riage corner,  the  brightness  in  her  face  was  so 
charming  to  behold,  that  on  her  exclaiming, 
"What  beautiful  stars  and  what  a  glorious 
night!"  the  Secretary  said  "Yes,"  but  seemed 
to  prefer  to  see  the  night  and  the  stars  in  the 
light  of  her  lovely  little  countenance  to  looking 
out  of  window. 

O  boofer  lady,  fascinating  boofer  lady  !  If  I 
were  but  legally  executor  of  Johnny's  will !  If 
I  had  but  the  right  to  pay  your  legacy  and  to 
take  your  receipt ! — Something  to  this  purpose  \ 
surely  mingled  with  the  blast  of  the  train  as  it 
cleared  the  stations,  all  knowingly  shutting  up 
their  green  eyes  and  opening  their  red  ones  when 
they  prepared  to  let  the  boofer  lady  pass. 


234: 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SCOUTS    OUT. 

"And  so,  Miss  Wren,"  said  Mr.  Eugene  Wray- 
burn,  "  I  can  not  persuade  you  to  dress  me  a 
doll?" 

"No,"  replied  Miss  Wren,  snappishly;  "if 
you  want  one,  go  and  buy  one  at  the  shop." 

"  And  my  charming  young  goddaughter,"  said 
Mr. Wrayburn,  plaintively,  "down  in  Hertford- 
shire— " 

("  Humbugshire  you  mean,  I  think,"  inter- 
posed Miss  Wren.) 

" — is  to  be  put  upon  the  cold  footing  of  the 
general  public,  and  is  to  derive  no  advantage 
from  my  private  acquaintance  with  the  Court 
Dress-maker  ?" 

"If  it's  any  advantage  to  your  charming  god- 
child— and  oh,  a  precious  godfather  she  has 
got!"  replied  Miss  Wren,  pricking  at  him  in  the 
air  with  her  needle,  "to  be  informed  that  the 
Court  Dress-maker  knows  your  tricks  and  your 
manners,  you  may  tell  her  so  by  post,  with  my 
compliments." 

Miss  Wren  was  busy  at  her  work  by  candle- 
light, and  Mr.  Wrayburn,  half  amused  and  half 
vexed,  and  all  idle  and  shiftless,  stood  by  her 
bench  looking  on.  Miss  Wren's  troublesome 
child  was  in  the  corner  in  deep  disgrace,  and 
exhibiting  great  wretchedness  in  the  shivering 
stage  of  prostration  from  drink. 

"Ugh,  you  disgraceful  boy!"  exclaimed  Miss 
Wren,  attracted  by  the  sound  of  his  chattering 
teeth,  "  I  wish  they'd  all  drop  down  your  throat 
and  play  at  dice  in  your  stomach !  Boh,  wicked 
child!     Bee-baa,  black  sheep!" 

On  her  accompanying  each  of  these  reproaches 
with  a  threatening  stamp  of  the  foot,  the  wretch- 
ed creature  protested  with  a  whine. 

"Pay  five  shillings  for  you  indeed!"  Miss 
Wren  proceeded;  "how  many  hours  do  you 
suppose  it  costs  me  to  earn  five  shillings,  you  in- 
famous boy  ? — Don't  cry  like  that,  or  I'll  throw 
a  doll  at  you.  Pay  five  shillings  fine  for  you  in- 
deed. Fine  in  more  ways  than  one,  I  think! 
I'd  give  the  dustman  five  shillings  to  carry  you 
off  in  the  dust  cart." 

"No,  no,"  pleaded  the  absurd  creature. 
"Please!" 

"He's  enough  to  break  his  mother's  heart,  is 
this  boy,"  said  Miss  Wren,  half  appealing  to 
Eugene.  "  I  wish  I  had  never  brought  him  up. 
He'd  be  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth,  if  he 
wasn't  as  dull  as  ditch  water.  Look  at  him. 
There's  a  pretty  object  for  a  parent's  eyes  !" 

Assuredly,  in  his  worse  than  swinish  state  (for 
swine  at  least  fatten  on  their  guzzling,  and  make 
themselves  good  to  eat),  he  was  a  pretty  object 
for  any  eyes. 

"A  muddling  and  a  swipey  old  child,"  said 
Miss  Wren,  rating  him  with  great  severity,  ' '  fit 
for  nothing  but  to  be  preserved  in  the  liquor  that 
destroys  him,  and  put  in  a  great  glass  bottle  as 
a  sight  for  other  swipey  children  of  his  own  pat- 
tern— if  he  has  no  consideration  for  his  liver,  has 
he  none  for  his  mother?" 

"Yes.  Deration,  oh  don't!"  cried  the  sub- 
ject of  these  angry  remarks. 

"Oh  don't  and  oh  don't,"  pursued  Miss  Wren. 
"It's  oh  do  and  oh  do.     And  why  do  you ?" 

"Won't  do  so  any  more.  Won't  indeed. 
Pray !" 


"There!"  said  Miss  Wren,  covering  her  eyes 
with  her  hand.  "I  can't  bear  to  look  at  you. 
Go  up  stairs  and  get  me  my  bonnet  and  shawl. 
Make  yourself  useful  in  some  way,  bad  boy,  and 
let  me  have  your  room  instead  of  your  company 
for  one  half  minute." 

Obeying  her,  he  shambled  out,  and  Eugene 
Wrayburn  saw  the  tears  exude  from  between 
the  little  creature's  fingers  as  she  kept  her  hand 
before  her  eyes.  He  was  sorry,  but  his  sympa- 
thy did  not  move  his  carelessness  to  do  any  thing 
but  feel  sorry. 

"I'm  going  to  the  Italian  Opera  to  try  on," 
said  Miss  Wren,  taking  away  her  hand  after  a 
little  while,  and  laughing  satirically  to  hide  that 
she  had  been  crying;  "I  must  see  your  back 
before  I  go,  Mr.  Wrayburn.  Let  me  first  tell 
you,  once  for  all,  that  it's  of  no  use  your  paying 
visits  to  me.  You  wouldn't  get  what  you  want 
of  me,  no,  not  if  you  brought  pincers  with  you 
to  tear  it  out." 

"Are  you  so  obstinate  on  the  subject  of  a 
doll's  dress  for  my  godchild  ?" 

"  Ah  !"  returned  Miss  Wren,  with  a  hitch  of 
her  chin,  "I  am  so  obstinate.  And  of  course 
it's  on  the  subject  of  a  doll's  dress — or  ac/dress — 
whichever  you  like.     Get  along  and  give  it  up !" 

Her  degraded  charge  had  come  back,  and  was 
standing  behind  her  with  the  bonnet  and  shawl. 

"  Give  'em  to  me  and  get  back  into  your  cor- 
ner, you  naughty  old  thing  !"  said  Miss  Wren, 
as  she  turned  and  espied  him.  "No,  no,  I 
won't  have  your  help.  Go  into  your  corner, 
this  minute!" 

The  miserable  man,  feebly  rubbing  the  back 
of  his  faltering  hands  downward  from  the  wrists, 
shuffled  on  to  his  post  of  disgrace ;  but  not  with- 
out a  curious  glance  at  Eugene  in  passing  him, 
accompanied  with  what  seemed  as  if  it  might 
have  been  an  action  of  his  elbow,  if  any  action 
of  any  limb  or  joint  Jje  had  would  have  an- 
swered truly  to  his  will.  Taking  no  more  par- 
ticular notice  of  him  than  instinctively  falling 
away  from  the  disagreeable  contact,  Eugene, 
with  a  lazy  compliment  or  so  to  Miss  Wren, 
begged  leave  to  light  his  cigar,  and  departed. 

"Now  you  prodigal  old  son,"  said  Jenny, 
shaking  her  head  and  her  emphatic  little  fore- 
finger at  her  burden,  "you  sit  there  till  I  come 
back.  You  dare  to  move  out  of  your  corner  for 
a  single  instant  while  I'm  gone,  and  I'll  know 
the  reason  why." 

With  this  admonition  she  blew  her  work  can- 
dles out,  leaving  him  to  the  light  of  the  fire,  and, 
taking  her  big  door-key  in  her  pocket  and  her 
crutch-stick  in  her  hand,  marched  off. 

Eugene  lounged  slowly  toward  the  Temple, 
smoking  his  cigar,  but  saw  no  more  of  the  dolls' 
dress-maker,  through  the  accident  of  their  taking 
opposite  sides  of  the  street.  He  lounged  along 
moodily,  and  stopped  at  Charing  Cross  to  look 
about  him,  with  as  little  interest  in  the  crowd  as 
any  man  might  take,  and  was  lounging  on  again, 
when  a  most  unexpected  object  caught  his  eyes. 
No  less  an  object  than  Jenny  Wren's  bad  boy 
trying  to  make  up  his  mind  to  cross  the  road. 

A  more  ridiculous  and  feeble  spectacle  than 
this  tottering  wretch  making  unsteady  sallies 
into  the  roadway,  and  as  often  staggering  back 
again,  oppressed  by  terrors  of  vehicles  that  were 
a  long  way  off  or  were  nowhere,  the  streets  could 
not  have  shown.     Over  and  over  again,  when 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


23; 


the  course  was  perfectly  clear,  he  set  out,  got 
half-way,  described  a  loop,  turned,  and  went 
back  again,  when  he  might  have  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  half  a  dozen  times.  Then  he  would 
stand  shivering  on  the  edge  of  the  pavement, 
looking  up  the  street  and  looking  down,  while 
scores  of  people  jostled  him,  and  crossed,  and 
went  on.  Stimulated  in  course  of  time  by  the 
sight  of  so  many  successes,  he  would  make  an- 
other sally,  make  another  loop,  would  all  but 
have  his  foot  on  the  opposite  pavement,  would 
see  or  imagine  something  coming,  and  would 
stagger  back  again.  There,  he  would  stand 
making  spasmodic  preparations  as  if  for  a  great 
leap,  and  at  last  would  decide  on  a  start  at  pre- 
cisely the  wrong  moment,  and  would  be  roared 
at  by  drivers,  and  would  shrink  back  once  more, 
and  stand  in  the  old  spot  shivering,  with  the 
whole  of  the  proceedings  to  go  through  again. 

"It  strikes  me,"  remarked  Eugene,  coolly, 
after  watching  him  for  some  minutes,  "that  my 
friend  is  likely  to  be  rather  behind  time  if  he 
has  any  appointment  on  hand."  With  which 
remark  he  strolled  on,  and  took  no  further 
thought  of  him. 

Lightwood  was  at  home  when  he  got  to  the 
Chambers,  and  had  dined  alone  there.  Eugene 
drew  a  chair  to  the  fire  by  which  he  was  having 
his  wine  and  reading  the  evening  paper,  and 
brought  a  glass,  and  filled  it  for  good  fellow- 
ship's sake. 

' '  My  dear  Mortimer,  you  are  the  express  pic- 
ture of  contented  industry,  reposing  (on  credit) 
after  the  virtuous  labors  of  the  day." 

"My  dear  Eugene,  you  are  the  express  pic- 
ture of  discontented  idleness  not  reposing  at  all. 
Where  have  you  been  ?" 

"I  have  been,"  replied  Wrayburn,  tsi — about 
town.  I  have  turned  up  at  the  present  juncture 
with  the  intention  of  consulting  my  highly  intel- 
ligent and  respected  solicitor  on  the  position  of 
my  affairs." 

"Your  highly  intelligent  and  respected  solic- 
itor is  of  opinion  that  your  affairs  are  in  a  bad 
way,  Eugene." 

"Though  whether,"  said  Eugene,  thought- 
fully, "  that  can  be  intelligently  said,  now,  of 
the  affairs  of  a  client  Avho  has  nothing  to  lose 
and  who  can  not  possibly  be  made  to  pay,  may 
be  open  to  question." 

"  You  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Jews, 
Eugene." 

"My  dear  boy,"  returned  the  debtor,  very 
composedly  taking  up  his  glass,  "having  pre- 
viously fallen  into  the  hands  of  some  of  the 
Christians,  I  can  bear  it  with  philosophy." 

"I  have  had  an  interview  to-day,  Eugene, 
with  a  Jew,  who  seems  determined  to  press  us 
hard.  Quite  a  Shylock,  and  quite  a  Patriarch. 
A  picturesque  gray-headed  and  gray-bearded  old 
Jew,  in  a  shovel-hat  and  gaberdine." 

"Not,"  said  Eugene,  pausing  in  setting  down 
his  glass,  "surely  not  my  worthy  friend  Mr. 
Aaron?" 

"He  calls  himself  Mr.  Riah." 

"By-the-by,"  said  Eugene,  "it  comes  into 
my  mind  that — no  doubt  with  an  instinctive  de- 
sire to  receive  him  into  the  bosom  of  our  Church 
— /  gave  him  the  name  of  Aaron  !" 

"Eugene,  Eugene," returned  Lightwood,  "you 
are  more  ridiculous  than  usual.  Say  what  you 
mean." 


"Merely,  my  dear  fellow,  that  I  have  the 
honor  and  pleasure  of  a  speaking  acquaintance 
with  such  a  Patriarch  as  you  describe,  and  that 
I  address  him  as  Mr.  Aaron,  because  it  appears 
to  me  Hebraic,  expressive,  appropriate,  and  com- 
plimentary. Notwithstanding  which  strong  rea- 
sons for  its  being  his  name,  it  may  not  be  his 
name." 

"I  believe  you  are  the  absurdest  man  on  the 
face  of  the  earth,"  said  Lightwood,  laughing. 

"Not  at  all,  I  assure  you.  Did  he  mention 
that  he  knew  me?" 

"He  did  not.  He  only  said  of  you  that  he 
expected  to  be  paid  by  you." 

"Which  looks,"  remarked  Eugene,  with  much 
gravity,  "like  not  knowing  me.  I  hope  it  may 
not  be  my  worthy  friend  Mr.  Aaron,  for,  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  Mortimer,  I  doubt  he  may  have 
a  prepossession  against  me.  I  strongly  suspect 
him  of  having  had  a  hand  in  spiriting  away 
Lizzie." 

"Every  thing,"  returned  Lightwood,  impa- 
tiently, "seems,  by  a  fatality,  to  bring  us  round 
to  Lizzie.  'About  town'  meant  about  Lizzie, 
just  now,  Eugene." 

"My  solicitor,  do  you  know,"  observed  Eu- 
gene, turning  round  to  the  furniture,  "is  a  man 
of  infinite  discernment !" 

"Did  it  not,  Eugene?" 

"Yes  it  did,  Mortimer." 

"And  yet,  Eugene,  you  know  you  do  not 
really  care  for  her." 

Eugene  Wrayburn  rose,  and  put  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  and  stood  with  a  foot  on  the  fender, 
indolently  rocking  his  body  and  looking  at  the 
fire.  After  a  prolonged  pause  he  replied :  "  I 
don't  know  that.  I  must  ask  you  not  to  say 
that,  as  if  we  took  it  for  granted." 

"But  if  you  do  care  for  her,  so  much  the 
more  should  you  leave  her  to  herself." 

Having  again  paused  as  before,  Eugene  said  : 
"  I  don't  know  that  either.  But  tell  me.  Did 
you  ever  see  me  take  so  much  trouble  about  any 
thing  as  about  this  disappearance  of  hers?  I 
ask,  for  information." 

"  My  dear  Eugene,  I  wish  I  ever  had  !" 

"Then  you  have  not?  Just  so.  You  con- 
firm my  own  impression.  Does  that  look  as  if 
I  cared  for  her?     I  ask,  for  information." 

"I  asked  you  for  information,  Eugene,"  said 
Mortimer,  reproachfully. 

"Dear  boy,  I  know  it,  but  I  can't  give  it.  I 
thirst  for  information.  What  do  I  mean  ?  If 
my  taking  so  much  trouble  to  recover  her  does 
not  mean  that  I  care  for  her,  what  does  it  mean  ? 
'  If  Peter  Piper  picked  a  peck  of  pickled  pepper, 
where's  the  peck,'  etc.  ?" 

Though  he  said  this  gayly,  he  said  it  with  a 
perplexed  and  inquisitive  face,  as  if  he  actually 
did  not  know  what  to  make  of  himself.  "  Look 
on  to  the  end — "  Lightwood  was  beginning  to 
remonstrate,  when  he  caught  at  the  words : 

"  Ah !  See  now !  That's  exactly  what  I  am 
capable  of  doing.  How  very  acute  you  are, 
Mortimer,  in  finding  my  weak  place !  When 
we  were  at  school  together  I  got  up  my  lessons 
at  the  last  moment,  day  by  day  and  bit  by  bit ; 
now  we  are  out  in  life  together,  I  get  up  my 
lessons*  in  the  same  way.  In  the  present  task  I 
have  not  got  beyond  this :  I  am  bent  on  finding 
Lizzie,  and  I  mean  to  find  her,  and  I  will  take 
any  means  of  finding  her  that  offer  themselves. 


236 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Fair  means  or  foul  means  are  all  alike  to  me. 
I  ask  you  —  for  information  —  what  does  that 
mean?  When  I  have  found  her  I  may  ask  you 
— also  for  information — what  do  I  mean  now? 
But  it  would  be  premature  in  this  stage,  and  it's 
not  the  character  of  my  mind." 

Lightwood  was  shaking  his  head  over  the  air 
with  which  his  friend  held  forth  thus — an  air  so 
whimsically  open  and  argumentative  as  almost 
to  deprive  what  he  said  of  the  appearance  of 
evasion — when  a  shuffling  was  heard  at  the  out- 
er door,  and  then  an  undecided  knock,  as  though 
some  hand  were  groping  for  the  knocker.  "The 
frolicsome  youth  of  the  neighborhood,"  said  Eu- 
gene, "whom  I  should  be  delighted  to  pitch 
from  this  elevation  into  the  church-yard  below, 
without  any  intermediate  ceremonies,  have  prob- 
ably turned  the  lamp  out.  I  am  on  duty  to- 
night, and  will  see  to  the  door." 

His  friend  had  barely  had  time  to  recall  the 
unprecedented  gleam  of  determination  with 
which  he  had  spoken  of  finding  this  girl,  and 
which  had  faded  out  of  him  with  the  breath  of 
the  spoken  words,  when  Eugene  came  back, 
ushering  in  a  most  disgraceful  shadow  of  a 
man,  shaking  from  head  to  foot,  and  clothed  in 
shabby  grease  and  smear. 

"This  interesting  gentleman,"  said  Eugene, 
"is  the  son — the  occasionally  rather  trying  son, 
for  he  has  his  failings — of  a  lady  of  my  acquaint- 
ance. My  dear  Mortimer — Mr.  Dolls."  Eugene 
had  no  idea  what  his  name  was,  knowing  the 
little  dress-maker's  to  be  assumed,  but  present- 
ed him  with  easy  confidence  under  the  first  ap- 
pellation that  his  associations  suggested. 

"I  gather,  my  dear  Mortimer,"  pursued  Eu- 
gene, as  Lightwood  stared  at  the  obscene  visitor, 
"from  the  manner  of  Mr.  Dolls — which  is  oc- 
casionally complicated — that  he  desires  to  make 
some  communication  to  me.  I  have  mentioned 
to  Mr.  Dolls  that  you  and  I  are  on  terms  of  con- 
fidence, and  have  requested  Mr.  Dolls  to  devel- 
op his  views  here." 

The  wretched  object  being  much  embarrassed 
by  holding  what  remained  of  hishat,  Eugeneairily 
tossed  it  to  the  door  and  put  him  down  in  a  chair. 

"It  will  be  necessary,  I  think,"  he  observed, 
"  to  wind  up  Mr.  Dolls  before  any  thing  to  any 
mortal  purpose  can  be  got  out  of  him.  Brandy, 
Mr.  Dolls,  or—?" 

"Threepenn'orth  Rum,"  said  Mr.  Dolls. 

A  judiciously  small  quantity  of  the  spirit  was 
given  him  in  a  wine-glass,  and  he  began  to  con- 
vey it  to  his  mouth  with  all  kinds  of  falterings 
and  gyrations  on  the  road. 

"  The  nerves  of  Mr.  Dolls,"  remarked  Eugene 
to  Lightwood,  "  are  considerably  unstrung.  And 
I  deem  it  on  the  whole  expedient  to  fumigate 
Mr.  Dolls." 

He  took  the  shovel  from  the  grate,  sprinkled 
a  few  live  ashes  on  it,  and  from  a  box  on  the 
chimney-piece  took  a  few  pastiles,  which  he  set 
upon  them ;  then  with  great  composure  began 
placidly  waving  the  shovel  in  front  of  Mr.  Dolls 
to  cut  him  off  from  his  company. 

"Lord  bless  my  soul,  Eugene!"  cried  Light- 
wood,  laughing  again,  "what  a  mad  fellow  you 
are  !     Why  does  this  creature  come  to  see  you  ?" 

"We  shall  hear,"  said  Wrayburn,  very  ob- 
servant of  his  face  withal.      "Now  then.     Speak 
_,  out.     Don't   be  afraid.     State  your   business, 
Dolls." 


"Mist  Wrayburn!"  said  the  visitor,  thickly 
and  huskily.  " — 'Tis  Mist  Wrayburn,  ain't?" 
With  a  stupid  stare. 

"  Of  course  it  is.  Look  at  me.  What  do 
you  want  ?" 

Mr.  Dolls  collapsed  in  his  chair  and  faintly 
said,  "Threepenn'orth  Rum." 

"Will  you  do  me  the  favor,  my  dear  Mor- 
timer, to  wind  up  Mr.  Dolls  again?"  said  Eu- 
gene.     "I  am  occupied  with  the  fumigation." 

A  similar  quantity  was  poured  into  his  glass, 
and  he  got  it  to  his  lips  by  similar  circuitous 
ways.  Having  drunk  it,  Mr.  Dolls,  with  an 
evident  fear  of  running  down  again  unless  he 
made  haste,  proceeded  to  business. 

"  Mist  Wrayburn.  Tried  to  nudge  you,  but 
you  wouldn't.  You  want  that  drection.  You 
want  t'know  where  she  lives.  Do  you  Mist 
Wrayburn  ?" 

With  a  glance  at  his  friend,  Eugene  replied  to 
the  question  sternly,  "I  do." 

"I  am  er  man,"  said  Mr.  Dolls,  trying  to 
smite  himself  on  the  breast,  but  bringing  his 
hand  to  bear  upon  the  vicinity  of  his  eye,  "er 
do  it.     I  am  er  man  er  do  it." 

"What  are  you  the  man  to  do?"  demanded 
Eugene,  still  sternly. 

"Er  give  up  that  drection." 

"Have  you  got  it?" 

With  a  most  laborious  attempt  at  pride  and 
dignity,  Mr.  Dolls  rolled  his  head  for  some  time, 
awakening  the  highest  expectations,  and  then 
answered,  as  if  it  ^rere  the  happiest  point  that 
could  possibly  be  expected  of  him:   "No." 

"What  do  you  mean  then?" 

Mr.  Dolls,  collapsing  in  the  drowsiest  man- 
ner after  his  late  intellectual  triumph,  replied : 
"Threepenn'orth  Rum." 

"Wind  him  up  again,  my  dear  Mortimer," 
said  Wrayburn;   "wind  him  up  again." 

"Eugene,  Eugene,"  urged  Lightwood  in  a 
low  voice,  as  he  complied,  "can  you  stoop  to 
the  use  of  such  an  instrument  as  this?" 

"I  said,"  was  the  reply,  made  with  that  for- 
mer gleam  of  determination,  "that  I  would 
find  her  out  by  any  means,  fair  or  foul.  These 
are  foul,  and  I'll  take  them — if  I  am  not  first 
tempted  to  break  the  head  of  Mr.  Dolls  with  the 
fumigator.  Can  you  get  the  direction  ?  Do 
you  mean  that  ?  Speak !  If  that's  what  you 
have  come  for,  say  how  much  you  want." 

"Ten  shillings — Threepenn'orths  Rum,"  said 
Mr.  Dolls. 

"You  shall  have  it." 

"Fifteen  shillings  —  Threepenn'orths  Rum," 
said  Mr.  Dolls,  making  an  attempt  to  stiffen 
himself. 

"  You  shall  have  it.  Stop  at  that.  How  will 
you  get  the  direction  you  talk  of?" 

"I  am  er  man,"  said  Mr.  Dolls,  with  majesty, 
"  er  get  it,  Sir." 

"How  will  you  get  it,  I  ask  you ?" 

"J  am  ill-used  vicinal,"  said  Mr.  Dolls. 
"Blown  up  morning  t'night.  Called  names. 
She  makes  Mint  money,  Sir,  and  never  stands 
Threepenn'orth  Rum." 

"Get  on,"  rejoined  Eugene,  tapping  his  pair 
sied  head  with  the  fire-shovel  as  it  sank  on  his 
breast.     "What  comes  next?" 

Making  a  dignified  attempt  to  gather  himself 
together,  but,  as  it  were,  dropping  half  a  dozen 
pieces  of  himself  while  he  tried  in  vain  to  pick 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


237 


up  one,  Mr.  Dolls,  swaying  his  head  from  side 
to  side,  regarded  his  questioner  with  what  he 
supposed  to  be  a,  haughty  smile  and  a  scornful 
glance. 

"She  looks  upon  me  as  mere  child,  Sir.  I 
am  not  mere  child,  Sir.  Man.  Man  talent. 
Lerrers  pass  betwixt  'em.  Postman  lerrers. 
Easy  for  man  talent  er  get  drection  as  get  his 
own  drection." 

"Get  it  then,"  said  Eugene;  adding  very 
heartily  under  his  breath,  "  — You  Brute  !  Get 
it,  and  bring  it  here  to  me,  and  earn  the  money 
for  sixty  threepenn'orths  of  rum,  and  drink  them 
all,  one  atop  of  another,  and  drink  yourself 
dead  with  all  possible  expedition."  The  latter 
clauses  of  these  special  instructions  he  addressed 
to  the  fire,  as  he  gave  it  back  the  ashes  he  had 
taken  from  it,  and  replaced  the  shovel. 

Mr.  Dolls  now  struck  out  the  highly  unexpect- 

Q 


ed  discovery  that  he  had  been  insulted  by  Light- 
wood,  and  stated  his  desire  to  "have  it  out 
with  him"  on  the  spot,  and  defied  him  to  come 
on,  upon  the  liberal  terms  of  a  sovereign  to  a 
half-penny.  Mr.  Dolls  then  fell  a  crying,  and 
then  exhibited  a  tendency  to  fall  asleep.  This 
last  manifestation  as  by  far  the  most  alarming, 
by  reason  of  its  threatening  his  prolonged  stay 
on  the  premises,  necessitated  vigorous  measures. 
Eugene  picked  up  his  worn-out  hat  with  the 
tongs,  clapped  it  on  his  head,  and,  taking  him 
by  the  collar — all  this  at  arm's-length — conduct- 
ed him  down  stairs  and  out  of  the  precincts  into 
Fleet  Street.  There,  he  turned  his  face  west- 
ward, and  left  him. 

When  he  got  back,  Lightwood  was  standing 
over  the  fire,  brooding  in  a  sufficiently  low-spir- 
ited manner. 

"I'll  wash  my  hands  of  Mr.  Dolls — physical- 


238 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


ly — "  said  Eugene,  "  and  be  with  you  again  di- 
rectly, Mortimer." 

"I  would  much  prefer,"  retorted  Mortimer, 
"your  washing  your  hands  of  Mr.  Dolls,  moral- 
ly, Eugene." 

"  So  would  I,"  said  Eugene;  "but  you  see, 
dear  boy,  I  can't  do  without  him." 

In  a  minute  or  two  he  resumed  his  chair,  as 
perfectly  unconcerned  as  usual,  and  rallied  his 
friend  on  having  so  narrowly  escaped  the  prow- 
ess of  their  muscular  visitor. 

"I  can't  be  amused  on  this  theme,"  said  Mor- 
timer, restlessly.  "You  can  make  almost  any 
theme  amusing  to  me,  Eugene,  but  not  this." 

"Well!"  cried  Eugene,  "I  am  a  little 
ashamed  of  it  myself,  and  therefore  let  us 
change  the  subject." 

"It  is  so  deplorably  underhanded,"  said  Mor- 
timer. "It  is  so  unworthy  of  you,  this  setting 
on  of  such  a  shameful  scout." 

"We  have  changed  the  subject!"  exclaimed 
Eugene  airily.  "We  have  found  a  new  one  in 
that  word,  scout.  Don't  be  like  Patience  on  a 
mantle-piece  frowning  at  Dolls,  but  sit  down, 
and  I'll  tell  you  something  that  you  really  will 
find  amusing.  Take  a  cigar.  Look  at  this  of 
mine.  I  light  it — draw  one  puff — breathe  tho 
smoke  out — there  it  goes — it's  Dolls — it's  gone 
— and  being  gone  you  are  a  man  again." 

"  Your  subject,"  said  Mortimer,  after  lighting 
a  cigar,  and  comforting  himself  with  a  whiff  or 
two,  "  was  scouts,  Eugene." 

"Exactly.  Isn't  it  droll  that  I  never  go  out 
after  dark  but  I  find  myself  attended  always 
by  one  scout,  and  often  by  two?" 

Lightwood  took  his  cigar  from  his  lips  in  sur- 
prise, and  looked  at  his  friend,  as  if  with  a  latent 
suspicion  that  there  must  be  a  jest  or  hidden 
meaning  in  his  words. 

'  "  On  my  honor,  no,"  said  Wrayburn,  answer- 
ing the  look  and  smiling  carelessly ;  "  I  don't 
wonder  at  your  supposing  so,  but  on  my  honor, 
no.  I  say  what  I  mean.  I  never  go  out  after 
dark  but  I  find  myself  in  the  ludicrous  situa- 
tion of  being  followed  and  observed  at  a  dis- 
tance, always  by  one  scout,  and  often  by  two." 

"Are  you  sure,  Eugene?" 

"Sure?  My  dear  boy,  they  are  always  the 
same." 

"But  there's  no  process  out  against  you. 
The  Jews  only  threaten.  They  have  done  no- 
thing. Besides,  they  know  where  to  find  you, 
and  I  represent  you.     Why  take  the  trouble?" 

"  Observe  the  legal  mind  !"  remarked  Eugene, 
turning  round  to  the  furniture  again,  with  an  air 
of  indolent  rapture.  "  Observe  the  dyer's  hand, 
assimilating  itself  to  what  it  works  in — or  would 
work  in,  if  any  body  would  give  it  any  thing  to 
do.  Respected  solicitor,  it's  not  that.  The 
schoolmaster's  abroad." 

"The  schoolmaster?" 

"Ay!     Sometimes  the  schoolmaster  and  the 
pupil  are  both  abroad.     Why,   how  soon   you  j 
rust  in  my  absence  !    You  don't  understand  yet  ? 
Those  fellows  who  were  here  one  night.     They  | 
are  the  scouts  I  speak  of,  as  doing  me  the  honor  j 
to  attend  me  after  dark." 

"  How  long  has  this  been  going  on?"  asked  j 
Lightwood,  opposing  a  serious  face  to  the  laugh  j 
of  his  friend. 

"  I  apprehend  it  has  been  going  on  ever  since 
a  certain  person  went  off.      Probably  it   had  I 


been  going  on  some  little  time  before  I  noticed 
it:  which  would  bring  it  to  about  that  time." 

"Do  you  think  they  suppose  you  to  have  in- 
veigled her  away  ?" 

"  My  dear  Mortimer,  you  know  the  absorbing 
nature  of  my  professional  occupations ;  I  really 
have  not  had  leisure  to  think  about  it." 

"Have  you  asked  them  what  they  want? 
Have  you  objected  ?" 

"Why  should  I  ask  them  what  they  want, 
dear  fellow,  when  I  am  indifferent  what  they 
want  ?  Why  should  I  express  objection,  when 
I  don't  object  ?" 

"  You  are  in  your  most  reckless  mood.  But 
you  called  the  ^situation  just  now  a  ludicrous 
one;  and  most  men  object  to  that,  even  those 
who  are  utterly  indifferent  to  every  thing  else." 

"You  charm  me,  Mortimer,  with  your  read- 
ing of  my  weaknesses.  (By-the-by,  that  very 
word,  Reading,  in  its  critical  use,  always  charms 
me.  An  actress's  Reading  of  a  chamber-maid, 
a  dancer's  Reading  of  a  hornpipe,  a  singer's 
Reading  of  a  song,  a  marine-painter's  Reading 
of  the  sea,  the  kettle-drum's  Reading  of  an  in- 
strumental passage,  are  phrases  ever  youthful 
and  delightful.)  I  was  mentioning  your  per- 
ception of  my  weaknesses.  I  own  to  the  weak- 
ness of  objecting  to  occupy  a  ludicrous  posi- 
tion, and  therefore  I  transfer  the  position  to  the 
scouts." 

"I  wish,  Eugene,  you  would  speak  a  little 
more  soberly  and  plainly,  if  it  were  only  out  of 
consideration  for  my  feeling  less  at  ease  than 
you  do." 

"Then  soberly  and  plainly,  Mortimer,  I  goad 
the  schoolmaster  to  madness.  I  make  the  school- 
master so  ridiculous,  and  so  aware  of  being  made 
ridiculous,  that  I  see  him  chafe  and  fret  at  every 
pore  when  we  cross  one  another.  The  amiable 
occupation  has  been  the  solace  of  my  life  since  I 
was  balked  in  the  manner  unnecessary  to  re- 
call. I  have  derived  inexpressible  comfort  from 
it.  I  do  it  thus :  I  stroll  out  after  dark,  stroll  a 
little  way,  look  in  at  a  window,  and  furtively 
look  out  for  the  schoolmaster.  Sooner  or  later 
I  perceive  the  schoolmaster  on  the  watch ;  some- 
times accompanied  by  his  hopeful  pupil,  oftener 
pupil-less.  Having  made  sure  of  his  watching 
me*,  I  tempt  him  on,  all  over  London.  One 
night  I  go  east,  another  night  north,  in  a  few 
nights  I  go  all  round  the  compass.  Sometimes 
I  walk ;  sometimes  I  proceed  in  cabs,  draining 
the  pocket  of  the  schoolmaster  who  then  follows 
in  cabs.  I  study  and  get  up  abstruse  no  Thor- 
oughfares in  the  course  of  the  day.  With  Vene- 
tian mystery  I  seek  those  No  Thoroughfares  at 
night,  glide  into  them  by  means  of  dark  courts, 
tempt  the  schoolmaster  to  follow,  turn  suddenly, 
and  catch  him  before  he  can  retreat.  Then  we 
face  one  another,  and  I  pass  him  as  unaware  of 
his  existence,  and  he  undergoes  grinding  tor- 
ments. Similarly,  I  walk  at  a  great  pace  down 
a  short  street,  rapidly  turn  the  corner,  and,  get- 
ting out  of  his  view,  as  rapidly  turn  back.  I 
catch  him  coming  on  post,  again  pass  him  as 
unaware  of  his  existence,  and  again  he  under- 
goes grinding  torments.  Night  after  night  his 
disappointment  is  acute,  but  hope  springs  eternal 
in  the  scholastic  breast,  and  he  follows  me  again 
to-morrow.  Thus  I  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the 
chase,  and  derive  great  benefit  from  the  health- 
ful exercise.    When  I  do  not  enjoy  the  pleasures 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


239 


of  the  chase,  for  any  thing  I  know  he  watches  at 
the  Temple  Gate  all  night." 

"This  is  an  extraordinary  story,"  observed 
Lightwood,  who  had  heard  it  out  with  serious 
attention.     "  I  don't  like  it." 

"You  are  a  little  hipped,  dear  fellow,"  said 
Eugene ;  "you  have  been  too  sedentary.  Come 
and  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  chase." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  believe  he  is  watch- 
ing now?" 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  he  is." 

"Have  you  seen  him  to-night?" 

"I  forgot  to  look  for  him  when  I  was  last 
out,"  returned  Eugene,  with  the  calmest  indif- 
ference ;  "but  I  dare  say  he  was  there.  Come ! 
Be  a  British  sportsman,  and  enjoy  the  pleasures 
of  the  chase.     It  will  do  you  good." 

Lightwood  hesitated ;  but,  yielding  to  his  cu- 
riosity, rose. 

"Bravo !"  cried  Eugene,  rising  too.  " Or,  if 
Yoicks  would  be  in  better  keeping,  consider  that 
I  said  Yoicks.  Look  to  your  feet,  Mortimer,  for 
we  shall  try  your  boots.  When  you  are  ready, 
I  am — need  I  say  with  a  Hey  Ho  Chivey,  and 
likewise  with  a  Hark  Forward,  Hark  Forward, 
Tantivy?" 

"Will  nothing  make  you  serious?"  said  Mor- 
timer, laughing  through  his  gravity. 

"I  am  always  seiious,  but  just  now  I  am  a 
little  excited  by  the  glorious  fact  that  a  souther- 
ly wind  and  a  cloudy  sky  proclaim  a  hunting 
evening.  Ready?  So.  We  turn  out  the  lamp 
and  shut  the  door,  and  take  the  field." 

As  the  two  friends  passed  out  of  the  Temple 
into  the  public  street,  Eugene  demanded  with  a 
show  of  courteous  patronage  in  which  direction 
Mortimer  would  like  the  run  to  be ?  "There  is 
a  rather  difficult  country  about  Bethnal  Green," 
said  Eugene,  "  and  we  have  not  taken  in  that  di- 
rection lately.  What  is  your  opinion  of  Bethnal 
Green  ?"  Mortimer  assented  to  Bethnal  Green, 
and  they  turned  eastward.  "Now,  when  we 
come  to  St.  Paul's  church-yard,"  pursued  Eu- 
gene, "we'll  loiter  artfully,  and  I'll  show  you 
the  schoolmaster."  But  they  both  saw  him  be- 
fore they  got  there;  alone,  and  stealing  after 
them  in  the  shadow  of  the  houses  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  way. 

"Get  your  wind,"  said  Eugene,  "for  I  am 
off  directly.  Does  it  occur  to  you  that  the  boys 
of  Merry  England  will  begin  to  deteriorate  in  an 
educational  light  if  this  lasts  long  ?  The  school- 
master can't  attend  to  me  and  the  boys  too.  Got 
your  wind?     I  am  off!" 

At  what  a  rate  he  went,  to  breathe  the  school- 
master ;  and  how  he  then  lounged  and  loitered, 
to  put  his  patience  to  another  kind  of  wear ;  what 
preposterous  ways  he  took,  with  no  other  object 
on  earth  than  to  disappoint  and  punish  him ; 
and  how  he  wore  him  out  by  every  piece  of  in- 
genuity that  his  eccentric  humor  could  devise ; 
all  this  Lightwood  noted  with  a  feeling  of  aston- 
ishment that  so  careless  a  man  could  be  so  wary, 
and  that  so  idle  a  man  could  take  so  much  trou- 
ble. At  last,  far  on  in  the  third  hour  of  the 
pleasures  of  the  chase,  when  he  had  brought  the 
poor  dogging  wretch  round  again  into  the  City, 
he  twisted  Mortimer  up  a  few  dark  entries,  twist- 
ed him  into  a  little  square  court,  twisted  him 
sharp  round  again,  and  they  almost  ran  against 
Bradley  Headstone. 

"And  you  see,  as  I  was  saying,  Mortimer," 


remarked  Eugene  aloud  with  the  utmost  cool- 
ness, as  though  there  were  no  one  within  hear- 
ing but  themselves :  "  and  you  see,  as  I  was  say- 
ing— undergoing  grinding  torments." 

It  was  not  too  strong  a  phrase  for  the  occasion. 
Looking  like  the  hunted  and  not  the  hunter, 
baffled,  worn,  with  the  exhaustion  of  deferred 
hope  and  consuming  hate  and  anger  in  his  face, 
white-lipped,  wild-eyed,  draggle-haired,  seamed 
with  jealousy  and  anger,  and  torturing  himself 
with  the  conviction  that  he  showed  it  all  and 
they  exulted  in  it,  he  went  by  them  in  the  dark, 
like  a  haggard  head  suspended  in  the  air :  so 
completely  did  the  force  of  his  expression  cancel 
his  figure. 

Mortimer  Lightwood  was  not  an  extraordi- 
narily impressible  man,  but  this  face  impressed 
him.  He  spoke  of  it  more  than  once  on  the  re- 
mainder of  the  way  home,  and  more  than  once 
when  they  got  home. 

They  had  been  abed  in  their  respective  rooms 
two  or  three  hours  when  Eugene  was  partly 
awakened  by  hearing  a  footstep  going  about, 
and  was  fully  awakened  by  seeing  Lightwood 
standing  at  his  bedside. 

"Nothing  wrong,  Mortimer?" 

"No." 

"What  fancy  takes  you,  then,  for  walking 
about  in  the  night?" 

"  I  am  horribly  wakeful." 

" How  comes  that  about,  I  wonder?" 

"Eugene,  I  can  not  lose  sight  of  that  fellow's 
face." 

"Odd!"  said  Eugene,  with  a  light  laugh,  UI 
can."     And  turned  over,  and  fell  asleep  again. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


IN   THE    DARK. 


There  was  no  sleep  for  Bradley  Hea'dstone 
on  that  night  when  Eugene  Wrayburn  turned  so 
easily  in  his  bed ;  there  was  no  sleep  for  little 
Miss  Peecher.  Bradley  consumed  the  lonely 
hours,  and  consumed  himself,  in  haunting  the 
spot  where  his  careless  rival  lay  a  dreaming; 
little  Miss  Peecher  wore  them  away  in  listening 
for  the  return  home  of  the  master  of  her  heart, 
and  in  sorrowfully  presaging  that  much  was 
amiss  with  him.  Yet  more  was  amiss  with  him 
than  Miss  Peecher's  simply-arranged  little  work- 
box  of  thoughts,  fitted  with  no  gloomy  and  dark 
recesses,  could  hold.  For  the  state  of  the  man 
was  murderous. 

The  state  of  the  man  was  murderous,  and  he 
knew  it.  More :  he  irritated  it  with  a  kind  of 
perverse  pleasure  akin  to  that  which  a  sick  man 
sometimes  has  in  irritating  a  wound  upon  his 
body.  Tied  up  all  day  with  his  disciplined  show 
upon  him,  subdued  to  the  performance  of  his 
routine  of  educational  tricks,  encircled  by  a  gab- 
bling crowd,  he  broke  loose  at  night  like  an  ill- 
tamed  wild  % animal.  Under  his  daily  restraint 
it  was  his  compensation,  not  his  trouble,  to  give 
a  glance  toward  his  state  at  night,  and  to  the 
freedom  of  its  being  indulged.  If  great  crimin- 
als told  the  truth — which,  being  great  crimin- 
als, they  do  not — they  would  very  rarely  tell  of 
their  struggles  against  the  crime.  Their  strug- 
gles are  toward  it.  They  buffet  with  opposing 
waves  to  gain  the  bloody  shore,  not  to  recede 


240 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


from  it.  This  man  perfectly  comprehended  that 
he  hated  his  rival  with  his  strongest  and  worst 
forces,  and  that  if  he  tracked  him  to  Lizzie 
Hexam  his  so  doing  would  never  serve  himself 
with  her,  or  serve  her.  All  his  pains  were  taken 
to  the  end  that  he  might  incense  himself  with 
the  sight  of  the  detested  figure  in  her  company 
and  favor  in  her  place  of  concealment.  And  he 
knew  as  well  what  act  of  his  would  follow  if  he 
did,  as  he  knew  that  his  mother  had  borne  him. 
Granted,  that  he  may  not  have  held  it  necessary 
to  make  express  mention  to  himself  of  the  one 
familiar  truth  any  more  than  of  the  other. 

He  knew  equally  well  that  he  fed  his  wrath 
and  hatred,  and  that  he  accumulated  provoca- 
tion and  self-justification  by  being  made  the 
nightly  sport  of  the  reckless  and  insolent  Eu- 
gene. Knowing  all  this,  and  still  always  going 
on  with  infinite  endurance,  pains,  and  persever- 
ance, could  his  dark  soul  doubt  whither  he  went  ? 
Baffled,  exasperated,  and  weary,  he  lingered 
opposite  the  Temple  gate  when  it  closed  on 
Wrayburn  and  Lightwood,  debating  with  him- 
self should  he  go  home  for  that  time  or  should 
he  watch  longer.  Possessed  in  his  jealousy  by 
the  fixed  idea  that  Wrayburn  was  in  the  secret, 
if  it  were  not  altogether  of  his  contriving,  Brad- 
ley was  as  confident  of  getting  the  better  of  him 
at  last  by  sullenly  sticking  to  him,  as  he  would 
have  been — and  often  had  been — of  mastering 
any  piece  of  study  in  the  way  of  his  vocation  by 
the  like  slow,  persistent  process.  A  man  of  rap- 
id passions  and  sluggish  intelligence,  it  had  served 
him  often,  and  should  serve  him  again. 

The  suspicion  crossed  him  as  he  rested  in  a 
doorway,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  Temple  gate, 
that  perhaps  she  was  even  concealed  in  that  set 
of  Chambers.  It  would  furnish  another  reason 
for  Wrayburn's  purposeless  walks,  and  it  might 
be.  He  thought  of  it  and  thought  of  it,  until  he 
resolved  to  steal  up  the  stairs,  if  the  gate-keeper 
would  let  him  through,  and  listen.  So,  the  hag- 
gard  head  suspended  in  the  air  flitted  across  the 
road,  like  the  spectre  of  one  of  the  many  heads 
erst  hoisted  upon  neighboring  Temple  Bar,  and 
stopped  before  the  watchman. 

The  watchman  looked  at  it,  and  asked :  ' '  Who 
for?" 

"  Mr.  Wrayburn." 
"It's  very  late." 

"He  came  back  with  Mr.  Lightwood,  I  know, 
near  upon  two  hours  ago.  But  if  he  has  gone  to 
bed  I'll  put  a  paper  in  his  letter-box.  I  am  ex- 
pected." 

The  watchman  said  no  more,  but  opened  the 
gate,  though  rather  doubtfully.  Seeing,  how- 
ever, that  the  visitor  went  straight  and  fast  in 
the  right  direction,  he  seemed  satisfied. 

The  haggard  head  floated  up  the  dark  stair- 
case, and  softly  descended  nearer  to  the  floor 
outside  the  outer  door  of  the  chambers.  The  doors 
of  the  rooms  within  appeared  to  be  standing 
open.  There  were  rays  of  candlelight  from  one 
of  them,  and  there  was  the  sound  of  a  footstep 
going  about.  There  were  two  voices.  The  words 
they  uttered  were  not  distinguishable,  but  they 
were  both  the  voices  of  men.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments the  voices  were  silent,  and  there  was  no 
sound  of  footstep,  and  the  inner  light  went  out. 
If  Lightwood  could  have  seen  the  face  which 
kept  him  awake,  staring  and  listening  in  the 
darkness  outside  the  door  as  he  spoke  of  it,  he 


might  have  been  less  disposed  to  sleep  through 
the  remainder  of  the  night. 

"Not  there,"  said  Bradley;  "but  she  might 
have  been."  The  head  arose  to  its  former  height 
from  the  ground,  floated  down  the  staircase  again, 
and  passed  on  to  the  gate.  A  man  was  stand- 
ing there  in  parley  with  the  watchman. 

"  Oh  !"  said  the  watchman.     "  Here  he  is !" 
Perceiving  himself  to  be  the  antecedent,  Brad- 
ley looked  from  the  watchman  to  the  man. 

"  This  man  is  leaving  a  letter  for  Mr.  Light- 
wood,"  the  watchman  explained,  showing  it  in 
his  hand;  "and  I  was  mentioning  that  a  per- 
son had  just  gone  up  to  Mr.  Lightwood's  cham- 
bers. It  might  be  the  same  business  perhaps?" 
"No,"  said  Bradley,  glancing  at  the  man,  who 
was  a  stranger  to  him. 

"No,"  the  man  assented  in  a  surly  way; 
"my  letter — it's  wrote  by  my  daughter,  but  it's 
mine — is  about  my  business,  and  my  business 
ain't  nobody  else's  business." 

As  Bradley  passed  out  at  the  gate  with  an  un- 
decided foot  he  heard  it  shut  behind  him,  and 
heard  the  footstep  of  the  man  coming  after  him. 
"'Scuse  me,"  said  the  man,  who  appeared  to 
have  been  drinking,  and  rather  stumbled  at  him 
than  touched  him,  to  attract  his  attention ;  "but 
might  you  be  acquainted  with  the  T'other  Gov- 
ernor?" 

"With  whom?"  asked  Bradley. 
"With,"  returned  the  man,  pointing  back- 
ward  over    his  right   shoulder  with  his  right 
thumb,  "the  T'other  Governor?" 
"I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 
"Why  look  here,"  hooking  his  pi'oposition 
on  his  left-hand  fingers  with  the  forefinger  of 
his  right.     "There's  two  Governors,  ain't  there  ? 
One  and  one,  two — Lawyer  Lightwood,  my  first 
finger,  he's  one,  ain't  he  ?     Well ;  might  you  be 
acquainted  with  my  middle  finger,  the  T'other?" 
"  I  know  quite  as  much  of  him,"  said  Brad- 
ley, with  a  frown  and  a  distant  look  before  him, 
"as  I  want  to  know." 

"Hooroar!"  cried  the  man.  "Hooroar 
T'other  t'other  Governor.  Hooroar  T'otherest 
Governor !     I  am  of  your  way  of  thinkin'." 

"Don't  make  such  a  noise  at  this  dead  hour 
of  the  night.     What  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"Look  here,  T'otherest  Governor,"  replied 
the  man,  becoming  hoarsely  confidential.  "The 
T'other  Governor  he's  always  joked  his  jokes 
agin  me,  owing,  as  /believe,  to  my  being  a  hon- 
est man  as  gets  my  living  by  the  sweat  of  my 
brow.  Which  he  ain't,  and  he  don't." 
"  What  is  that  to  me  ?" 
"T'otherest  Governor,"  returned  the  man  in 
a  tone  of  injured  innocence,  "if  you  don't  care 
to  hear  no  more,  don't  hear  no  more.  You  be- 
gun it.  You  said,  and  likeways  showed  pretty 
plain,  as  you  warn't  by  no  means  friendly  to  him. 
But  I  don't  seek  to  force  my  company  nor  yet 
my  opinions  on  no  man.  I  am  a  honest  man, 
that's  what  I  am.  Put  me  in  the  dock  any 
where — I  don't  care  where — and  I  says,  'My 
Lord,  I  am  a  honest  man.'  Put  me  in  the  wit- 
ness-box any  where — I  don't  care  where — and 
I  says  the  same  to  his  lordship,  and  I  kisses  the 
book.  I  don't  kiss  my  coat-cuff;  I  kisses  the 
book." 

It  was  not  so  much  in  deference  to  these 
strong  testimonials  to  character,  as  in  his  rest- 
less casting  about  for  any  way  or  help  toward 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


241 


the  discovery  on  which  he  was  concentrated, 
that  Bradley  Headstone  replied  :  "You  needn't 
take  offense.  I  didn't  mean  to  stop  you.  You 
were  too  loud  in  the  open  street ;  that  was  all." 

"T'otherest  Governor,"  replied  Mr.  Rider- 
hood,  mollified  and  mysterious,  "I  know  wot  it 
is  to  be  loud,  and  I  know  wot  it  is  to  be  soft. 
Nat'rally  I  do.  It  would  be  a  wonder  if  I  did 
not,  being  by  the  Chris'en  name  of  Roger,  which 
took  it  arter  my  own  father,  which  took  it  from 
his  own  father,  though  which  of  our  fam'ly  fust 
took  it  nat'ral  I  will  not  in  any  ways  mislead  you 
by  undertakin'  to  say.  And  wishing  that  your 
elth  may  be  better  than  your  looks,  which  your 
inside  must  be  bad  indeed  if  it's  on  the  footing 
of  your  out." 

Startled  by  the  implication  that  his  face  re- 
vealed too  much  of  his  mind,  Bradley  made  an 
effort  to  clear  his  brow.  It  might  be  worth 
knowing  what  this  strange  man's  business  was 
with  Lightwood,  or  Wrayburn,  or  both,  at  such 
an  unseasonable  hour.  He  set  himself  to  find 
out,  for  the  man  might  prove  to  be  a  messenger 
between  those  two. 

"  You  call  at  the  Temple  late,"  he  remarked, 
with  a  lumbering  show  of  ease. 

"  Wish  I  may  die,"  cried  Mr.  Riderhood,  with 
a  hoarse  laugh,  "if  I  warn't  a  goin'  to  say  the 
self-same  words  to  you,  T'otherest  Governor!" 

"It  chanced  so  with  me,''  said  Bradley,  look- 
ing disconcertedly  about  him. 

"And  it  chanced  so  with  me,"  said  Rider- 
hood.  "But  I  don't  mind  telling  you  how. 
Why  should  I  mind  telling  you  ?  I'm  a  Depu- 
ty Lock-keeper  up  the  river,  and  I  was  off  duty 
yes'day,  and  I  shall  be  on  to-morrow." 

"Yes?" 

"Yes,  and  I  come  to  London  to  look  arter 
my  private  affairs.  My  private  affairs  is  to  get 
appinted  to  the  Lock  as  reg'lar  keeper  at  fust 
hand,  and  to  have  the  law  of  a  busted  B'low- 
Bridge  steamer  which  drownded  of  me.  I  ain't 
a  goin'  to  be  drownded  and  not  paid  for  it!" 

Bradley  looked  at  him,  as  though  he  were 
claiming  to  be  a  ghost. 

"The  steamer,"  said  Mr.  Riderhood,  obsti- 
nately, "run  me  down  and  drownded  of  me. 
Interference  on  the  part  of  other  parties  brought 
me  round ;  but  I  never  asked  'em  to  bring  me 
round,  nor  yet  the  steamer  never  asked  'em  to 
it.  I  mean  to  be  paid  for  the  life  as  the  steam- 
er took." 

"Was  that  your  business  at  Mr.  Lightwood's 
chambers  in  the  middle  of  the  night?"  asked 
Bradley,  eying  him  with  distrust. 

"That  and  to  get  a  writing  to  be  fust-hand 
Lock-keeper.  A  recommendation  in  writing 
being  looked  for,  who  else  ought  to  give  it  to 
me?  As  I  says  in  the  letter  in  my  daughter's 
hand,  with  my  mark  put  to  it  to  make  it  good 
in  law,  Who  but  you,  Lawyer  Lightwood,  ought 
to  hand  over  this  here  stifficate,  and  who  but 
you  ought  to  go  in  for  damages  on  my  account 
agin  the  Steamer?  For  (as  I  says  under  my 
mark)  I  have  had  trouble  enough  along  of  you 
and  your  friend.  If  you,  Lawyer  Lightwood, 
had  backed  me  good  and  true,  and  if  the  T'oth- 
er Governor  had  took  me  down  correct  (I  says 
under  my  mark),  I  should  have  been  worth 
money  at  the  present  time,  instead  of  having  a 
barge-load  of  bad  names  chucked  at  me,  and 
being  forced  to  eat  my  words,  which  is  a  unsat- 


isfying sort  of  food  wotever  a  man's  appetite ! 
And  when  you  mention  the  middle  of  the  night, 
T'otherest  Governor,"  growled  Mr.  Riderhood, 
winding  up  his  monotonous  summary  of  his 
wrongs,  "throw  your  eye  on  this  here  bundle 
under  my  arm,  and  bear  in  mind  that  I'm  a 
walking  back  to  my  Lock,  and  that  the  Temple 
laid  upon  my  line  of  road." 

Bradley  Headstone's  face  had  changed  dur- 
ing this  latter  recital,  and  he  had  observed  the 
speaker  with  a  more  sustained  attention. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  dur- 
ing which  they  walked  on  side  by  side,  "that  I 
believe  I  could  tell  you  your  name,  if  I  tried  ?" 

"Prove  your  opinion,"  was  the  answer,  ac- 
companied with  a  stop  and  a  stare.     "  Try." 

"Your  name  is  Riderhood." 

"I'm  blest  if  it  ain't," returned  that  gentle- 
man.    "But  I  don't  know  your'n." 

"That's  quite  another  thing,"  said  Bradley. 
"I  never  supposed  you  did." 

As  Bradley  walked  on  meditating,  the  Rogue 
walked  on  at  his  side  muttering.  The  purport 
of  the  muttering  was :  "  that  Rogue  Riderhood, 
by  George !  seemed  to  be  made  public  property 
on,  now,  and  that  every  man  seemed  to  think 
himself  free  to  handle  his  name  as  if  it  was  a 
Street  Pump."  The  purport  of  the  meditating 
was:   "Here  is  an  instrument.     Can  I  use  it?" 

They  had  walked  along  the  Strand,  and  into 
Pall  Mall,  and  had  turned  up-hill  toward  Hyde 
Park  Corner;  Bradley  Headstone  waiting* on 
the  pace  and  lead  of  Riderhood,  and  leaving  him 
to  indicate  the  course.  So  slow  were  the  school- 
master's thoughts,  and  so  indistinct  his  purposes 
when  they  were  but  tributary  to  the  one  absorb- 
ing purpose — or  rather  when,  like  dark  trees 
under  a  stormy  sky,  they  only  lined  the  long 
vista  at  the  end  of  which  he  saw  those  two  figures 
of  Wrayburn  and  Liz2ie  on  which  his  eyes  were 
fixed — that  at  least  a  good  half-mile  was  trav- 
ersed before  he  spoke  again.  Even  then,  it  was 
only  to  ask : 

"  Where  is  your  Lock  ?"' 

"  Twenty  mile  and  odd — call  it  five-and-twen- 
ty  mile  and  odd,  if  you  like — up  stream,"  was  the 
sullen  reply. 

"How  is  it  called?" 

"Plashwater  Weir  Mill  Lock." 

"Suppose  I  was  to  offer  you  five  shillings; 
what  then?" 

"Why,  then,  I'd  take  it,"  said  Mr.  Rider- 
hood. 

The  schoolmaster  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket, 
and  produced  two  half-crowns,  and  placed  them 
in  Mr.  Riderhood's  palm  :  who  stopped  at  a  con- 
venient door-step  to  ring  them  both,  before  ac- 
knowledging their  receipt. 

"There's  one  thing  about  you,  T'otherest 
Governor-"  said  Riderhood,  faring  on  again, 
"as  looks  well  and  goes  fur.  You're  a  ready- 
money  man.  Now;"  when  he  bad  carefully 
pocketed  the  coins  on  that  side  of  himself  which 
was  furthest  from  his  new  friend  ;  "  what's  this 
for?" 

"For  you." 

"Why,  o'  course  I  know  that,"  said  Rider- 
hood, as  arguing  something  that  was  self-evi- 
dent. "  O'  course  I  know  very  well  as  no  man 
in  his  right  senses  would  suppose  as  any  think 
would  make  me  give  it  up  agin  when  I'd  once 
got  it.     But  what  do  you  want  for  it  ?" 


242 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"I  don't  know  that  I  want  any  thing  for  it. 
Or  if  I  do  want  any  thing  for  it,  I  don't  know 
what  it  is."  Bradley  gave  this  answer  in  a 
stolid,  vacant,  and  self  -  communing  manner, 
which  Mr.  Riderhood  found  very  extraordinary. 
"You  have  no  good-will  toward  this  Wray- 
burn,"  said  Bradley,  coming  to  the  name  in  a 
reluctant  and  forced  way,  as  if  he  were  dragged 
to  it. 

"No." 

"Neither  have  I." 

Riderhood  nodded,  and  asked:  "Is  it  for 
that  ?" 

"  It's  as  much  for  that  as  any  thing  else.  It's 
something  to  be  agreed  with,  on  a  subject  that 
occupies  so  much  of  one's  thoughts." 

M  It  don't  agree  with  yow,"  returned  Mr.  Rider- 
hood, bluntly.  "No!  It  don't,  T'otherest Gov- 
ernor, and  it's  no  use  a  lookin'  as  if  you  wanted 
to  make  out  that  it  did.  I  tell  you  it  rankles  in 
you.  It  rankles  in  you,  rusts  in  you,  and  pisons 
you." 

"  Say  that  it  does  so,"  returned  Bradley,  with 
quivering  lips ;   "is  there  no  cause  for  it ?" 

"Cause  enough,  I'll  bet  a  pound!"  said  Mr. 
Riderhood. 

"Haven't  you  yourself  declared  that  the  fel- 
low has  heaped  provocations,  insults,  and  affronts 
on  you,  or  something  to  that  effect?  He  has 
done  the  same  by  me.  He  is  made  of  venomous 
insults  and  affronts,  from  the  crown  of  his  head 
to  the  sole  of  his  foot.  Are  you  so  hopeful  or  so 
stupid  as  not  to  know  that  he  and  the  other  will 
treat  your  application  with  contempt,  and  light 
their  cigars  with  it?" 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they  did,  by  George !" 
said  Riderhood,  turning  angrily. 

"  If  they  did !  They  will.  Let  me  ask  you 
a  question.  I  know  something  more  than  your 
name  about  you ;  I  knew  something  about  Gaffer 
Hexam.  When  did  you  last  set  eyes  upon  his 
daughter?" 

"When  did  I  last  set  eyes  upon  his  daughter, 
T'otherest  Governor?"  repeated  Mr.  Riderhood, 
growing  intentionally  slower  of  comprehension 
as  the  other  quickened  in  his  speech. 

"Yes.  Not  to  speak  to  her.  To  see  her — 
any  where  ?" 

The  Rogue  had  got  the  clew  he  wanted,  though 
he  held  it  with  a  clumsy  hand.  Looking  per- 
plexedly at  the  passionate  face,  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  work  out  a  sum  in  his  mind,  he  slowly 
answered:  "I  ain't  set  eyes  upon  her — never 
once — not  since  the  day  of  Gaffer's  death." 

"You  know  her  well,  by  sight?" 

"  I  should  think  I  did  !     No  one  better." 

"And  you  know  him  as  well?" 

"Who's  him?"  asked  Riderhood,  taking  off 
his  hat  and  rubbing  his  forehead,  as  he  directed 
a  dull  look  at  his  questioner.  ^ 

"Curse  the  name !  Is  it  so  agreeable  to  you 
that  you  want  to  hear  it  again?" 

"Oh!  Himf  said  Riderhood,  who  had  craft- 
ily worked  the  schoolmaster  into  this  corner,  that 
he  might  again  take  note  of  his  face  under  its  evil 
possession.     "  I'd  know  him  among  a  thousand." 

' '  Did  you — "  Bradley  tried  to  ask  it  quietly ; 
but,  do  what  he  might  with  his  voice,  he  could 
not  subdue  his  face; — "did  you  ever  see  them 
together?" 

(The  Rogue  had  got  the  clew  in  both  hands 
now.) 


"I  see  'em  together,  T'otherest  Governor,  on 
the  very  day  when  Gaffer  was  towed  ashore." 

Bradley  could  have  hidden  a  reserved  piece 
of  information  from  the  sharp  eyes  of  a  whole 
inquisitive  class,  but  he  could  not  veil  from  the 
eyes  of  the  ignorant  Riderhood  the  withheld 
question  next  in  his  breast.  "You  shall  put 
it  plain  if  you  want  it  answered,"  thought  the 
Rogue,  doggedly ;  "I  ain't  a-going  a  volunteer- 
ing." 

"Well!  was  he  insolent  to  her  too?"  asked 
Bradley,  after  a  struggle.  "  Or  did  he  make  a 
show  of  being  kind  to  her?" 

"He  made  a  show  of  being  most  uncommon 
kind  to  her,"  said  Riderhood.  "By  George! 
now  I — " 

His  flying  off  at  a  tangent  was  indisputably 
natural.     Bradley  looked  at  him  for  the  reason. 

"Now  I  think  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Riderhood, 
evasively,  for  he  was  substituting  those  words 
for  "Now  I  see  you  so  jealous,"  which  was  the 
phrase  really  in  his  mind;  "P'r'aps  he  went 
and  took  me  down  wrong,  a  purpose,  on  account 
o'  being  sweet  upon  her!" 

The  baseness  of  confirming  him  in  this  sus- 
picion or  pretense  of  one  (for  he  could  not  have 
really  entertained  it),  was  a  line's  breadth  be- 
yond the  mark  the  schoolmaster  had  reached. 
The  baseness  of  communing  and  intriguing  with 
the  fellow  who  would  have  set  that  stain  upon 
her,  and  upon  her  brother  too,  was  attained. 
The  line's  breadth  further  lay  beyond.  He 
made  no  reply,  but  walked  on  with  a  lowering 
face. 

What  he  might  gain  by  this  acquaintance  he 
could  not  work  out  in  his  slow  and  cumbrous 
thoughts.  The  man  had  an  injury  against  the 
object  of  his  hatred,  and  that  was  something  ; 
though  it  was  less  than  he  supposed,  for  there 
dwelt  in  the  man  no  such  deadly  rage  and  re- 
sentment as  burned  in  his  own  breast.  The  man 
knew  her,  and  might  by  a  fortunate  chance  see 
her,  or  hear  of  her  ;  that  was  something,  as  en- 
listing one  pair  of  eyes  and  ears  the  more.  The 
man  was  a  bad  man,  and  willing  enough  to  be 
in  his  pay.  That  was  something,  for  his  own 
state  and  purpose  were  as  bad  as  bad  could  be, 
and  he  seemed  to  derive  a  vague  support  from 
the  possession  of  a  congenial  instrument,  though 
it  might  never  be  used. 

Suddenly  he  stood  still  and  asked  Riderhood 
point-blank  if  he  knew  where  she  was  ?  Clear- 
ly, he  did  not  know.  He  asked  Riderhood  if 
he  would  be  willing,  in  case  any  intelligence  of 
her,  or  of  Wrayburn  as  seeking  her  or  associa- 
ting with  her,  should  fall  in  his  way,  to  com- 
municate it  if  it  were  paid  for?  He  would  be 
very  willing  indeed.  He  was  "agin  'em  both," 
he  said,  with  an  oath,  and  for  why  ?  'Cause 
they  had  both  stood  betwixt  him  and  his  getting 
his  living  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow. 

"It  will  not  be  long  then,"  said  Bradley 
Headstone,  after  some  more  discourse  to  this 
effect,  "  before  we  see  one  another  again.  Here 
is  the  country  road,  and  here  is  the  day.  Both 
have  come  upon  me  by  surprise." 

"But,  T'otherest  Governor," urged  Mr.  Rider- 
hood, "  I  don't  know  where  to  find  you." 

"It  is  of  no  consequence.  I  know  where  to 
find  you,  and  I'll  come  to  your  Lock." 

"  But,  T'otherest  Governor,"  urged  Mr.  Rider- 
hood again,  "  no  luck  never  come  yet  of  a  dry 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


243 


acquaintance.  Let's  wet  it,  in  a  mouthful  of 
rum  and  milk,  T'otherest  Governor." 

Bradley  assenting,  went  with  him  into  an  early 
public  house,  haunted  by  unsavory  smells  of 
musty  hay  and  stale  straw,  where  returning 
carts,  farmers'  men,  gaunt  dogs,  fowls  of  a  beery 
breed,  and  certain  human  night-birds  fluttering 
home  to  roost,  were  solacing  themselves  after 
their  several  manners ;  and  where  not  one  of 
the  night-birds  hovering  about  the  sloppy  bar 
failed  to  discern  at  a  glance  in  the  passion-wasted 
night-bird  with  respectable  feathers  the  worst 
night-bird  of  all. 

An  inspiration  of  affection  for  a  half-drunken 
carter  going  his  way  led  to  Mr.  Riderhood's  be- 
ing elevated  on  a  high  heap  of  baskets  on  a  wag- 
on, and  pursuing  his  journey  recumbent  on  his 
back  with  his  head  on  his  bundle.  Bradley  then 
turned  to  retrace  his  steps,  and  by-and-by  struck 
off  through  little-traversed  ways,  and  by-and-by 
reached  school  and  home.  Up  came  the  sun 
to  find  him  washed  and  brushed,  methodically 
dressed  in  decent  black  coat  and  waistcoat,  de- 
cent formal  black  tie,  and  pepper-and-salt  panta- 
loons, with  his  decent  silver  watch  in  its  pocket, 
and  its  decent  hair  -  guard  round  his  neck ;  a 
scholastic  huntsman  clad  for  the  fiqld,  with  his 
fresh  pack  yelping  and  barking  around  him. 

Yet  more  really  bewitched  than  the  miserable 
creatures  of  the  much-lamented  times,  who  ac- 
cused themselves  of  impossibilities  under  a  con- 
tagion of  horror  and  the  strongly  suggestive  in- 
fluences of  Torture,  he  had  been  ridden  hard  by 
Evil  Spirits  in  the  night  that  was  newly  gone. 
He  had  been  spurred  and  whipped  and  heavily 
sweated.  If  a  record  of  the  sport  had  usurped 
the  places  of  the  peaceful  texts  from  Scripture 
on  the  wall,  the  most  advanced  of  the  scholars 
might  have  taken  fright  and  run  away  from  their 
master. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MEANING    MISCHIEF. 

Up  came  the  sun,  streaming  all  over  London, 
and  in  its  glorious  impartiality  even  condescend- 
ing to  make  prismatic  sparkles  in  the  whiskers 
of  Mr.  Alfred  Lammle  as  he  sat  at  breakfast. 
In  need  of  some  brightening  from  without  was 
Mr.  Alfred  Lammle,  for  he  had  the  air  of  being 
dull  enough  within,  and  looked  grievously  dis- 
contented. 

Mrs.  Alfred  Lammle  faced  her  lord.  The 
happy  pair  of  swindlers,  with  the  comfortable 
tie  between  them  that  each  had  swindled  the 
other,  sat  moodily  observant  of  the  table-cloth. 
Things  looked  so  gloomy  in  the  breakfast-room, 
albeit  on  the  sunny  side  of  Sackville  Street,  that 
any  of  the  family  tradespeople  glancing  through 
the  blinds  might  have  taken  the  hint  to  send  in 
his  account  and  press  for  it.  But  this,  indeed, 
most  of  the  family  tradespeople  had  already 
done,  without  the  hint. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  "that 
you  have  had  no  money  at  all,  ever  since  we 
have  been  married."    . 

"  What  seems  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Lammle,  "to 
have  been  the  case,  may  possibly  have  been  the 
case.     It  doesn't  matter." 

Was  it  the  specialty  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle, 
or  does  it  ever  obtain  with  other  loving  couples  ? 


In  these  matrimonial  dialogues  they  never  ad- 
dressed each  other,  but  always  some  invisible 
presence  that  appeared  to  take  a  station  about 
midway  between  them.  Perhaps  the  skeleton  in 
the  cupboard  comes  out  to  be  talked  to  on  such 
domestic  occasions  ? 

"  I  have  never  seen  any  money  in  the  house," 
said  Mrs.  Lammle  to  the  skeleton,  "except  my 
own  annuity.     That  I  swear." 

"You  needn't  take  the  trouble  of  swearing," 
said  Mr.  Lammle  to  the  skeleton  ;  "  once  more, 
it  doesn't  matter.  You  never  turned  your  an- 
nuity to  so  good  an  account." 

"Good  an  account!  In  what  way?"  asked 
Mrs.  Lammle. 

"In  the  way  of  getting  credit,  and  living 
well,"  said  Mr.  Lammle. 

Perhaps  the  skeleton  laughed  scornfully  on 
being  intrusted  with  this  question  and  this  an- 
swer ;  certainly  Mrs.  Lammle  did,  and  Mr.  Lam- 
mle did. 

"And  what  is  to  happen  next?"  asked  Mrs. 
Lammle  of  the  skeleton. 

"  Smash  is  to  happen  next,"  said  Mr.  Lammle 
to  the  same  authority. 

After  this,  Mrs.  Lammle  looked  disdainfully 
at  the  skeleton — but  without  carrying  the  look 
on  to  Mr.  Lammle  —  and  drooped  her  eyes. 
After  that,  Mr.  Lammle  did  exactly  the  same 
thing,  and  drooped  his  eyes.  A  servant  then 
entering  with  toast,  the  skeleton  retired  into  the 
closet,  and  shut  itself  up. 

"Sophronia,"  said  Mr.  Lammle,  when  the 
servant  had  withdrawn.  And  then,  very  much 
louder :    "Sophronia !" 

"Well?" 

"  Attend  to  me,  if  you  please."  He  eyed  her 
sternly  until  she  did  attend,  and  then  went  on. 
"I  want  to  take  counsel  with  you.  Come, 
come ;  no  more  trifling.  You  know  our  league 
and  covenant.  We  are  to  work  together  for  our 
joint  interest,  and  you  are  as  knowing  a  hand 
as  I  am.  We  shouldn't  be  together,  if  you  were 
not.  What's  to  be  done?  We  are  hemmed 
into  a  corner.     What  shall  we  do  ?" 

' '  Have  you  no  scheme  on  foot  that  will  bring 
in  any  thing?" 

Mr.  Lammle  plunged  into  his  whiskers  for  re- 
flection, and  came  out  hopeless:  "No;  as  ad- 
venturers we  are  obliged  to  play  rash  games  for 
chances  of  high  winnings,  and  there  has  been  a 
run  of  luck  against  us." 

She  was  resuming,  "Have  you  nothing — " 
when  he  stopped  her. 

"We,  Sophronia.     We,  we,  we." 

"Have  we  nothing  to  sell?" 

"  Deuce  a  bit.  I  have  given  a  Jew  a  bill  of 
sale  on  this  furniture,  and  he  could  take  it  to- 
morrow, to-day,  now.  He  would  have  taken  it 
before  now,  I  believe,  but  for  Fledgeby." 

"What  has  Fledgeby  to  do  with  him?" 

"Knew  him.  Cautioned  me  against  him  be- 
fore I  got  into  his  claws.  Couldn't  persuade 
him  then,  in  behalf  of  somebody  else." 

"Do  you  mean  that  Fledgeby  has  at  all  soft- 
ened him  toward  you?" 

"Us,  Sophronia.     Us,  us,  us." 

"Toward  us?" 

"I  mean  that  the  Jew  has  not  yet  done  what 
he  might  have  done,  and  that  Fledgeby  takes 
the  credit  of  having  got  him  to  hold  his  hand." 

"  Do  you  believe  Fledgeby  ?" 


214 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  Sophronia,  I  never  believe  any  body.  I 
never  have,  my  dear,  since  I  believed  you.  But 
it  looks  like  it." 

Having  given  her  this  back-handed  reminder 
of  her  mutinous  observations  to  the  skeleton,  Mr. 
Lammle  rose  from  table — perhaps,  the  better  to 
conceal  a  smile,  and  a  white  dint  or  two  about 
his  nose — and  took  a  turn  on  the  carpet  and 
came  to  the  hearth-rug. 

"If  we  could  have  packed  the  brute  off  with 
Georgiana;  but  however ;  that's  spilled  milk." 

As  Lammle,  standing  gathering  up  the  skirts 
of  his  dressing-gown  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
said  this,  looking  down  at  his  wife,  she  turned 
pale  and  looked  down  at  the  ground.  With  a 
sense  of  disloyalty  upon  her,  and  perhaps  with  a 
sense  of  personal  danger — for.  she  was  afraid  of 
him — even  afraid  of  his  hand  and  afraid  of  his 
foot,  though  he  had  never  done  her  violence — 
she  hastened  to  put  herself  right  in  his  eyes. 

"  If  we  could  borrow  money,  Alfred — " 

"Beg  money,  borrow  money,  or  steal  money. 
It  would  be  all  one  to  us,  Sophronia,"  her  hus- 
band struck  in. 

" — Then,  we  could  weather  this?" 

"No  doubt.  To  offer  another  original  and 
undeniable  remark,  Sophronia,  two  and  two 
make  four." 

But,  seeing  that  she  was  turning  something 
In  her  mind,  he  gathered  up  the  skirts  of  his 
dressing  gown  again,  and,  tucking  them  under 
one  arm,  and  collecting  his  ample  whiskers  in 
his  other  hand,  kept  his  eye  upon  her,  silently. 

"It  is  natural,  Alfred,"  she  said,  looking  up 
with  some  timidity  into  his  face,  "  to  think  in 
such  an  emergency  of  the  richest  people  we 
know,  and  the  simplest." 

"Just  so,  Sophronia." 

"The  Boffins." 

"  Just  so,  Sophronia." 

u Is  there  nothing  to  be  done  with  them?" 

"What  is  there  to  be  done  with  them,  So- 
phronia ?" 

She  cast  about  in  her  thoughts  again,  and  he 
kept  his  eye  upon  her  as  before. 

"Of  course  I  have  repeatedly  thought  of  the 
Boffins,  Sophronia,"  he  resumed,  after  a  fruit- 
less silence;  "but  I  have  seen  my  way  to  no- 
thing. They  are  well  guarded.  That  infernal 
Secretary  stands  between  them  and — people  of 
merit." 

"  If  he  could  be  got  rid  of?"  said  she,  bright- 
ening a  little,  after  more  casting  about. 

"Take  time,  Sophronia,'"  obseryed  her  watch- 
ful husband,  in  a  patronizing  manner. 

"If  working  him  out  of  the  way  could  be 
presented  in  the  light  of  a  service  to  Mr.  Bof- 
ifin  ?" 

"Take  time,  Sophronia'." 

"We  have  remarked  lately,  Alfred,  that  the 
old  man  is  turning  very  suspicious  and  distrust- 
ful." 

"  Miserly,  too,  my  dear-;  which  is  far  the  most 
-unpromising  for  us.  Nevertheless,  take  time, 
Sophronia,  take  time.*' 

She  took  time,  and  then  said : 

"  Suppose  we  should  address  ourselves  to  that 
tendency  in  him  of  which  we  have  made  our- 
selves quite  sure.     Suppose  my  conscience — " 

"And  we  know  what  a  conscience  it  is,  my 
soul.     Yes  ?" 

"  Suppose  my  conscience  should  not  allow  me 


to  keep  to  myself  any  longer  what  that  upstart 
girl  told  me  of  the  Secretary's  having  made  a 
declaration  to  her.  Suppose  my  conscience 
should  oblige  me  to  repeat  it  to  Mr.  Boffin." 

"I  rather  like  that,"  said  Lammle. 

"  Suppose  I  so  repeated  it  to  Mr.  Boffin,  as  to 
insinuate  that  my  sensitive  delicacy  and  honor — " 

"Very  good  words,  Sophronia." 

"  — As  to  insinuate  that  our  sensitive  delicacy 
and  honor,"  she  resumed,  with  a  bitter  stress 
upon  the  phrase,  "  would  not  allow  us  to  be  si- 
lent parties  to  so  mercenary  and  designing  a 
speculation  on  the  Secretary's  part,  and  so  gross 
a  breach  of  faith  toward  his  confiding  employer. 
Suppose  I  had  imparted  my  virtuous  uneasiness 
to  my  excellent  husband,  and  he  had  said,  in  his 
integrity,  '  Sophronia,  you  must  immediately 
disclose  this  to  Mr.  Boffin.' " 

"Once  more,  Sophronia,"  observed  Lammle, 
changing  the  leg  on  which  he  stood,  "I  rather 
like  that." 

"You  remark  that  he  is  well  guarded,"  she 
pursued.  "I  think  so  too.  But  if  this  should 
lead  to  his  discharging  his  Secretary,  there  would 
be  a  weak  place  made." 

"  Go  on  expounding,  Sophronia.  I  begin  to 
like  this  very  much." 

"Having,  in  our  unimpeachable  rectitude, 
done  him  the  service  of  opening  his  eyes  to  the 
treachery  of  the  person  he  trusted,  we  shall  have 
established  a  claim  upon  him  and  a  confidence 
with  him.  Whether  it  can  be  made  much  of, 
or  little  of,  we  must  wait — because  we  can't  help 
it — to  see.  Probably  we  shall  make  the  most 
of  it  that  is  to  be  made." 

"Probably,'  said  Lammle. 

"  Do  you  think  it  impossible,"  she  asked,  in 
the  same  cold  plotting.way,  "that  you  might  re- 
place the  Secretary?" 

"Not  impossible,  Sophronia.  It  .might  be 
brought  about.  At  any  rate, it. might  be  skill- 
fully led  up  to." 

She  nodded  her  understanding  of  the  hint,  as 
she  looked  at  the  fire.  "Mr.  Lammle,"  she 
said,  musingly :  not  without  a  slight  ironical 
touch :  "  Mr.  Lammle  would  be  so  delighted  to 
do  any  thing  in  his  power.  Mr.  Lammle,  him- 
self a  man  of  business  as  well  as  a  capitalist. 
Mr.  Lammle,  accustomed  to  be  intrusted  with 
the  most  delicate  affairs.  Mr.  Lammle,  who 
has  managed  my  own  little  fortune  so  admirably, 
but  who,  to  be  sure,  began  to  make  his  reputa- 
tion with  the  advantage  of  being  a  man  of  prop- 
erty, above  temptation,  and  beyond  suspicion." 

Mr.  Lammle  smiled,  and  even  patted  her  on 
the  head.  In  his  sinister  relish  of  the  scheme, 
as  he  stood  above  her,  making  it  the  subject  of 
his  cogitations,  he  seemed  to  have  twice  as  much 
nose  on  his  face  as  he  had  ever  had  in  his  life. 

He  stood  pondering,  and  she  sat  looking  at 
the  dusty  fire  without  moving  for  some  time. 
But  the  moment  he  began  to  speak  again  she 
looked  up  with  a  wince  and  attended  to  him,  as 
if  that  double-dealing  of  hers  had  been  in  her 
mind,  and  the  fear  were  revived  in  her  of  his 
hand  or  his  foot. 

"  It  appears  to  me,  Sophronia,  that  you  have 
omitted  one  branch  of  the  subject.  Perhaps  not, 
for  women  understand  women.  We  might  oust 
the  girl  herself?" 

Mrs.  Lammle  shook  her  head.  "  She  has  an 
immensely  strong  hold  upon  them  both,  Alfred. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


245 


Not  to  be  compared  with  that  of  a  paid  secre- 
tary." 

"But  the  dear  child,"  said  Lammle,  with  a 
crooked  smile,  "ought  to  have  been  open  with 
her  benefactor  and  benefactress.  The  darling 
love  ought  to  have  reposed  unbounded  confix 
dence  in  her  benefactor  and  benefactress." 

Sophronia  shook  her  head  again. 

"Well!  Women  understand  women,"  said 
her  husband,  rather  disappointed.  "I  don't  press 
it.  It  might  be  the  making  of  our  fortune  to 
make  a  clean  sweep  of  them  both.  With  me  to 
manage  the  property,  and  my  wife  to  manage 
the  people — Whew  !" 

Again  shaking  her  head,  she  returned :  "  They 
will  never  quarrel  with  the  girl.  They  will  never 
punish  the  girl.  We  must  accept  the  girl,  rely 
upon  it." 

"Well!"  cried  Lammle,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, "so  be  it:  only  always  remember  that  we 
don't  want  her." 

"Now  the  sole  remaining  question  is,"  said 
Mrs.  Lammle,  "when  shall  I  begin?" 

"You  can  not  begin  too  soon,  Sophronia. 
As  I  have  told  you,  the  condition  of  our  affairs 
is  desperate,  and  may  be  blown  upon  at  any  mo- 
ment." 

"I  must  secure  Mr.  Boffin  alone,  Alfred.  If 
his  wife  was  present,  she  would  throw  oil  upon 
the  waters.  I  know  I  should  fail  to  move  him 
to  an  angry  outburst  if  his  wife  was  there.  And 
as  to  the  girl  herself — as  I  am  going  to  betray  her 
confidence,  she  is  equally  out  of  the  question." 

"It  wouldn't  do  to  write  for  an  appoint- 
ment?" said  Lammle. 

"No,  certainly  not.  They  would  wonder 
among  themselves  why  I  wrote,  and  I  want  to 
have  him  wholly  unprepared." 

"Call,  and  ask  to  see  him  alone?"  suggested 
Lammle. 

"I  would  rather  not  do  that  either.  Leave  it 
to  me.  Spare  me  the  little  carriage  for  to-day, 
and  for  to-morrow  (if  I  don't  succeed  to-day), 
and  I'll  lie  in  wait  for  him." 

It  was  barely  settled  when  a  manly  form  was 
seen  to  pass  the  windows  and  heard  to  knock 
and  ring.  "Here's  Fledgeby,"  said  Lammle. 
"He  admires  you,  and  has  a  high  opinion  of 
you.  I'll  be  out.  Coax  him  to  use  his  influence 
with  the  Jew.  His  name  is  Riah,  of  the  House 
of  Pubsey  and  Co."  Adding  these  words  under 
his  breath,  lest  he  should  be  audible  in  the  erect 
ears  of  Mr.  Fledgeby,  through  two  keyholes  and 
the  hall,  Lammle,  making  signals  of  discretion 
to  his  servant,  went  softly  up  stairs. 

"Mr.  Fledgeby,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  giving 
him  a  very  gracious  reception,  "so  glad  to  see 
you !  My  poor  dear  Alfred,  who  is  greatly  wor- 
ried just  now  about  his  affairs,  went  out  rather 
early.     Dear  Mr.  Fledgeby,  do  sit  down." 

Dear  Mr.  Fledgeby  did  sit  down,  and  satisfied 
himself  (or,  judging  from  the  expression  of  his 
countenance,  ^satisfied  himself)  that  nothing 
new  had  occurred  in  the  way  of  whisker7sprout 
since  he  came  round  the  corner  from  the  Albany. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Fledgeby,  it  was  needless  to  men- 
tion to  you  that  my  poor  dear  Alfred  is  much 
worried  about  his  affairs  at  present,  for  he  has 
told  me  what  a  comfort  you  are  to  him  in  his 
temporary  difficulties,  and  what  a  great  service 
you  have  rendered  him." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Mr.  Fledgebv. 


"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle. 

"I  didn't  know,"  remarked  Mr.  Fledgeby, 
trying  a  new  part  of  his  chair,  "but  that  Lam- 
mle might  be  reserved  about  his  affairs.-" 

"Not  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  with  deep 
feeling. 

"Oh,  indeed?"  said  Fledgeby. 

"  Not  to  me,  dear  Mr.  Fledgeby.    I  amhis  wife." 

"Yes.  I — I  always  understood  so,"  said  Mr. 
Fledgeby. 

"And  as  the  wife  of  Alfred,  may  I,  dear  Mr. 
Fledgeby,  wholly  without  his  authority  or  knowl- 
edge, as  I  am  sure  your  discernment  will  per- 
ceive, entreat  you  to  continue  that  great  service, 
and  once  more  use  your  well-earned  influence 
with  Mr.  Riah  for  a  little  more  indulgence? 
The  name  I  have  heard  Alfred  mention,  tossing 
in  his  dreams,  is  Riah ;  is  it  not  ?" 

"The name  of  the  Creditor  is  Riah,"  said  Mr. 
Fledgeby,  with  a  rather  uncompromising  accent 
on  his  noun-substantive.  "  Saint  Mary  Axe. 
Pubsey  and  Co." 

"Oh  yes!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lammle,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  with  a  certain  gushing  wildness. 
"Pubsey  and  Co.  !" 

"The  pleading  of  the  feminine — "  Mr.  Fledge- 
by began,  and  there  stuck  so  long  for  a  word  to 
get  on  with,  that  Mrs.  Lammle  offered  him 
sweetly,  "Heart?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Fledgeby,  "Gender — is  ever 
what  a  man  is  bound  to  listen  to,  and  I  wish  it 
rested  with*myself.  But  this  Riah  is  a  nasty 
one,  Mrs.  Lammle;  he  really  is." 

"  Not  if  you  speak  to  him,  dear  Mr.  Fledgeby." 

"  Upon  my  soul  and  body  he  is !"  said  Fledge- 
by- 

"Try.  Try  once  more,  dearest  Mr.  Fledgeby. 
What  is  there  you  can  not  do,  if  you  will !" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Fledgeby,  "you're  very 
complimentary  to  say  so.  I  don't  mind  trying 
him  again  at  your  request.  But  of  course  I 
can't  answer  for  the  consequences.  Riah  is  a 
tough  subject,  and  when  he  says  he'll  do  a  thing, 
he'll  do  it." 

"  Exactly  so,"  cried  Mrs.  Lammle,  "and  when 
he  says  to  you  he'll  wait,  he'll  wait." 

("  She  is  a  devilish  clever  woman,"  thought 
Fledgeby.  "I  didn't  see  that  opening,  but  she 
spies  it  out  and  cuts  into  it  as  soon  as  it's  made.") 

"In  point  of  fact,  dear  Mr.  Fledgeby,"  Mrs. 
Lammle  went  on  in  a  very  interesting  manner, 
"  not  to  affect  ^concealment  of  Alfred's  hopes, 
to  you  who  are  so  much  his  friend,  there  is  a 
distant  break  in  his  horizon." 

This  figure  of  speech  seemed  rather  mysteri- 
ous to  Fascination  Fledgeby,  who  said,  "  There's 
a  what  in  his — eh  ?" 

"Alfred,  dear  Mr.  Fledgeby,  discussed  with 
me  this  very  morning  before  he  went  out  some 
prospects  he  has,  which  might  entirely  change 
the  aspect  of  his  present  troubles." 

"Really?"  said  Fledgeby. 

"Oh  yes!"  Here  Mrs. Lammle  brought  her 
handkerchief  into  play.  "And  you  know,  dear 
Mr.  Fledgeby — you  who  study  the  human  heart 
and  study  the  world — what  an  affliction  it  would 
be  to  lose  position  and  to  lose  credit,  when  abil- 
ity to  tide  over  a  very  short  time  might  save  all 
appearances." 

"Oh!"  said  Fledgeby.  "Then  you  think, 
Mrs.  Lammle,  that  if  Lammle  got  time  he 
wouldn't   burst-  up  ? — To  use  an  expression," 


246 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


MR.  FLEDGEBY   DEPARTS    ON   HIS   ERRAND   OF   MERCY. 


Mr.  Fledgeby  apologetically  explained,  "  which 
is  adopted  in  the  Money  Market." 

"Indeed  yes.     Truly,  truly,  yes!" 

"That  makes  all  the  difference,"  said  Fledge- 
by.    ' '  I'll  make  a  point  of  seeing  Riah  at  once." 

"Blessings  on  you,  dearest  Mr.  Fledgeby!" 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Fledgeby.  She  gave  him 
her  hand.  "The  hand,"  said  Mr.  Fledgeby, 
"  of  a  lovely  and  superior-minded  female  is  ever 
the  repayment  of  a — " 

"  Noble  action !"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  extreme- 
ly anxious  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"It  wasn't  what  I  was  going  to  say,"  return- 
ed Fledgeby,  who  never  would,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, accept  a  suggested  expression,  "but 
you're  very  complimentary.  May  I  imprint  a — 
a  one — upon  it.     Good-morning  !" 

"  I  may  depend  upon  your  promptitude,  deai*- 
est  Mr.  Fledgeby  ?" 


Said  Fledgeby,  looking  back  at  the  door  and 
respectfully  kissing  his  hand,  "You  may  depend 
upon  it." 

In  fact,  Mr.  Fledgeby  sped  on  his  errand  of 
mercy  through  the  streets  at  so  brisk  a  rate  that 
his  feet  might  have  been  winged  by  all  the  good 
spirits  that  wait  on  Generosity.  They  might 
have  taken  up  their  station  in  his  breast,  too, 
for  he  was  blithe  and  merry.  There  was  quite 
a  fresh  trill  in  his  voice,  when,  arriving  at  the 
counting-house  in  St.  Mary  Axe,  and  finding  it 
for  the  moment  empty,  he  trolled  forth  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase :  "  Now,  Judah,  what  are 
you  up  to  there  ?" 

The  old  man  appeared,  with  his  accustomed 
deference. 

"Holloa!"  said  Fledgeby,  falling  back,  with 
a  wink.     "You  mean  mischief,  Jerusalem  !" 

The  old  man  raised  his  eyes  inquiringly. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


247 


"Yes,  you  do,"  said  Fledgeby.  "Oh,  you 
sinner!  Oh,  you  dodger  !  What !  You're  go- 
ing to  act  upon  that  bill  of  sale  at  Lammle's, 
are  you  ?  Nothing  will  turn  you,  won*t  it  ? 
You  won't  be  put  off  for  another  single  minute, 
won't  you  ?" 

Ordered  to  immediate  action  by  the  master's 
tone  and  look,  the  old  man  took  up  his  hat  from 
the  little  counter  where  it  lay. 

"You  have  been  told  that  he  might  pull 
through  it,  if  you  didn't  go  in  to  win,  Wide- 
Awake  ;  have  you  ?"  said  Fledgeby.  "  And  it's 
not  your  game  that  he  should  pull  through  it ; 
ain't  it?  You  having  got  security,  and  there 
being  enough  to  pay  you  ?     Oh,  you  Jew  !" 

The  old  man  stood  irresolute  and  uncertain 
for  a  moment,  as  if  there  might  be  further  in- 
structions for  him  in  reserve. 

"Do  I  go,  Sir?"  he  at  length  asked  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Asks  me  if  he  is  going!"  exclaimed  Fledge- 
by. "Asks  me,  as  if  he  didn't  know  his  own 
purpose !  Asks  me,  as  if  he  hadn't  got  his  hat 
on  ready !  Asks  me,  as  if  his  sharp  old  eye — 
why,  it  cuts  like  a  knife — wasn't  looking  at  his 
walking-stick  by  the  door!"  ' 

"Do  I  go,  Sir?" 

"Do  you  go?"  sneered  Fledgeby.  "Yes, 
you  do  go.     Toddle,  Judah !" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

GIVE  A  DOG  A  BAD  NAME,  AND  HANG  HIM. 

Fascination  Fledgeby,  left  alone  in  the 
counting-house,  strolled  about  with  his  hat  on 
one.  side,  whistling,  and  investigating  the  draw- 
ers, and  prying  here  and  there  for  any  small 
evidences  of  his  being  cheated,  but  could  find 
none.  "  Not  his  merit  that  he  don't  cheat  me," 
was  Mr.  Fledgeby's  commentary  delivered  with 
a  wink,  "but  my  precaution."  He  then  with  a 
lazy  grandeur  asserted  his  rights  as  lord  of  Pub- 
sey  and  Co.  by  poking  his  cane  at  the  stools  and 
boxes,  and  spitting  in  the  fire-place,  and  so  loi- 
tered royally  to  the  window  and  looked  out  into 
the  narrow  street,  with  his  small  eyes  just  peer- 
ing over  the  top  of  Pubsey  and  Co.'s  blind.  As 
a  blind  in  more  senses  than  one,  it  reminded 
him  that  he  was  alone  in  the  counting-house 
with  the  front-door  open.  He  was  moving 
away  to  shut  it,  lest  he  should  be  injudiciously 
identified  with  the  establishment,  when  he  was 
stopped  by  some  one  coming  to  the  door. 

This  some  one  was  the  dolls'  dress-maker, 
with  a  little  basket  on  her  arm,  and  her  crutch 
stick  in  her  hand.  Her  keen  eyes  had  espied 
Mr.  Fledgeby  before  Mr.  Fledgeby  had  espied 
her,  and  he  was  paralyzed  in  his  purpose  of 
shutting  her  out,  not  so  much  by  her  approach- 
ing the  door,  as  by  her  favoring  him  with  a 
shower  qf  nods,  the  instant  he  saw  her.  This 
advantage  she  improved  by  hobbling  up  the 
steps  with  such  dispatch  that  before  Mr.  Fledge- 
by could  take  measures  for  her  finding  nobody 
at  home,  she  was  face  to  face  with  him  in  the 
counting-house. 

"Hope  I  see  you  well,  Sir,"  said  Miss  Wren. 
"Mr.Riahin?" 

Fledgeby  had  dropped  into  a  chair,  in  the  at- 
titude of  one  waiting  wearily.     "I  suppose  he 


will  be  back  soon,"  he  replied  ;  "he  has  cut  out 
and  left  me  expecting  him  back,  in  an  odd  way. 
Haven't  I  seen  you  before  ?" 

"Once  before — if  you  had  your  eyesight,"  re- 
plied Miss  Wren ;  the  conditional  clause  in  an 
under-tone. 

"When  you  were  carrying  on  some  games  up 
at  the  top  of  the  house.  I  remember.  How's 
your  friend  ?" 

"I  have  more  friends  than  one,  Sir,  I  hope," 
replied  Miss  Wren.     "Which  friend?" 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Fledgeby,  shutting 
up  one  eye,  "any  of  your  friends,  all  your 
friends.     Are  they  pretty  tolerable?" 

Somewhat  confounded,  Miss  Wren  parried  the 
pleasantry,  and  sat  down  in  a  corner  behind  the 
door,  with  her  basket  in  her  lap.  By-and-by, 
she  said,  breaking  a  long  and  patient  silence : 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir,  but  I  am  used  to 
find  Mr.  Riah  at  this  time,  and  so  I  generally 
come  at  this  time.  I  only  want  to  buy  my  poor 
little  two  shillings'  worth  of  waste.  Perhaps 
you'll  kindly  let  me  have  it,  and  I'll  trot  off  to 
my  work." 

"/let  you  have  it?"  said  Fledgeby,  turning 
his  head  toward  her;  for  he  had  been  sitting 
blinking  at  the  light,  and  feeling  his  cheek. 
"Why,  you  don't  really  suppose  that  I  have 
any  thing  to  do  with  the  place,  or  the  business  ; 
do  you  ?" 

"Suppose?"  exclaimed  Miss  Wren.  "He 
said,  that  day,  you  were  the  master!" 

"The  old  cock  in  black  said?  Riah  said? 
Why,  he'd  say  any  thing." 

"Well;  but  you  said  so  too,"  returned  Miss 
Wren.  "Or  at  least  you  took  on  like  the  mas- 
ter, and  didn't  contradict  him." 

"One  of  his  dodges,"  said  Mr.  Fledgeby,  with 
a  cool  and  contemptuous  shrug.  "He's  made 
of  dodges.  He  said  to  me,  "Come  up  to  the 
top  of  the  house,  Sir,  and  I'll  show  you  a  hand- 
some girl.  But  I  shall  call  you  the  master.' 
So  I  went  up  to  the  top  of  the  house  and  he 
showed  me  the  handsome  girl  (very  well  worth 
looking  at  she  was),  and  I  was  called  the  mas- 
ter. I  don't  know  why.  I  dare  say  he  don't. 
He  loves  a  dodge  for  its  own  sake;  being," 
added  Mr.  Fledgeby,  after  casting  about  for  an 
expressive  phrase,  "the  dodgerest  of  all  the 
dodgers." 

"  Oh  my  head !"  cried  the  dolls'  dress-maker, 
holding  it  with  both  her  hands,  as  if  it  were 
cracking.     "  You  can't  mean  what  you  say." 

"  I  can,  my  little  woman,"  retorted  Fledgeby, 
"and  I  do,  I  assure  you." 

This  repudiation  was  not  only  an  act  of  de- 
liberate policy  on  Fledgeby's  part,  in  case  of  his 
being  surprised  by  any  other  caller,  but  was  also 
a  retort  upon  Miss  Wren  for  her  over-sharpness, 
and  a  pleasant  instance  of  his  humor  as  regarded 
the  old  Jew.  "He  has  got  a  bad  name  as  an 
old  Jew,  and  he  is  paid  for  the  use  of  it,  and 
I'll  have  my  money's  worth  out  of  him."  This 
was  Fledgeby's  habitual  reflection  in  the  way  of 
business,  and  it  was  sharpened  just  now  by  the 
old  man's  presuming  to  have  a  secret  from  him : 
though  of  the  secret  itself,  as  annoying  some- 
body else  whom  he  disliked,  he  by  no  means  4 
disapproved. 

Miss  Wren  with  a  fallen  countenance  sat  be- 
hind the  door  looking  thoughtfully  at  the  ground, 
and  the  long  and  patient  silence  had  again  set 


248 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


in  for  some  time,  when  the  expression  of  Mr. 
Fledgeby's  face  betokened  that  through  the  up- 
per portion  of  the  door,  which  was  of  glass,  he 
saw  some  one  faltering  on  the  brink  of  the 
counting-house.  Presently  there  was  a  rustle 
and  a  tap,  and  then  some  more  rustling  and  an- 
other tap.  Fledgeby  taking  no  notice,  the  door 
was  at  length  softly  opened,  and  the  dried  face 
of  a  mild  little  elderly  gentleman  looked  in. 

"  Mr.  Riah  ?"  said  this  visitor,  very  politely. 

"I  am  waiting  for  him,  Sir,"  returned  Mr. 
Fledgeby.  "  He  went  out  and  left  me  here.  I 
expect  him  back  every  minute.  Perhaps  you 
had  better  take  a  chair." 

The  gentleman  took- a  chair,  and  put  his  hand 
to  his  forehead,  as  if  he  were  in  a  melancholy 
frame  of  mind.  Mr.  Fledgeby  eyed  him  aside, 
and  seemed  to  relish  his  attitude. 

"  A  fine  day,  Sir, "  remarked  Fledgeby. 

The  little  dried  gentleman  was  so  occupied 
with  his  own  depressed  reflections  that  he  did 
not  notice  the  remark  until  the  sound  of  Mr. 
Fledgeby's  voice  had  died  out  of  the  counting- 
house.  Then  he  started,  and  said:  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  Sir.     I  fear  you  spoke  to  me?" 

"I  said,"  remarked  Fledgeby,  a  little  louder 
than  before,  "it  was  a  fine  day." 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  beg  your  pardon. 
Yes." 

Again  the  little  dried  gentleman  put  his  hand 
to  his  forehead,  and  again  Mr.  Fledgeby  seemed 
to  enjoy  his  doing  it.  When  the  gentleman 
changed  his  attitude  with  a  sigh,  Fledgeby  spake 
with  a  grin. 

"  Mr.  Twemlow,  I  think  ?" 

The  dried  gentleman  seemed  much  surprised. 

"Had  the  pleasure  of  dining  with  you  at 
Lammle's,"  said  Fledgeby.  "Even  have  the 
honor  of  being  a  connection  of  yours.  An  un- 
expected sort  of  place  this  to  meet  in  ;  but  one 
never  knows,  when  one  gets  into  the  City,  what 
people  one  may  knock  up  against.  I  hope  you 
have  your  health,  and  are  enjoying  yourself/" 

There  might  have  been  a  touch  of  imperti- 
nence in  the  last  words ;  on  the  other  hand,  it 
might  have  been  but  the  native  grace  of  Mr. 
Fledgeby's  manner.  Mr.  Fledgeby  sat  on  a 
stool  with  a  foot  on  the  rail  of  another  stool,  and 
his  hat  on.  Mr.  Twemlow  had  uncovered  on 
looking  in  at  the  door,  and  remained  so. 

Now  the  conscientious  Twemlow,  knowing 
what  he  had  done  to  thwart  the  gracious  Fledge- 
by, was  particularly  disconcerted  by  this  en- 
counter. He  was  as  ill  at  ease  as  a  gentleman 
well  could  be.  He  felt  himself  bound  to  con- 
duct, himself  stiffly  toward  Fledgeby,  and  he 
made  him  a  distant  bow.  Fledgeby  made  his 
small  eyes  smaller  in  taking  special  note  of  his 
manner.  The  dolls'  dress-maker  sat  in  her  cor- 
ner behind  the  door,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground 
.and  her  hands  folded  on  her  basket,  holding  her 
crutch-stick  between  them,  and  appearing  to 
take  no  heed  of  any  thing. 

"He's  a  long  time,"  muttered  Mr..  Fledgeby, 
looking  at  his  watch.  "What  time  may  you 
make  it,  Mr.  Twemlow  ?" 

Mr.  Twemlow  made  it  ten  minutes  past  twelve, 
Sir. 

"As  near  as  a  tcaicher,"  assented  Fledgeby. 
"  I  hope,  M  r.  Twemlow,  your  business  here  may 
be  of  a  move  agreeable  character  than  mine." 

"Thanh  you,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Twemlow. 


Fledgeby  again  made  his  small  eyes  smaller, 
as  he  glanced  with  great  complacency  at  Twem- 
low, who  was  timorously  tapping  the  table  with 
a  folded  letter. 

"What  I  know  of  Mr.  Riah,"  said  Fledgeby, 
with  a  very  disparaging  utterance  of  his  name, 
"leads  me  to  believe  that  this  is  about  the  shop 
for  disagreeable  business.  I  have  always  found 
him  the  bitingest  and  tightest  screw  in  London." 

Mr.  Twemlow  acknowledged  the  remark  with 
a  little  distant  bow.  It  evidently  made  him 
nervous. 

"  So  much  so,"  pursued  Fledgeby,  "  that  if  it 
wasn't  to  be  true  to  a  friend,  nobody  should 
catch  me  waiting  here  a  single  minute.  But 
if  you  have  friends  in  adversity,  stand  by  them. 
That's  what  I  say  and  act  up  to." 

The  equitable  Twemlow  felt  that  this  senti- 
ment, irrespective  of  the  utterer,  demanded  his 
cordial  assent.  "You  are  very  right,  Sir,"  he 
rejoined  with  spirit.  "You  indicate  the  gener- 
ous and  manly  course." 

"Glad  to  have  your  approbation,"  returned 
Fledgeby.  ' '  It's  a  coincidence,  Mr.  Twemlow ;" 
here  he  descended  from  his  perch,  and  saunter- 
ed toward  him ;  "that  the  friends  I  am  stand- 
ing by  to-day  are  the  friends  at  whose  house  I 
met  you !  The  Lammles.  She's  a  very  taking 
and  agreeable  woman?" 

Conscience  smote  the  gentle  Twemlow  pale. 
"Yes,"  he  said.     "She  is." 

"And  when  she  appealed  to  me  this  morn- 
ing to  come  and  try  what  I  could  do  to  pacify 
their  creditor,  this  Mr.  Riah— that  I  certainly 
have  gained  some  little  influence  with  in  trans- 
acting business  for  another  friend,  but  nothing 
like  so  much  as  she  supposes — and  when  a  wo- 
man like  that  spoke  to  me  as  her  dearest  Mr. 
Fledgeby,  and  shed  tears — why  what  could  I 
do,  you  know  ?" 

Twemlow  gasped  "Nothing  but  come." 

"Nothing  but  come.  And  so  I  came.  But 
why,"  said  Fledgeby,  putting  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  counterfeiting  deep  meditation, 
"why  Riah  should  have  started  up,  when  I  told 
him  that  the  Lammles  entreated  him  to  hold 
over  a  Bill  of  Sale  he  has  on  all  their  effects ; 
and  why  he  should  have  cut  out,  saying  he 
would  be  back  directly;  and  why  he  should 
have  left  me  here  alone  so  long ;  I  can  not  un- 
derstand." 

The  chivalrous  Twemlow,  Knight  of  the  Sim- 
ple Heart,  was  not  in  a  condition  to  offer  any 
suggestion.  He  was  too  penitent,  too  remorse- 
ful. For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  done 
an  underhanded  action,  and  he  had  done  wrong. 
He  had  secretly  interposed  against  this  confiding 
young  man,  for  no  better  real  reason  than  be- 
cause the  young  man's  ways  were  not  his  ways. 

But  the*  confiding  young  man  proceeded  to 
heap  coals  of  fire  on  his  sensitive  head. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Twemlow;  you  see 
I  am  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the  af- 
fairs that  are  transacted  here.  Is  there  any 
thing  I  can  do  for  you  here  ?  You  have  always 
been  brought  up  as  a  gentleman,  and  never  as 
a  man  of  business ;"  another  touch  of  possible 
impertinence  in  this  place;  "and  perhaps  you 
are  but  a  poor  man  of  business.  What  else  is 
to  be  expected!" 

"I  am  even  a  poorer  man  of  business  than  I 
am  a  man,  Sir,"  returned  Twemlow,  "and  I 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND 


249 


could  hardly  express  my  deficiency  in  a  stronger 
way.  I  really  do  not  so  much  as  clearly  under- 
stand my  position  in  the  matter  on  which  I  am 
brought  here.  But  there  are  reasons  which  make 
me  very  delicate  of  accepting  your  assistance.  I 
am  greatly,  greatly,  disinclined  to  profit  by  it.  I 
don't  deserve  it." 

Good  childish  creature !  Condemned  to  a  pas- 
sage through  the  world  by  such  narrow  little 
dimly-lighted  ways,  and  picking  up  so  few  specks 
or  spots  on  the  road ! 

"Perhaps,"  said  Fledgeby,  "you  may  be  a 
little  proud  of  entering  on  the  topic — having  been 
brought  up  as  a  gentleman." 

"It's  not  that,  Sir,"  returned  Twemlow,  "it's 
not  that.  I  hope  I  distinguish  between  true  pride 
and  false  pride." 

"  I  have  no  pride  at  all,  myself,"  said  Fledge- 
by, "  and  perhaps  I  don't  cut  things  so  fine  as  to 
know  one  from  t'other.  But  I  know  this  is  a 
place  where  even  a  man  of  business  needs  his 
wits  about  him ;  and  if  mine  can  be  of  any  use 
to  you  here,  you're  welcome  to  them." 

"You  are  very  good,"  said  Twemlow,  falter- 
ing.    "But  I  am  most  unwilling — " 

"I  don't,  you  know,"  proceeded  Fledgeby, 
with  an  ill-favored  glance,  "entertain  the  vanity 
of  supposing  that  my  wits  could  be  of  any  use  to 
you  in  society,  but  they  might  be  here.  You 
cultivate  society  and  society  cultivates  you,  but 
Mr.  Riah's  not  society.  In  society,  Mr.  Riah  is 
kept  dark;  eh,  Mr.  Twemlow?" 

Twemlow,  much  disturbed,  and  with  his  hand 
fluttering  about  his  forehead,  replied:  "Quite 
true." 

The  confiding  young  man  besought  him  to 
state  his  case.  The  innocent  Twemlow,  expect- 
ing Fledgeby  to  be  astounded  by  what  he  should 
unfold,  and  not  for  an  instant  conceiving  the 
possibility  of  its  happening  every  day,  but  treat- 
ing of  it  as  a  terrible  phenomenon  occurring  in 
the  course  of  ages,  related  how  that  he  had  had 
a  deceased  friend,  a  married  civil  officer  with  a 
family,  who  had  wanted  money  for  change  of 
place  on  change  of  post,  and  how  he,  Twemlow, 
had  "given  him  his  name,"  with  the  usual,  but 
in  the  eyes  of  Twemlow  almost  incredible  result 
that  he  had  been  left  to  repay  what  he  had  never 
had.  How,  in  the  course  of  years,  he  had  re- 
duced the  principal  by  trifling  sums,  "  having," 
said  Twemlow,  "always  to  observe  great  econo- 
my, being  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  fixed  income 
limited  in  extent,  and  that  depending  on  the  mu- 
nificence of  a  certain  nobleman,"  and  had  always 
pinched  the  full  interest  out  of  himself  with  punc- 
tual pinches.  How  he  had  come,  in  course  of 
time,  to  look  upon  this  one  only  debt  of  his  life  as  a 
regular  quarterly  drawback,  and  no  worse,  when 
"his  name"  had  some  way  fallen  into  the  pos- 
session of  Mr.  Riah,  who  had  sent  him  notice  to 
redeem  it  by  paying  up  in  full,  in  one  plump 
sum,  or  take  tremendous  consequences.  This, 
with  hazy  remembrances  of  how  he  had  been 
carried  to  some  office  to  "  confess  judgment"  (as 
he  recollected  the  phrase),  and  how  he  had  been 
carried  to  another  office  where  his  life  was  as- 
sured for  somebody  not  wholly  unconnected  with 
the  sherry  trade  whom  he  remembered  by  the 
remarkable  circumstance  that  he  had  a  Stradua- 
rius  violin  to  dispose  of,  and  also  a  Madonna, 
formed  the  sum  and  substance  of  Mr.  Twemlow's 
narrative.     Through  which  stalked  the  shadow 


of  the  awful  Snigsworth,  eyed  afar  off  by  money- 
lenders as  Security  in  the  Mist,  and  menacing 
Twemlow  with  his  baronial  truncheon. 

To  all,  Mr.  Fledgeby  listened  with  the  modest 
gravity  becoming  a  confiding  young  man  who 
knew  it  all  beforehand,  and,  when  it  was  finished, 
seriously  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  like,  Mr. 
Twemlow,"  said  Fledgeby,  "I  don't  like  Riah's 
calling  in  the  principal.  If  he's  determined  to 
call  it  in,  it  must  come." 

"But  supposing,  Sir,"  said  Twemlow,  down- 
cast, "  that  it  can't  come  ?" 

"Then,"  retorted  Fledgeby,  "you  must  go, 
you  know." 

"Where?"  asked  Twemlow,  faintly. 

"To  prison,"  returned  Fledgeby.  Whereat 
Mr.  Twemlow  leaned  his  innocent  head  upon  his 
hand,  and  moaned  a  little  moan  of  distress  and 
disgrace. 

"However,"  said  Fledgeby,  appearing  to 
pluck  up  his  spirits,  "we'll  hope  it's  not  so  bad 
as  that  comes  to.  If  you'll  allow  me,  I'll  men- 
tion to  Mr.  Riah  when  he  comes  in,  who  you  are, 
and  I'll  tell  him  you're  my  friend,  and  I'll  say 
my  say  for  you,  instead  of  your  saying  it  for 
yourself;  I  may  be  able  to  do  it  in  a  more  busi- 
ness-like way.    You  won't  consider  it  a  liberty  ?" 

"I  thank  you  again  and  "again,  Sir,"  said 
Twemlow.  "I  am  strong,  strongly,  disinclined 
to  avail  myself  of  your  generosity,  though  my 
helplessness  yields.  For  I  can  not  but  feel  that 
I — to  put  it  in  the  mildest  form  of  speech — that 
I  have  done  nothing  to  deserve  it." 

"Where  can  he  be?"  muttered  Fledgeby,  re- 
ferring to  his  watch  again.  "What  can  he  have 
gone  out  for?  Did  you  ever  see  him,  Mr. 
Twemlow?" 

"Never." 

"  He  is  a  thorough  Jew  to  look  at,  but  he  is 
a  more  thorough  Jew  to  deal  with.  He's  worst 
when  he's  quiet.  If  he's  quiet,  I  shall  take  it  as 
a  very  bad  sign.  Keep  your  eye  upon  him  when 
he  comes  in,  and,  if  he's  quiet,  don't  be  hopeful. 
Here  he  is  ! — he  looks  quiet." 

With  these  words,  which  had  the  effect  of 
causing  the  harmless  Twemlow  painful  agita- 
tion, Mr.  Fledgeby  withdrew  to  his  former  post, 
and  the  old  man  entered  the  counting-house. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Riah,"  said  Fledgeby,  "  I  thought 
you  were  lost !" 

The  old  man,  glancing  at  the  stranger,  stood 
stock-still.  He  perceived  that  his  master  was 
leading  up  to  the  orders  he  was  to  take,  and  he 
waited  to  understand  them. 

"  I  really  thought,"  repeated  Fledgeby  slowly, 
"that  you  were  lost,  Mr.  Riah.  Why,  now  I 
look  at  you — but  no,  you  can't  have  done  it ;  no, 
you  can't  have  done  it !" 

Hat  in  hand,  the  old  man  lifted  his  head,  and 
looked  distressfully  at  Fledgeby,  as  seeking  to 
know  what  new  moral  burden  he  was  to  bear. 

"You  can't  have  rushed  out  to  get  the  start 
of  every  body  else,  and  put  in  that  bill  of  sale  at 
Lammle's  ?"  said  Fledgeby.  "  Say  you  haven't, 
Mr.  Riah." 

"  Sir,  I  have,"  replied  the  old  man  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Oh  my  eye  !"  cried  Fledgeby.  "Tut,  tut, 
tut !  Dear,  dear,  dear !  Well !  I  knew  you 
were  a  hard  customer,  Mr.  Riah,  but  I  never 
thought  you  were  as  hard  as  that." 

"Sir,"  said  the  old  man,  with  great  uneasi- 


250 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


ness,  "I  do  as  I  am  directed.  I  am  not  the 
principal  here.  I  am  but  the  agent  of  a  supe- 
rior, and  I  have  no  choice,  no  power." 

"Don't  say  so,"  retorted  Fledgeby,  secretly 
exultant  as  the  old  man  stretched  out  his  hands, 
with  a  shrinking  action  of  defending  himself 
against  the  sharp  construction  of  the  two  observ- 
ers. "Don't  play  the  tune  of  the  trade,  Mr. 
Riah.  You've  a  right  to  get  in  your  debts,  if 
you're  determined  to  do  it,  but  don't  pretend 
what  every  one  in  your  line  regularly  pretends. 
At  least,  don't  do  it  to  me.  Why  should  you, 
Mr.  Riah  ?     You  know  I  know  all  about  you." 

The  old  man  clasped  the  skirt  of  his  long 
coat  with  his  disengaged  hand,  and  directed  a 
wistful  look  at  Fledgeby. 

'"And  don't,"  said  Fledgeby,  "don't,  I  en- 
treat you  as  a  favor,  Mr.  Riah,  be  so  devilish 
meek,  for  I  know  what'll  follow  if  you  are. 
Look  here,  Mr.  Riah.  This  gentleman  is  Mr. 
Twemlow." 

The  Jew  turned  to  him  and  bowed.  That 
poor  lamb  bowed  in  return ;  polite,  and  terri- 
fied. 

"I  have  made  such  a  failure,"  proceeded 
Fledgeby,  "  in  trying  to  do  any  thing  with  you 
for  my  friend  Lammle,  that  I've  hardly  a  hope 
of  doing  any  thing  with  you  for  my  friend  (and 
connection  indeed)  Mr.  Twemlow.  But  I  do 
think  that  if  you  would  do  a  favor  for  any  body, 
you  would  for  me,  and  I  won't  fail  for  want  of 
trying,  and  I've  passed  my  promise  to  Mr.  Twem- 
low besides.  Now,  Mr.  Riah,  here  is  Mr.  Twem- 
low. Always  good  for  his  interest,  always  com- 
ing up  to  time,  always  paying  his  little  way. 
Now,  why  should  you  press  Mr.  Twemlow  ?  You 
can't  have  any  spite  against  Mr.  Twemlow! 
Why  not  be  easy  with  Mr.  Twemlow  ?" 

The  old  man  looked  into  Fledgeby's  little  eyes 
for  any  sign  of  leave  to  be  easy  with  Mr.  Twem- 
low ;  but  there  was  no  sign  in  them. 

"Mr.  Twemlow  is  no  connection  of  yours, 
Mr.  Riah,"  said  Fledgeby;  "you  can't  want  to 
be  even  with  him  for  having  through  life  gone 
in  for  a  gentleman  and  hung  on  to  his  Family. 
If  Mr.  Twemlow  has  a  contempt  for  business, 
what  can  it  matter  to  you  ?" 

"But  pardon  me,"  interposed  the  gentle  vic- 
tim, "  I  have  not,  I  should  consider  it  presump- 
tion." 

"There,  Mr.  Riah !"  said  FJedgeby,  "isn't 
that  handsomely  said  ?  Come  !  Make  terms 
with  me  for  Mr.  Twemlow." 

The  old  man  looked  again  for  any  sign  of 
permission  to  spare  the  poor  little  gentleman. 
No.     Mr.  Fledgeby  meant  him  to  be  racked. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Twemlow,"  said  Riah. 
"  I  have  my  instructions.  I  am  invested  with 
no  authority  for  diverging  from  them.  The 
money  must  be  paid." 

"In  full  and  slap  down,  do  you  mean,  Mr. 
Riah  ?"  asked  Fledgeby,  to  make  things  quite 
explicit. 

"  In  full,  Sir,  and  at  once,"  was  Riah's  an- 
swer. 

Mr.  Fledgeby  shook  his  head  deploringly  at 
Twemlow,  and  mutely  expressed  in  reference  to 
the  venerable  figure  standing  before  him  with 
eyes  upon  the  ground :  "  What  a  Monster  of 
an  Israelite  this  is !" 

"  Mr.  Riah,"  said  Fledgeby. 

The  old  man  lifted  up  his  eyes  once  more  to 


the  little  eyes  in  Mr.  Fledgeby's  head,  with 
some  reviving  hope  that  the  sign  might  be  com- 
ing yet. 

"Mr.  Riah,  it's  of  no  use  my  holding  back 
the  fact.  There's  a  certain  great  party  in  the 
back-ground  in  Mr.  Twemlow's  case,  and  you 
know  it." 

"  I  know  it,"  the  old  man  admitted. 

"Now,  I'll  put  k  as  a  plain  point  of  business. 
Mr.  Riah.  Are  you  fully  determined  (as  a  plain 
point  of  business)  either  to  have  that  said  great 
party's  security,  or  that  said  great  party's  mon- 
ey?" 

"Fully  determined,"  answered  Riah,  as  he 
read  his  master's  face,  and  learned  the  book. 

"Not  at  all  caring  for,  and  indeed  as  it  seems 
to  me  rather  enjoying,"  said  Fledgeby,  with  pe- 
culiar unction,  "the  precious  kick-up  and  row 
that  will  come  off  between  Mr.  Twemlow  and 
the  said  great  party?" 

This  required  no  answer,  and  received  none. 
Poor  Mr.  Twemlow,  who  had  betrayed  the  keen- 
est mental  terrors  since  his  noble  kinsman  loomed 
in  the  perspective,  rose  with  a  sigh  to  take  his 
departure.  "I  thank  you  very  much,  Sir,"  he 
said,  offering  Fledgeby  his  feverish  hand.  ' '  You 
have  done  me  an  unmerited  service.  Thank  you, 
thank  you1 !" 

"Don't  mention  it,"  answered  Fledgeby. 
"It's  a  failure  so  far,  but  I'll  stay  behind  and 
take  another  touch  at  Mr.  Riah." 

"Do  not  deceive  yourself,  Mr.  Twemlow," 
said  the  Jew,  then  addressing  him  directly  for 
the  first  time.  "  There  is  no  hope  for  you.  You 
must  expect  no  leniency  here.  You  must  pay  in 
full,  and  you  can  not  pay  too  promptly,  or  you 
will  be  put  to  heavy  charges.  Trust  nothing  to 
me,  Sir.  Money,  moneys  money."  When  he 
had  said  these  words  in  an  emphatic  manner,  he 
acknowledged  Mr.  Twemlow's  still  polite  motion 
of  his  head,  and  that  amiable  little  worthy  took 
his  departure  in  the  lowest  spirits. 

Fascination  Fledgeby  was  in  such  a  merry 
vein  when  the  counting-house  was  cleared  of 
him,  that  he  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  to  the 
window,  and  lean  his  arms  on  the  frame  of  the 
blind,  and  have  his  silent  laugh  out,  with  his 
back  to  his  subordinate.  When  he  turned  round 
again  with  a  composed  countenance,  his  subor- 
dinate still  stood  in  the  same  place,  and  the 
dolls'  dress-maker  sat  behind  the  door  with  a 
look  of  horror. 

"Halloa?"  cried  Mr.  Fledgeby,  "you're  for- 
getting this  young  lady,  Mr.  Riah,  and  she  has 
been  waiting  long  enough  too.  Sell  her  her 
waste,  please,  and  give  her  good  measure  if  you 
can  make  up  your  mind  to  do  the  liberal  thing 
for  once." 

He  looked  on  for  a  time,  as  the  Jew  filled  her 
little  basket  with  such  scraps  as  she  was  used  to 
buy ;  but,  his  merry  vein  coming  on  again,  he 
was  obliged  to  turn  round  to  the  window  once 
more,  and  lean  his  arms  on  the  blind. 

"There,  my  Cinderella  dear,"  said  the  old 
man  in  a  whisper,  and  with  a  worn-out  look, 
"  the  basket's  full  now.  Bless  you !  And  get 
you  gone!" 

"Don't  call  me  your  Cinderella  dear,"  re- 
turned Miss  Wren.  "Oh  you  cruel  godmo- 
ther!" 

She  shook  that  emphatic  little  forefinger  of 
hers  in  his  face  at  parting,  as  earnestly  and  re- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


2ol 


proachfully  as  she  had  ever  shaken  it  at  her  grim 
old  child  at  home. 

"  You  are  not  the  godmother  at  all !"  said  she. 
"You  are  the  Wolf  in  the  Forest,  the  wicked 
Wolf!  And  if  ever  my  dear  Lizzie  is  sold  and 
betrayed,  I  shall  know  who  sold  and  betrayed 
her !" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MR.  WEGG   PREPARES   A  GRINDSTONE   FOR   MR. 
BOFFIN'S   NOSE. 

Having  assisted  at  a  few  more  expositions  of 
the  lives  of  Misers,  Mr.  Venus  became  almost  in- 
dispensable to  the  evenings  at  the  Bower.  The 
circumstance  of  having  another  listener  to  the 
wonders  unfolded  by  Wegg,  or,  as  it  were,  an- 
other calculator  to  cast  up  the  guineas  found  in 
tea-pots,  chimneys,  racks,  and  mangers,  and  other 
such  banks  of  deposit,  seemed  greatly  to  height- 
en Mr.  Boffin's  enjoyment ;  while  Silas  Wegg, 
for  his  part,  though  of  a  jealous  temperament 
which  might  under  ordinary  circumstances  have 
resented  the  anatomist's  getting  into  favor,  was 
so  very  anxious  to  keep  his  eye  on  that  gentle- 
man— lest,  being  too  much  left  to  himself,  he 
should  be  tempted  to  play  any  tricks  with  the 
precious  document  in  his  keeping — that  he  nev- 
er lost  an  opportunity  of  commending  him  to 
Mr.  Boffin's  notice  as  a  third  party  whose  com- 
pany was  much  to  be  desired.  Another  friend- 
ly demonstration  toward  him  Mr.  Wegg  now 
regularly  gratified.  After  each  sitting  was  over, 
and  the  patron  had  departed,  Mr.  Wegg  invari- 
ably saw  Mr.  Venus  home.  To  be  sure,  he  as 
invariably  requested  to  be  refreshed  with  a  sight 
of  the  paper  in  which  he  was  a  joint  proprietor ; 
but  he  never  failed  to  remark  that  it  was  the 
great  pleasure  he  derived  from  Mr.  Venus's  im- 
proving society  which  had  insensibly  lured  him 
round  to  Clerkenwell  again,  and  that,  finding 
himself  once  more  attracted  to  the  spot  by  the 
social  powers  of  Mr.  V.,  he  would  beg  leave  to 
go  through  that  little  incidental  procedure,  as  a 
matter  of  form.  "For  well  I  know,  Sir,"  Mr. 
Wegg  would  add,  "that  a  man  of  your  delicate 
mind  would  wish  to  be  checked  off  whenever  the 
opportunity  arises,  and  it  is  not  for  me  to  balk 
your  feelings." 

A  pertain  rustiness  in  Mr.  Venus,  which  nev- 
er became  so  lubricated  by  the  oil  of  Mr.  Wegg 
but  that  he  turned  under  the  screw  in  a  creak- 
ing and  stiff  manner,  was  very  noticeable  at 
about  this  period.  While  assisting  at  the  literary 
evenings  he  even  went  so  far,  on  two  or  three  oc- 
casions, as  to  correct  Mr.  Wegg  when  he  gross- 
ly mispronounced  a  word,  or  made  nonsense  of 
a  passage;  insomuch  that  Mr.  Wegg  took  to 
surveying  his  course  in  the  day,  and  to  making 
arrangements  for  getting  round  rocks  at  night 
instead  of  running  straight  upon  them.  Of  the 
slightest  anatomical  reference  he  became  partic- 
ularly shy,  and,  if  he  saw  a  bone  ahead,  would 
go  any  distance  out  of  his  way  rather  than  men- 
tion it  by  name. 

The  adverse  destinies  ordained  that  one  even- 
ing Mr.  Wegg's  laboring  bark  became  beset  by 
polysyllables,  and  embarrassed  among  a  perfect 
archipelago  of  hard  words.  It  being  necessary 
to  take  soundings  every  minute,  and  to  feel  the 
way  with  the  greatest  caution,  Mr.  Wegg's  at- 


tention was  fully  employed.  Advantage  was 
taken  of  this  dilemma  by  Mr.  Venus  to  pass  a 
scrap  of  paper  into  Mr.  Boffin's  hand,  and  lay 
his  finger  on  his  own  lip. 

When  Mr.  Boffin  got  home  at  night  he  found 
that  the  paper  contained  Mr.  Venus's  card  and 
these  words:  "Should  be  glad  to  be  honored 
with  a  call  respecting  business  of  your  own, 
about  dusk  on  an  early  evening." 

The  very  next  evening  saw  Mr.  Boffin  peep- 
ing in  at  the  preserved  frogs  in  Mr.  Venus's 
shop-window,  and  saw  Mr.  Venus  espying  Mr. 
Boffin  with  the  readiness  of  one  on  the  alert, 
and  beckoning  that  gentleman  into  his  interior. 
Responding,  Mr.  Boffin  was  invited  to  seat  him- 
self on  the  box  of  human  miscellanies  before  the 
fire,  and  did  so,  looking  round  the  place  witlr 
admiring  eyes.  The  fire  being  low  and  fitful, 
and  the  dusk  gloomy,  the  whole  stock  seemed 
to  be  winking  and  blinking  with  both  eyes,  as 
Mr.  Venus  did.  The  French  gentleman,  though 
he  had  no  eyes,  was  not  at  all  behindhand,  but 
appeared,  as  the  flame  rose  and  fell,  to  open 
and  shut  his  no  eyes,  with  the  regularity  of  the 
glass-eyed  dogs  and  ducks  and  birds.  The  big- 
headed  babies  were  equally  obliging  in  lending 
their  grotesque  aid  to  the  general  effect. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Venus,  I've  lost  no  time,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin.     "Here  I  am." 

"  Here  you  are,  Sir,"  assented  Mr.  Venus. 

"I  don't  like  secrecy,"  pursued  Mr.  Boffin — 
"at  least,  not  in  a  general  way  I  don't — but  I 
dare  say  you'll  show  me  good  reason  for  being 
secret  so  far." 

"I  think  I  shall,  Sir,"  returned  Venus. 

"Good,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "You  don't  ex- 
pect Wegg,  I  take  it  for  granted  ?" 

"No,  Sir.  I  expect  no  one  but  the  present 
company." 

Mr.  Boffin  glanced  about  him,  as  accepting 
under  that  inclusive  denomination  the  French 
gentleman  and  the  circle  in  which  he  didn't 
move,  and  repeated,  "The  present  company." 

"  Sir," said  Mr. Venus,  "before  entering  upon 
business,  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  for  your  word 
and  honor  that  we  are  in  confidence." 

"Let's  wait  a  bit  and  understand  what  the 
expression  means,"  answered  Mr.  Boffin.  "In 
confidence  for  how  long  ?  In  confidence  forever 
and  a  day  ?" 

"I  take  your  hint,  Sir,"  said  Venus;  "you 
think  you  might  consider  the  business,  when 
you  came  to  know  it,  to  be  of  a  nature  incom- 
patible with  confidence  on  your  part?" 

"I  might,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  with  a  cautious 
look. 

" True,  Sir.  Well,  Sir,"  observed  Venus,  aft- 
er clutching  at  his  dusty  hair,  to  brighten  his 
ideas,  "let  us  put  it  another  way.  I  open  the 
business  with  you,  relying  upon  your  honor  not 
to  do  any  thing  in  it,  and  not  to  mention  me  in 
it,  without  my  knowledge." 

"That  sounds  fair,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "I 
agree  to  that." 

"I  have  your  word  and  honor,  Sir?" 

"My  good  fellow,"  retorted  Mr.  Boffin,  "you 
have  my  word ;  and  how  you  can  have  that, 
without  my  honor  too,  I  don't  know.  I've  sort- 
ed a  lot  of  dust  in  my  time,  but  I  never  knew  the 
two  things  go  into  separate  heaps." 

This  remark  seemed  rather  to  abash  Mr.  Ve- 
nus.   He  hesitated,  and  said,  "  Very  true,  Sir ;" 


252 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


and  again,  "Very  true,  Sir,"  before  resuming 
the  thread  of  his  discourse. 

"Mr.  Boffin,  if  I  confess  to  you  that  I  fell 
into  a  proposal  of  which  you  were  the  sub- 
ject, and  of  which  you  oughtn't  to  have  been 
the  subject,  you  will  allow  me  to  mention,  and 
will  please  take  into  favorable  consideration,  that 
I  was  in  a  crushed  state  of  mind  at  the  time." 

The  Golden  Dustman,  with  his  hands  folded 
on  the  top  of  his  stout  stick,  with  his  chin  rest- 
ing upon  them,  and  with  something  leering  and 
whimsical  in  his  eyes,  gave  a  nod,  and  said, 
"  Quite  so,  Venus." 

"  That  proposal,  Sir,  was  a  conspiring  breach 
of  your  confidence,  to  such  an  extent,  that  I 
ought  at  once  to  have  made  it  known  to  you. 
But  I  didn't,  Mr.  Boffin,  and  I  fell  into  it." 

Without  moving  eye  or  finger  Mr.  Boffin  gave 
another  nod,  and  placidly  repeated,  ' '  Quite  so, 
Venus." 

"Not  that  I  was  ever  hearty  in  it,  Sir,"  the 
penitent  antagonist  went  on,  "or  that  I  ever 
viewed  myself  with  any  thing  but  reproach  for 
having  turned  out  of  the  paths  of  science  into 
the  paths  of — "  He  was  going  to  say  "villainy," 
but,  unwilling  to  press  too  hard  upon  himself, 
substituted  with  great  emphasis — "  Weggery." 

Placid  and  whimsical  of  look  as  ever,  Mr. 
Boffin  answered :  "  Quite  so,  Venus." 

"And  now,  Sir,"  said  Venus,  "  having  pre- 
pared your  mind  in  the  rough,  I  will  articulate 
the  details."  With  which  brief  professional  ex- 
ordium, he  entered  on  the  history  of  the  friend- 
ly move,  and  truly  recounted  it.  One  might 
have  thought  that  it  would  have  extracted  some 
show  of  surprise  or  anger,  or  other  emotion, 
from  Mr.  Boffin,  but  it  extracted  nothing  beyond 
his  former  comment :  "  Quite  so,  Venus." 

"I  have  astonished  you,  Sir,  I  believe  ?"  said 
Mr.  Venus,  pausing  dubiously. 

Mr.  Boffin  simply  answered  as  aforesaid; 
"  Quite  so,  Venus." 

By  this  time  the  astonishment  was  all  on  the 
other  side.  It  did  not,  however,  so  continue. 
For,  when  Venus  passed  to  Wegg's  discovery, 
and  from  that  to  their  having  both  seen  Mr. 
Boffin  dig  up  the  Dutch  bottle,  that  gentleman 
changed  color,  changed  his  attitude,  became  ex- 
tremely restless,  and  ended  (when  Venus  ended) 
by  being  in  a  state  of  manifest  anxiety,  trepida- 
tion, and  confusion. 

"Now,  Sir,"  said  Venus,  finishing  off;  "you 
best  know  what  was  in  that  Dutch  bottle,  and 
why  you  dug  it  up,  and  took  it  away.  I  don't 
pretend  to  know  any  thing  more  about  it  than  I 
saw.  All  I  know  is  this :  I  am  proud  of  my 
calling  after  all  (though  it  has  been  attended  by 
one  dreadful  drawback  which  has  told  upon  my 
heart,  and  almost  equally  upon  my  skeleton), 
and  I  mean  to  live  by  my  calling.  Putting  the 
same  meaning  into  other  words,  I  do  not  mean 
to  turn  a  single  dishonest  penny  by  this  affair. 
As  the  best  amends  I  can  make  you  for  having 
ever  gone  into  it,  I  make  known  to  you,  as  a 
warning,  what  Wegg  has  found  out.  My  opin- 
ion is,  that  Wegg  is  not  to  be  silenced  at  a  mod- 
est price,  and  I  build  that  opinion  on  his  begin- 
ning to  dispose  of  your  property  the  moment  he 
knew  his  power.  Whether  it's  worth  your  while 
to  silence  him  at  any  price,  you  will  decide  for 
yourself,  and  take  your  measures  accordingly. 
As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  have  no  price.     If 


I  am  ever  called  upon  for  the  truth,  I  tell  it,  but 
I  want  to  do  no  more  than  I  have  now  done  and 
ended." 

"Thank'ee,  Venus  P  said  Mr.  Boffin,  with  a 
hearty  grip  of  his  hand;  "thank'ee,  Venus, 
thank  ee,  Venus  !"  And  then  walked  up  and 
down  the  little  shop  in  great  agitation.  "But 
look  here,  Venus,"  he  by-and-by  resumed,  nerv- 
ously sitting  down  again  ;  "  if  I  have  to  buy 
Wegg  up,  I  sha'n't  buy  him  any  cheaper  for 
your  being  out  of  it.  Instead  of  his  having  half 
the  money — it  was  to  have  been  half,  I  suppose  ? 
Share  and  share  alike?" 

"It  was  to  have  been  half,  Sir,"  answered 
Venus. 

"Instead  of  that,  he'll  now  have  all.  I  shall 
pay  the  same,  if  not  more.  For  you  tell  me 
he's  an  unconscionable  dog,  a  ravenous  rascal." 

"  He  is,"  said  Venus. 

"Don't  you  think,  Venus,"  insinuated  Mr. 
Boffin,  after  looking  at  the  fire  for  a  while — 
"don't  you  feel  as  if — you  might  like  to  pretend 
to  be  in  it  till  Wegg  was  brought  up,  and  then 
ease  your  mind  by  handing  over  to  me  what  you 
had  made  believe  to  pocket  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't,  Sir,"  returned  Venus,  very  pos- 
itively. 

"Not  to  make  amends?"  insinuated  Mr. 
Boffin. 

"No,  Sir.  It  seems  to  me,  after  maturely 
thinking  it  over,  that  the  best  amends  for  hav- 
ing got  out  of  the  square  is  to  get  back  into  the 
square." 

"  Humph  !"  mused  Mr.  Boffin.  "  When  you 
say  the  square,  you  mean — " 

"I  mean,"  said  Venus,  stoutly  and  shortly, 
"the  right." 

"It  appears  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  grum- 
bling over  the  fire  in  an  injured  manner,  "  that 
the  right  is  with  me,  if  it's  any  where.  I  have 
much  more  right  to  the  old  man's  money  than 
the  Crown  can  ever  have.  What  was  the  Crown 
to  him  except  the  King's  Taxes  ?  Whereas,  me 
and  my  wife,  we  was  all  in  all  to  him." 

Mr.  "Venus,  with  his  head  upon  his  hands, 
rendered  melancholy  by  the  contemplation  of 
Mr.  Boffin's  avarice,  only  murmured  to  steep 
himself  in  the  luxury  of  that  frame  of  mind : 
"  She  did  not  wish  so  to  regard  herself,  nor  yet 
to  be  so  regarded." 

"And  how  am  I  to  live,"  asked  Mr.  Boffin, 
piteously,  "if  I'm  to  be  going  buying fello#s  up 
out  of  the  little  that  I've  got?  And  how  am  I 
to  set  about  it  ?  When  am  I  to  get  my  money 
ready?  When  am  I  to  make  a  bid?  You 
haven't  told  me  when  he  threatens  to  drop  down 
upon  me." 

Venus  explained  under  what  conditions,  and 
with  what  views,  the  dropping  down  upon  Mr. 
Boffin  was  held  over  until  the  Mounds  should  be 
cleared  away.  Mr.  Boffin  listened  attentively. 
"I  suppose,"  said  he,  with  a  gleam  of  hope, 
"there's  no  doubt  about  the  genuineness  and 
date  of  this  confounded  will  ?" 

"  None  whatever,"  said  Mr.  Venus. 

"Where  might  it  be  deposited  at  present?" 
asked  Mr.  Boffin,  in  a  wheedling  tone. 

"It's  in  my  possession,  Sir." 

"Is  it?"  he  cried,  with  great  eagerness. 
"Now,  for  any  liberal  sum  of  money  that  could 
be  agreed  upon,  Venus,  would  you  put  it  in  the 
fire?" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"No,  Sir,  I  wouldn't,"  interrupted  Mr.  Venus. 

"Nor  pass  it  over  to  me ?" 

"That  would  be  the  same  thing.  No,  Sir," 
said  Mr.  Venus. 

The  Golden  Dustman  seemed  about  to  pursue 
these  questions,  when  a  stumping  noise  was 
heard  outside,  coming  toward  the  door.  ' '  Hush ! 
here's  Wegg!"  said  Venus.  "Get  behind  the 
young  alligator  in  the  corner,  Mr.  Boffin,  and 
judge  him  for  }Tourself.  I  won't  light  a  candle 
till  he's  gone ;  there'll  only  be  the  glow  of  the 
fire ;  Wegg's  well  acquainted  with  the  alliga- 
tor, and  he  won't  take  particular  notice  of  him. 
Draw  your  legs  in,  Mr.  Boffin,  at  present  I  see 
a  pair  of  shoes  at  the  end  of  his  tail.  Get  your 
head  well  behind  his  smile,  Mr.  Boffin,  and  you'll 
R 


lie  comfortable  there;  you'll  find  plenty  of  room 
behind  his  smile.  He's  a  little  dusty,  but  he's 
very  like  you  in  tone.     Are  you  right,  Sir!" 

Mr.  Boffin  had  but  whispered  an  affirmative 
response,  when  Wegg  came  stumping  in.  "  Part- 
ner," said  that  gentleman  in  a  sprightly  manner, 
"  how's  yourself?" 

"Tolerable,"  returned  Mr.  Venus.  "Not 
much  to  boast  of." 

"  In-deed !"  said  Wegg :  "  sorry,  partner,  that 
you're  not  picking  up  faster,  but  your  soul's  too 
large  for  your  body,  Sir;  that's  where  it  is. 
And  how's  our  stock  in  trade,  partner?  Safe 
bind,  safe  find,  partner?     Is  that  about  it  ?" 

"Do  you  wish  .to  see  it?"  asked  Venus. 

"If  you  please,  partner,"  said  Wegg,  rubbing 


254 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


his  hands.  "  I  wish  to  see  it  jintly  with  your- 
self. Or,  in  similar  words  to  some  that  was  set 
to  music  some  time  back  : 

lI  wish  you  to  see  it  with  your  eyes, 
And  I  will  pledge  with  mine.' " 

Turning  his  back  and  turning  a  key,  Mr.  Ve- 
nus produced  the  document,  holding  on  by  his 
usual  corner.  Mr.  Wegg,  holding  on  by  the 
opposite  corner,  sat  down  on  the  seat  so  lately 
vacated  by  Mr.  Boffin,  and  looked  it  over.  "  All 
right,  Sir,"  he  slowly  and  unwillingly  admitted, 
in  his  reluctance  to  loose  his  hold,  "all  right!" 
And  greedily  watched  his  partner  as  he  turned 
his  back  again,  and  turned  his  key  again. 

"There's  nothing  new,  I  suppose?"  said  Ve- 
nus, resuming  his  low  chair  behind  the  counter. 

"Yes  there  is,  Sir,"  replied  Wegg;  "there 
was  something  new  this  morning.  That  foxy 
old  grasper  and  griper — " 

"Mr.  Boffin?"  inquired  Venus,  with  a  glance 
toward  the  alligator's  yard  or  two  of  smile. 

"Mister  be  blowed!"  cried  Wegg,  yielding  to 
his  honest  indignation.  "Boffin.  Dusty  Bof- 
fin. That  foxy  old  grunter  and  grinder,  Sir, 
turns  into  the  yard  this  morning,  to  .meddle 
with  our  property,  a  menial  tool  of  his  own,  a 
young  man  by  the  name  of  Sloppy.  Ecod,  when 
I  say  to  him,  '  What  do  you  want  here,  young 
man  ?  This  is  a  private  yard,'  he  pulls  out  a 
paper  from  Boffin's  other  blackguard,  the  one 
I  was  passed  over  for.  'This  is  to  authorize 
Sloppy  to  overlook  the  carting  and  to  watch  the 
work.'  That's  pretty  strong,  I  think,  Mr.  Venus  ?" 

"  Remember  he  doesn't  know  yet  of  our  claim 
on  the  property,"  suggested  Venus. 

"  Then  he  must  have  a  hint  of  it,"  said  Wegg, 
"and  a  strong  one  that'll  jog  his  terrors  a  bit. 
Give  him  an  inch,  and  he'll  take  an  ell.  Let 
him  alone  this  time,  and  what'll  he  do  with  our 
property  next?  I  tell  you  Avhat,  Mr,  Venus;  it 
comes  to  this ,  I  must  be  overbearing  with  Bof- 
fin, or  I  shall  fly  into  several  pieces.  I  can't 
contain  myself  when  I  look  at  him.  Every 
time  I  see  him  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket, 
I  see  him  putting  it  into  my  pocket.  Every 
time  I  hear  him  jingling  his  money,  I  hear  him 
taking  liberties  with  my  money.  Flesh  and 
blood  can't  bear  it.  No,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  great- 
ly exasperated,  "and  I'll  go  further.  A  wood- 
en leg  can't  bear  it !" 

"But,  Mr.  Wegg,"  urged  Venus,  "it  was 
your  own  idea  that  he  should  not  be  exploded 
upon  till  the  Mounds  were  carted  away." 

"But  it  was  likewise  my  idea,  Mr. Venus," 
retorted  Wegg,  "that  if  he  came  sneaking  and 
sniffing  about  the  property,  he  should  be  threat- 
ened, given  to  understand  that  he  has  no  right 
to  it,  and  be  made  our  slave.  Wasn't  that  my 
idea,  Mr.  Venus  ?" 

"It  certainly  was,  Mr.  Wegg." 

"It  certainly  was,  as  you  say,  partner,"  as- 
sented Wegg,  put  into  a  better  humor  by  the 
ready  admission.  "Very  well.  I  consider  his 
planting  one  of  his  menial  tools  in  the  yard  an 
act  of  sneaking  and  sniffing.  And  his  nose 
shall  be  put  to  the  grindstone  for  it." 

"  It  was  not  your  fault,  Mr.  Wegg,  I  must  ad- 
mit," said  Venus,  "that  he  got  off  with  the 
Dutch  bottle  that  night." 

"As  you  handsomely  say  again,  partner! 
No,  it  was  not  my  fault.  I'd  have  had  that  bot- 
tle out  of  him.     Was  it  to  be  borne  that  he 


should  come,  like  a  thief  in  the  dark,  digging 
among  stuff  that  was  far  more  ours  than  his 
(seeing  that  we  could  deprive  him  of  every  grain 
of  it,  if  he  didn't  buy  us  at  our  own  figure),  and 
carrying  off  treasure  from  its  bowels?  No,  it 
was  not  to  be  borne.  And  for'  that,  too,  his 
nose  shall  be  put  to  the  grindstone." 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  do  it,  Mr.  Wegg  ?" 

"To  put  his  nose  to  the  grindstone?  I  pro- 
pose," returned  that  estimable  man,  "to  insult 
him  openly.  And,  if  looking  into  this  eye  of 
mine,  he  dares  to  offer  a  word  in  answer,  to  re- 
tort upon  him  before  he  can  take  his  breath, 
'Add  another  word  to  that,  you  dusty  old  dog, 
and  you're  a  beggar.' " 

"  Suppose  he  says  nothing,  Mr.  Wegg?" 

"Then,"  replie4Wegg,  "we  shall  have  come 
to  an  understanding  with  very  little  trouble,  and 
I'll  break  him  and  drive  him,  Mr.  Venus.  I'll 
put  him  in  harness,  and  I'll  bear  him  up  tight, 
and  I'll  break  him  and  drive  him.  The  harder 
the  old  Dust  is  driven,  Sir,  the  higher  he'll  pay. 
And  I  mean  to  be  paid  high,  Mr.  Venus,  I  prom- 
ise you." 

"  You  speak  quite  revengefully,  Mr.  Wegg." 

"Revengefully,  Sir?  Is  it  for  him  that  I 
have  declined  and  failed  night  after  night?  Is 
it  for  his  pleasure  that  I've  waited  at  home  of  an 
evening,  like  a  set  of  skittles,  to  be  set  up  and 
knocked  over,  set  up  and  knocked  over,  by  what- 
ever balls — or  books — he  chose  to  bring  against 
me?  Why,  I'm  a  hundred  times  the  man  he  is, 
Sir;  five  hundred  times!" 

Perhaps  it  was  with  the  malicious  intent  of 
urging  him  on  to  his  worst  that  Mr.  Venus  look- 
ed as  if  he  doubted  that. 

' '  What  ?  Was  it  outside  the  house  at  present 
ockypied,  to  its  disgrace,  by  that  minion  of  for- 
tune and  worm  of  the  hour,"  said  Wegg,  falling 
back  upon  his  strongest  terms  of  reprobation, 
and  slapping  the  counter,  "that  I,  Silas  Wegg, 
five  hundred  times  the  man  he  ever  was,  sat  in 
all  weathers,  waiting  for  a  errand  or  a  customer  ? 
Wats  it  outside  that  very  house  as  I  first  set  eyes 
upon  him,  rolling  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  when  I 
was  a  selling  half-penny  ballads  there  for  a  liv- 
ing ?  And  am  I  to  grovel  in  the  dust  for  him  to 
walk  over  ?     No !" 

There  was  a  grin  upon  the  ghastly  counte- 
nance of  the  French  gentleman  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  fire-light,  as  if  he  were  computing 
how  many  thousand  slanderers  and  traitors  ar- 
ray themselves  against  the  fortunate,  on  prem- 
ises exactly  answering  to  those  of  Mr.  Wegg. 
One  might  have  fancied  that  the  big-headed 
babies  were  toppling  over  with  their  hydroceph- 
alic attempts  to  reckon  up  the  children  of  men 
who  transform  their  benefactors  into  their  injur- 
ers  by  the  same  process.  The  yard  or  two  of 
smile  on  the  part  of  the  alligator  might  have 
been  invested  with  the  meaning,  "All  about  tin's 
was  quite  familiar  knowledge  down  in  the  depths 
of  the  slime,  ages  ago." 

"But,"  said  Wegg,  possibly  with  some  slight 
perception  to  the  foregoing  effect,  "your  speak- 
ing countenance  remarks,  Mr.  Venus,  that  I'm 
duller  and  savager  than  usual.  Perhaps  I  have 
allowed  myself  to  brood  too  much.  Begone, 
dull  Care"!  Tis  gone,  Sir.  I've  looked  in 
upon  yon,  and  empire  resumes  her  sway.  For, 
as  the  song  says — subject  to  your  correction, 
Sir— 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


255 


'When  the  heart  of  a  man  is  depressed  with  cares, 
The  mist  is  dispelled  if  Venus  appears. 
Like  the  notes  of  a  fiddle,  you  sweetly,  Sir,  sweetly, 
Raises  our  spirits  and  charms  our  ears.' 

Good-night,  Sir." 

"I  shall  have  a  word  or  two  to  say  to  you, 
Mr.  Wegg,  before  long,"  remarked  Venus,  "re- 
specting my  share  in  the  project  we've  been 
speaking  of." 

"My  time,  Sir,"  returned  Wegg,  "is  yours. 
In  the  mean  while  let  it  be  fully  understood  that 
I  shall  not  neglect  bringing  the  grindstone  to 
bear,  nor  yet  bringing  Dusty  Boffin's  nose  to  it. 
His  nose  once  brought  to  it,  sball  be  held  to  it 
by  these  hands,  Mr.  Venus,  till  the  sparks  flies 
out  in  showers."  y, 

With  this  agreeable  promise  Wegg  stumped 
out,  and  shut  the  shop-door  after  him.  "Wait 
till  I  light  a  candle,  Mr.  Boffin,"  said  Venus, 
"and  you'll  come  out  more  comfortable."  So, 
lie  lighting  a  candle  and  holding  it  up  at  arm's- 
length,  Mr.  Boffin  disengaged  himself  from  be- 
hind the  alligator's  smile,  with  an  expression  of 
countenance  so  very  downcast  that  it  not  only 
appeared  as  if  the  alligator  had  the  whole  of  the 
joke  to  himself,  but  further  as  if  it  had  been 
conceived  and  executed  at  Mr.  Boffin's  expense. 

"That's  a  treacherous  fellow,"  raid  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, dusting  his  arms  and  legs  as  he  came  forth, 
the  alligator  having  been  but  musty  company. 
"That's  a  dreadful  fellow." 

"  The  alligator,  Sir?"  said  Venus. 

"No,  Venus,  no.     The  Serpent." 

"You'll  have  the  goodness  to  notice,  Mr.  Bof- 
fin," remarked  Venus,  "that  I  said  nothing  to 
him  about  my  going  out  of  the  affair  altogether, 
because  I  didn't  wish  to  take  you  any  ways  by 
surprise.  But  I  can't  be  too  soon  out  of  it  for 
my  satisfaction,  Mr.  Boffin,  and  I  now  put  it  to 
vou  when  it  will  suit  your  views  for  me  to  re- 
tire?" 

"Thank'ee,  Venus,  thank'ee,  Venus;  but  I 
don't  know  what  to  say,"  returned  Mr.  Boffin, 
"I  don't  know  what  to  do.  He'll  drop  down  on 
me  any  way.  He  seems  fully  determined  to  drop 
down;  don't  he?" 

Mr.  Venus  opined  that  such  was  clearly  his 
intention. 

"You  might  be  a  sort  of  protection  for  me, 
if  you  remained  in  it,"  said  Mr.  Boffin;  "you 
might  stand  betwixt  him  and  me,  and  take  the 
edge  off  him.  Don't  you  feel  as  if  you  could 
make  a  show  of  remaining  in  it,  Venus,  till  I 
had  time  to  turn  myself  round  ?" 

Venus  naturally  inquired  how  long  Mr.  Bof- 
fin thought  it  might  take  him  to  turn  himself 
round  ? 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  was  the  ansAver, 
given  quite  at  a  loss.  "  Every  thing  is  so  at 
sixes  and  sevens.  If  I  had  never  come  into  the 
property,  I  shouldn't  have  minded.  But  being 
in  it,  it  would  be  very  trying  to  be  turned  out ; 
now  don't  you  acknowledge  that  it  would,  Ve- 
nus?" 

Mr.  Venus  preferred,  he  said,  to  leave  Mr. 
Boffin  to  arrive  at  his  own  conclusions  on  that 
delicate  question. 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin.  "If  I  ask  advice  of  any  one  else, 
it's  only  letting  in  another  person  to  be  bought 
out,  and  then  I  shall  be  ruined  that  way,  and 
might  as  well  have  given  up  the  property  and 


gone  slap  to  the  work-house.  If  I  was  to  take 
advice  of  my  young  man,  Rokesmith,  I  should 
have  to  buy  him  out.  Sooner  or  later,  of  course, 
he'd  drop  down  upon  me,  like  Wegg.  I  was 
brought  into  the  world  to  be  dropped  down  upon, 
it  appears  to  me." 

Mr.  Venus  listened  to  these  lamentations  in 
silence,  while  Mr.  Boffin  jogged  to  and  fro,  hold- 
ing his  pockets  as  if  he  had  a  pain  in  them. 

"After  all,  you  haven't  said  what  you  mean 
to  do  yourself,  Venus.  When  you  do  go  out  of 
it,  how  do  you  mean  to  go?" 

Venus  replied  that  as  Wegg  had  found  the 
document  and  handed  it  to  him,  it  was  his  in- 
tention to  hand  it  back  to  Wegg,  with  the  dec- 
laration that  he  himself  would  have  nothing  to 
say  to  it,  or  do  with  it,  and  that  Wegg  must  act 
as  he  chose,  and  take  the  consequences. 

"And  then  he  drops  down  with  his  whole 
weight  upon  me!"  cried  Mr.  Boffin,  ruefully. 
"I'd  sooner  be  dropped  upon  by  you  than  by 
him,  or  even  by  you  jintly  than  by  him  alone." 
Mr.  Venus  could  only  repeat  that  it  was  his 
fixed  intention  to  betake  himself  to  the  paths  of 
science,  and  to  walk  in  the  same  all  the  days  of 
his  life ;  not  dropping  down  upon  his  fellow- 
creatures  until  they  were  deceased,  and  then 
only  to  articulate  them  to  the  best  of  his  humble 
ability. 

"  How  long  could  you  be  persuaded  to  keep 
up  the  appearance  of  remaining  in  it?"  asked 
Mr.  Boffin,  retiring  on  his  other  idea.  "  Could 
you  be  got  to  do  so  till  the  Mounds  are  gone?" 

No.  That  would  protract  the  mental  uneasi- 
ness of  Mr.  Venus  too  long,  he  said. 

"Not  if  I  was  to  show  you  reason  now?"  de- 
manded Mr.  Boffin  ;  "not  if  I  was  to  show  you 
good  and  sufficient  reason  ?" 

If  by  good  and  sufficient  reason  Mr.  Boffin 
meant  honest  and  unimpeachable  reason,  that 
might  weigh  with  Mr.  Venus  against  his  person- 
al wishes  and  convenience.  But  he  must  add 
that  he  saw.  no  opening  to  the  possibility  of  such 
reason  being  shown  him. 

"  Come  and  see  me,  Venus,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
"at  my  house." 

"Is  the  reason  there,  Sir  ?"  asked  Mr.  Venus, 
with  an  incredulous  smile  and  blink. 

"It  may  be,  or  may  not  be,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
"just  as  you  view  it.  But  in  the  mean  time 
don't  go  out  of  the  matter.  Look  here.  Do 
this.  Give  me  your  word  that  you  won't  take 
any  steps  with  Wegg  without  my  knowledge,  just 
as  I  have  given  you  my  word  that  I  won't  with- 
out yours." 

"'Done,  Mr.  Boffin  !"  said  Venus,  after  brief 
consideration. 

"  Thank'ee,  Venus,  thank'ee,  Venus !   Done !" 

"When  shall  I  come  to  see  you,  Mr.  Bof- 
fin?" 

"  When  you  like.  The  sooner  the  better.  I 
must  be  going  now.     Good-night,  Venus." 

"Good-night,  Sir." 

"And  good-night  to  the  rest  of  the  present 
company,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  glancing  round  the 
shop.  "They  make  a  queer  show,  Venus,  and 
I  should  like  to  be  better  acquainted  with  them 
some  day.  Good-night,  Venus,  good-night ! 
Thank'ee,  Venus,  thank'ee,  Venus  !"  With  that 
he  jogged  out  into  the  street,  and  jogged  upon 
his  homeward  way. 

"Now  I  wonder,"  he  meditated  as  he  went 


25G 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


along,  nursing  his  stick,  "  whether  it  can  be  that 
Venus  is  setting  himself  to  get  the  better  of 
Wegg  ?  Whether  it  can  be  that  he  means,  when 
I  have  bought  Wegg  out,  to  have  me  all  to  him- 
self, and  to  pick  me  clean  to  the  bones!" 

It  was  a  cunning  and  suspicious  idea,  quite  in 
the  way  of  his  school  of  Misers,  and  he  looked 
very  cunning  and  suspicious  as  he  went  jogging 
through  the  streets.  More  than  once  or  twice, 
more  than  twice  or  thrice,  say  half  a  dozen  times, 
he  took  his  stick  from  the  arm  on  which  he  nursed 
it,  and  hit  a  straight  sharp  rap  at  the  air  with 
its  head.  Possibly  the  wooden  countenance  of 
Mr.  Silas  Wegg  was  incorporeally  before  him  at 
those  moments,  for  he  hit  with  intense  satisfac- 
tion. 

He  was  within  a  few  streets  of  his  own  house 
when  a  little  private  carriage,  coming  in  the 
contrary  direction,  passed  him,  turned  round, 
and  passed  him  again.  It  was  a  little  carriage 
of  eccentric  movement,  for  again  he  heard  it 
stop  behind  him  and  turn  round,  and  again  he 
saw  it  pass  him.  Then  it  stopped,  and  then 
went  on  out  of  sight.  But  not  far  out  of  sight ; 
for  when  he  came  to  the  corner  of  his  own  street 
there  it  stood  again. 

There  was  a  lady's  face  at  the  window  as  he 
came  up  with  this  carriage,  and  he  was  passing 
it  when  the  lady  softly  called  to  him  by  his 
name. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Ma'am?"  said  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, coming  to  a  stop. 

"It  is  Mrs.  Lammle,"  said  the  lady. 

Mr.  Boffin  went  up  to  the  window,  and  hoped 
Mrs.  Lammle  was  well. 

"Not  very  well,  dear  Mr.  Boffin  ;  I  have  flut- 
tered myself  by  being — perhaps  foolishly — un- 
easy and  anxious.  I  have  been  waiting  for  you 
sometime.     Can  I  speak  to  you?" 

Mr.  Boffin  proposed  that  Mrs.  Lammle  should 
drive  on  to  his  house,  a  few  hundred  yards  fur- 
ther. 

"I  would  rather  not,  Mr.  Boffin,  unless  you 
particularly  wish  it.  I  feel  the  difficulty  and 
delicacy  of  the  matter  so  much  that  I  would 
rather  avoid  speaking  to  you  at  your  own  home. 
You  must  think  this  very  strange?" 

Mr.  Boffin  said  no,  but  meant  yes. 

"It  is  because  I  am  so  grateful  for  the  good 
opinion  of  all  my  friends,  and  am  so  touched  by 
it,  that  I  can  not  bear  to  run  the  risk  of  forfeit- 
ing it  in  any  case,  even  in  the  cause  of  duty.  I 
have  asked  my  husband  (my  dear  Alfred,  Mr. 
Boffin)  whether  it  is  the  cause  of  duty,  and  he 
has  most  emphatically  said  Yes.  I  wish  I  had 
asked  him  sooner.  It  would  have  spared  me 
much  distress." 

("  Can  this  be  more  dropping  down  upon  me !" 
thought  Mr.  Boffin,  quite  bewildered.) 

"It  was  Alfred  who  sent  me  to  you,  Mr.  Bof- 
fin. Alfred  said,  '  Don't  come  back,  Sophronia, 
until  you  have  seen  Mr.  Boffin,  and  told  him  all. 
Whatever  he  may  think  of  it,  he  ought  certainly 
to  know  it.'  Would  you  mind  coming  into  the 
carriage  ?" 

Mr.  Boffin  answered,  "Not  at  all,"  and  took 
his  seat  at  Mrs.  Lammle's  side. 

"Drive  slowly  any  where,"  Mrs.  Lammle  call- 
ed to  her  coachman,  "  and  don't  let  the  carriage 
rattle." 

"It  must  be  more  dropping  down,  I  think," 
said  Mr.  Boffin  to  himself.     "  What  next  ?" 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE   GOLDEN   DUSTMAN  AT   HIS   WORST. 

The  breakfast-table  at  Mr.  Boffin's  was  usu- 
ally a  very  pleasant  one,  and  was  always  pre- 
sided over  by  Bella.  As  though  he  began  each 
new  day  in  his  healthy  natural  character,  and 
some  waking  hours  were  necessary  to  his  relapse 
into  the  corrupting  influences  of  his  wealth,  the 
face  and  the  demeanor  of  the  Golden  Dustman 
were  generally  unclouded  at  that  meal.  It  would 
have  been  easy  to  believe  then  that  there  was  no 
change  in  him.  It  was  as  the  day  went  on  that 
the  clouds  gathered,  and  the  brightness  of  the 
morning  became  obscured.  One  might  have  said 
that  the. shadows  of  avarice  and  distrust  length- 
ened as  his  own  shadow  lengthened,  and  that 
the  night  closed  around  him  gradually. 

But  one  morning,  long  afterward  to  be  re- 
membered, it  was  black  midnight  with  the 
Golden  Dustman  when  he  first  appeared.  His 
altered  character  had  never  been  so  grossly 
marked.  His  bearing  toward  his  Secretary  was 
so  charged  with  insolent  distrust  and  arrogance, 
that  the  latter  rose  and  left  the  table  before 
breakfast  was  half  done.  The  look  he  directed 
at  the  Secretary's  retiring  figure  was  so  cunning- 
ly malignant^that  Bella  would  have  sat  astound- 
ed and  indignant,  even  though  he  had  not  gone 
the  length  of  secretly  threatening  Rokesmith 
with  his  clenched  fist  as  he  closed  the  door. 
This  unlucky  morning,  of  all  mornings  in  the 
year,  was  the  morning  next  after  Mr.  Boffin's 
interview  with  Mrs.  Lammle  in  her  little  car- 
riage. 

Bella  looked  to  Mrs.  Boffin's  face  for  com- 
ment on,  or  explanation  of,  this  stormy  humor 
in  her  husband,  but  none  was  there.  An  anx- 
ious and  a  distressed  observation  of  her  own 
face  was  all  she  could  read  in  it.  When  they 
were  left  alone  together — which  was  not  until 
noon,  for  Mr.  Boffin  sat  long  in  his  easy-chair, 
by  turns  jogging  up'  and  down  the  breakfast- 
room,  clenching  his  fist  and  muttering — Bella, 
in  consternation,  asked  her  what  had  happened, 
what  was  wrong  ?  "I  am  forbidden  to  speak  to 
you  about  it,  Bella  dear;  I  mustn't  tell  you," 
was  all  the  answer  she  could  get.  And  still, 
whenever,  in  her  wonder  and  dismay,  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  Mrs.  Boffin's  face,  she  saw  in  it  the 
same  anxious  and  distressed  observation  of  her 
own. 

Oppressed  by  her  sense  that  trouble  was  im- 
pending, and  lost  in  speculations  why  Mrs. 
Boffin  should  look  at  her  as  if  she  had  any  part 
in  it,  Bella  found  the  day  long  and  dreary.  It 
was  far  on  in  the  afternoon  when,  she  being 
in  her  own  room,  a  servant  brought  her  a  mes- 
sage from  Mr.  Boffin  begging  her  to  come  to 
his. 

Mrs.  Boffin  was  there,  seated  on  a  sofa,  and 
Mr.  Boffin  was  jogging  up  and  down.  On  see- 
ing Bella  he  stopped,  beckoned  her  to  him,  and 
drew  her  arm  through  his.  "  Don't  be  alarmed, 
my  dear,"  he  said,  gently;  "I  am  not  angry 
with  you.  Why  you  actually  tremble!  Don'r 
be  alarmed,  Bella,  my  dear.   I'll  see  you  righted." 

"  See  me  righted  ?"  thought  Bella.  And  then 
repeated  aloud  in  a  tone  of  astonishment :  "Sec 
me  righted,  Sir  ?" 

"  Ay,  ay !"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "  See  you  right- 
ed.    Send  Mr.  Rokesmith  here,  you  Sir." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Bella  would  have  been  lost  in  perplexity  if 
there  had  been  pause  enough ;  but  the  servant 
found  Mr.  Rokesmith  near  at  hand,  and  he  al- 
most immediately  presented  himself. 

"Shut  the  door,  Sir!"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "I 
have  got  something  to  say  to  you  which  I  fancy 
you'll  not  be  pleased  to  hear." 

"I  am  sorry  to  reply,  Mr.  Boffin,"  returned 
the  Secretary,  as,  having  closed  the  door,  he 
turned  and  faced  him,  "that  I  think  that  very 
likely." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  blustered  Mr.  Boffin. 

"I  mean  that  it  has  become  no  novelty  to  me 
to  hear  from  your  lips  what  I  would  rather  not 
hear." 

"Oh!  Perhaps  we  shall  change  that,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin  with  a  threatening  roll  of  his  head. 

"I  hope  so,"  returned  the  Secretary.  He 
was  quiet  and  respectful;  but  stood,  as  Bella 
thought  (and  was  glad  to  think),  on  his  man- 
hood too. 

"Now,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "look  at  this 
young  lady  on  my  arm." 

Bella  involuntarily  raising  her  eyes,  when  this 
sudden  reference  was  made  to  herself,  met  those 
of  Mr.  Rokesmith.  He  was  pale  and  seemed 
agitated.  Then  her  eyes  passed  on  to  Mrs. 
Boffin's,  and  she  met  the  look  again.  In  a  flash 
it  enlightened  her,  and  she  began  to  understand 
what  she  had  done. 

"I  say  to  you,  Sir,"  Mr.  Boffin  repeated, 
"look  at  this  young  lady  on  my  arm." 

"I  do  so,"  returned  the  Secretary. 

As  his  glance  rested  again  on  Bella  for-  a  mo- 
ment, she  thought  there  was  reproach  in  it.  But 
it  is  possible  that  the  reproach  was  within  her- 
self. 

"How  dare  you,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "tam- 
per, unknown  to  me,  with  this  young  lady  ?  How 
dare  you  come  out  of  your  station,  and  your  place 
in  my  house,  to  pester  this  young  lady  with  your 
impudent  addresses?" 

"I  must  decline  to  answer  questions,"  said 
the  Secretary,  "that  are  so  offensively  asked." 

"You  decline  to  answer?"  retorted  Mr.  Bof- 
fin. "You  decline  to  answer,  do  you?  Then 
I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Rokesmith ;  I'll  answer 
for  you.  There  are  two  sides  to  this  matter, 
and  I'll  take  'em  separately.  The  first  side  is, 
sheer  Insolence.     That's  the  first  side." 

The  Secretary  smiled  with  some  bitterness,  as 
though  he  would  have  said,  "  So  I  see  and  hear." 

"It  was  sheer  Insolence  in  you,  I  tell  you," 
said  Mr.  Boffin,  "even  to  think  of  this  young 
lady.  This  young  lady  was  far  above  you.  This 
young  lady  was  no  match  for  you.  This  young 
lady  was  lying  in  wait  (as  she  was  qualified  to 
do)  for  money,  and  you  had  no  money." 

Bella  hung  her  head  and  seemed  to  shrink  a 
little  from  Mr.  Boffin's  protecting  arm. 

"  What  are  you,  I  should  like  to  know,"  pur- 
sued Mr.  Boffin,  "that  you  were  to  have  the 
audacity  to  follow  up  this  young  lady?  This 
young  lady  was  looking  about  the  market  for  a 
good  bid ;  she  wasn't  in  it  to  be  snapped  up  by 
fellows  that  had  no  money  to  lay  out ;  nothing 
to  buy  with." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Boffin !  Mrs.  Boffin,  pray  say  some- 
thing for  me!"  murmured  Bella,  disengaging 
her  arm,  and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"Old  lady,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  anticipating  his 
wife,  "you  hold  your  tongue.     Bella,  my  dear, 


257 

right 


don't  you  let  yourself  be  put  out.     I' 
you." 

"But  you  don't,  you  don't  right  me!"  ex- 
claimed Bella,  with  great  emphasis.  "You 
wrong  me,  wrong  me  !" 

"Don't  you  be  put  out,  my  dear,"  compla- 
cently retorted  Mr.  Boffin.  "I'll  bring  this 
young  man  to  book.  Now,  you  Rokesmith! 
You  can't  decline  to  hear,  you  know,  as  well  as 
to  answer.  You  hear  me  tell  you  that  the  first 
side  of  your  conduct  was  Insolence — Insolence 
and  Presumption.  Answer  me  one  thing,  if 
you. can.  Didn't  this  young  lady  tell  you  so 
herself?" 

"Did  I,  Mr.  Rokesmith?"  asked  Bella,  with, 
her  face  still  covered.  "Oh  sav,  Mr.  Roke- 
smith! Did  I?" 

"Don't  be  distressed,  Miss  Wilfer ;  it  matters 
very  little  now." 

"  Ah !  You  can't  deny  it,  though  !"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  with  a  knowing  shake  of  his  head. 

"But  I  have  asked  him  to  forgive  me  since," 
cried  Bella;  "and  I  would  ask  him  to  forgive 
me  now  again,  upon  my  knees,  if  it  would  spare 
him!" 

Here  Mrs.  Boffin  broke  out  a-crying. 

"Old  lady, " said  Mr.  Boffin,  " stop  that  noise ! 
Tender-hearted  in  you,  Miss  Bella;  but  I  mean 
to  have  it  out  right  through  with  this  young  man, 
having  got  him  into  a  corner.  Now,  you  Roke- 
smith. I  tell  you  that's  one  side  of  your  con- 
duct— Insolence  and  Presumption.  Now  I'm 
a-coming  to  the  other,  which  is  much  worse. 
This  was  a  speculation  of  yours." 

"I  indignantly  deny  it." 

"It's  of  no  use  your  denying  it;  it  doesn't 
signify  a  bit  whether  you  deny  it  or  not ;  I've 
got  a  head  upon  my  shoulders,  and  it  ain't  a 
baby's.  What !"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  gathering  him- 
self together  in  his  most  suspicious  attitude,  and 
wrinkling  his  face  into  a  very  map  of  curves  and 
corners.  "  Don't  I  know  what  grabs  are  made 
at  a  man  with  money  ?  If  I  didn't  keep  my  eyes 
open  and  my  pockets  buttoned,  shouldn't  I  be 
brought  to  the  work-house  before  I  knew  where 
I  was  ?  Wasn't  the  experience  of  Dancer,  and 
Elwes,  and  Hopkins,  and  Blewbury  Jones,  and 
ever  so  many  more  of  'em,  similar  to  mine? 
Didn't  every  body  want  to  make  gi-abs  at  what 
they'd  got,  and  bring  'em  to  poverty  and  ruin  ? 
Weren't  they  forced  to  hide  every  thing  belong- 
ing to  'em,  for  fear  it  should  be  snatched  from 
'em  ?  Of  course  they  was.  I  shall  be  told  next 
that  they  didn't  know  human  natur!" 

"They!  Poor  creatures,"  murmured  the  Sec- 
retary. 

"What  do  you  say?"  asked  Mr.  Boffin,  snap- 
ping at  him.  "  However,  you  needn't  be  at  the 
trouble  of  repeating  it,  for  it  ain't  worth  hear- 
ing, and  won't  go  down  with  me.  I'm  a-going 
to  unfold  your  plan  before  this  young  lady ;  I'm 
a-going  to  show  this  young  lady  the  second  view 
of  you ;  and  nothing  you  can  say  will  stave  if 
off.  (Now,  attend  here,  Bella,  my  dear.)  Roke 
smith,  yon're  a  needy  chap.  You're  a  chap 
that  I  pick  up  in  the  street.  Are  you,  or  ain't 
you  ?" 

"  Go  on,  Mr.  Boffin  ;  don't  appeal  to  me." 

"Not  appeal  to  yozt,"  retorted  Mr.  Boffin,  a? 
if  he  hadn't  done  so.  "  No,  I  should  hope  not ! 
Appealing  to  you  would  be  rather  a  rum  course. 
As  I  was  snying,  you're  a  needy  chap  that  I  pick 


258 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


r4% 


up  in  the  street.  You  come  and  ask  me  in  the 
street  to  take  you  for  a  Secretary,  and  I  take 
you.     Very  good." 

"Very  bad,"  murmured  the  Secretary. 

"What  do  you  say?"  asked  Mr.  Boffin,  snap- 
ping at  him  again. 

He  returned  no  answer.  Mr.  Boffin,  after 
eying  him  with  a  comical  look  of  discomfited 
curiosity,  was  fain  to  begin  afresh. 

"This  Rokesmith  is  a  needy  young  man  that 
I  take  for  my  Secretary  out  of  the  open  street. 
This  Rokesmith  gets  acquainted  with  my  affairs, 
and  gets  to  know  that  I  mean  to  settle  a  sum 
of  money  on  this  young  lady.  '  Oho !'  says  this 
Rokesmith  ;"  here  Mr.  Boffin  clapped  a  finger 
against  his  nose,  and  tapped  it  several  times 
with  a  sneaking  air,  as  embodying  Rokesmith 


confidentially  confabulating  with  his  own  nose ; 

,  "  '  This  will  be  a  good  haul ;  I'll  go  in  for  this !' 
And  so  this  Rokesmith,  greedy  and  hungering, 

!  begins  a-creeping  on  his  hands  and  knees  to- 

j  ward  the  money.      Not  so  bad  a  speculation 
either :  for  if  this  young  lady  had  had  less  spir- 

I  it,  or  had  had  less  sense,  through  being  at  all 
in  the  romantic  line,  by  George  he  might  have 
worked  it  out  and  made  it  pay  !  But  fortunate- 
ly she  was  too  many  for  him,  and  a  pretty  figure 
he  cuts  now  he  is  exposed.  There  he  stands !" 
said  Mr.  Boffin,  addressing  Rokesmith  himself 
with  ridiculous  inconsistency.  "Look  at  him  !'' 
"Your  unfortunate  suspicions,  Mr.  Boffin — " 
began  the  Secretary. 

"Precious  unfortunate  for  you,  I  can  tell  you," 
said  Mr.  Boffin. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


259 


' '  — are  not  to  be  combated  by  any  one,  and 
I  address  myself  to  no  such  hopeless  task.  But 
I  will  say  a  word  upon  the  truth." 

"Yah!  Much  you  care  about  the  truth," 
said  Mr.  Boffin,  with  a  snap  of  his  fingers. 

"Noddy!  My  dear  love!"  expostulated  his 
wife. 

"Old  lady,"  returned  Mr.  Boffin,  "you  keep 
still.  I  say  to  this  Rokesmith  here,  much  he 
cares  about  the  truth.  I  tell  him  again,  much 
he  cares  about  the  truth." 

"Our  connection  being  at  an  end,  Mr.  Bof- 
fin," said  the  Secretaiy,  "it  can  be  of  very  little 
moment  to  me  what  you  say." 

"Oh!  You  are  knowing  enough,"  retorted 
Mr.  Boffin,  with  a  sly  look,  "to  have  found  out 
that  our  connection's  at  an  end,  eh  ?  But  you 
can't  get  beforehand  with  me.  Look  at  this  in 
my  hand.  This  is  your  pay,  on  your  discharge. 
You  can  only  follow  suit.  You  can't  deprive 
me  of  the  lead.  Let's  have  no  pretending  that 
you  discharge  yourself.     I  discharge  you." 

"  So  that  I  go,"  remarked  the  Secretary,  wav- 
ing the  point  aside  with  his  hand,  "  it  is  all  one 
to  me." 

"Is  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "But  it's  two  to 
me,  let  me  tell  you.  Allowing  a  fellow  that's 
found  out,  to  discharge  himself,  is  one  thing; 
discharging  him  for  insolence  and  presumption, 
and  likewise  for  designs  upon  his  master's  mon- 
ey, is  another.  One  and  one's  two;  not  one. 
(Old  lady,  don't  you  cut  in.     You  keep  still.)" 

"Have  you  said  all  you  wish  to  say  to  me?" 
demanded  the  Secretary. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  have  or  not,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Boffin.     "  It  depends." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  consider  whether  there  are 
any  other  strong  expressions  that  you  would  like 
to  bestow  upon  me?" 

"I'll  consider  that,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  obsti- 
nately, "at  my  convenience,  and  not  at  yours. 
You  want  the  last  word.  It  may  not  be  suitable 
to  let  you  have  it." 

"  Noddy !  My  dear,  dear  Noddy !  You  sound 
so  hard !"  cried  poor  Mrs.  Boffin,  not  to  be  quite 
repressed. 

"Old  lady,"  said  her  husband,  but  without 
harshness,  "  if  you  cut  in  when  requested  not,  I'll 
get  a  pillow  and  carry  you  out  of  the  room  upon 
it.    What  do  you  want  to  say,  you  Rokesmith?" 

"To  you,  Mr.  Boffin,  nothing.  But  to  Miss 
Wilfer  and  to  your  good  kind  wife,  a  word." 

"  Out  with  it  then,"  replied  Mr.  Boffin,  "and 
cut  it  short,  for  we've  had  enough  of  you." 

"I  have  borne,"  said  the  Secretary,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  with  my  false  position  here,  that  I  might 
not  be  separated  from  Miss  Wilfer.  To  be  near 
her  has  been  a  recompense  to  me  from  day  to 
day,  even  for  the  undeserved  treatment  I  have 
had  here,  and  for  the  degraded  aspect  in  which 
she  has  often  seen  me.  Since  Miss  Wilfer  re- 
jected me  I  have  never  again  urged  my  suit,  to 
the  best  of  my  belief,  with  a  spoken  syllable  or  a 
look.  But  I  have  never  changed  in  my  devo- 
tion to  her,  except — if  she  will  forgive  my  say- 
ing so — that  it  is  deeper  than  it  was,  and  better 
founded." 

"Now,  mark  this  chap's  saying  Miss  Wilfer, 
when  he  means  £  s.  d.  /"  cried  Mr.  Boffin,  with 
a  cunning  wink.  "  Now,  mark  this  chap's  mak- 
ing Miss  Wilfer  stand  for  Pounds,  Shillings,  and 
Pence !" 


"My  feeling  for  Miss  Wilfer,"  pursued  the 
Secretary,  without  deigning  to  notice  him,  "  is 
not  one  to  be  ashamed  of.  I  avow  it.  I  love 
her.  Let  me  go  where  I  may  when  I  presently 
leave  this  house,  I  shall  go  into  a  blank  life, 
leaving  her." 

"Leaving  £  s.  d.  behind  me," said  Mr.  Boffin, 
by  way  of  commentary,  with  another  wink. 

"That  I  am  incapable,"  the  Secretary  went 
on,  still  without  heeding  him,  "  of  a  mercenary 
project,  or  a  mercenary  thought  in  connection 
with  Miss  Wilfer,  is  nothing  meritorious  in  me, 
because  any  prize  that  I  could  put  before  my 
fancy  would  sink  into  insignificance  beside  her. 
If  the  greatest  wealth  or  the  highest  rank  were 
hers,  it  would  only  be  important  in  my  sight  as 
removing  her  still  farther  from  me,  and  making 
me  more  hopeless,  if  that  could  be.  Say,"  re- 
marked the  Secretary,  looking  full  at  his  late 
master,  "say  that  with  a  word  she  could  strip 
Mr.  Boffin  of  his  fortune  and  take  possession  of 
it,  she  would  be  of  no  greater  worth  in  my  eyes 
than  she  is." 

"  What  do  you  think  by  this  time,  old  lady," 
asked  Mr.  Boffin,  turning  to  his  wife  in  a  ban- 
tering tone,  "about  this  Rokesmith  here,  and 
his  caring  for  the  truth  ?  You  needn't  say  what 
you  think,  my  dear,  because  I  don't  want  you 
to  cut  in,  but  you  can  think  it  all  the  same. 
As  to  taking  possession  of  my  property,  I  war- 
rant you  he  wouldn't  do  that  himself  if  he 
could." 

"No,"  returned  the  Secretary,  with  another 
full  look. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !"  laughed  Mr.  Boffin.  "  There's 
nothing  like  a  good  'un  while  you  are  about  it." 

"  I  have  been  for  a  moment,"  said  the  Secre- 
tary, turning  from  him  and  falling  into  his  for- 
mer manner,  "diverted  from  the  little  I  have 
to  say.  My  interest  in  Miss  Wilfer  began  when 
I  first  saw  her ;  even  began  when  I  had  only 
heard  of  her.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  cause  of  my 
throwing  myself  in  Mr.  Boffin's  way,  and  enter- 
ing his  service.  Miss  Wilfer  has  never  known 
this  until  now.  I  mention  it  now,  only  as  a  cor- 
roboration (though  I  hope  it  may  be  needless) 
of  my  being  free  from  the  sordid  design  attrib- 
uted to  me." 

"Now,  this  is  a  very  artful  dog,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  with  a  deep  look.  "This  is  a  longer- 
headed  schemer  than  I  thought  him.  See  how 
patiently  and  methodically  he  goes  to  work.  He 
gets  to  know  about  me  and  my  property,  and 
about  this  young  lady,  and  her  share  in  poor 
young  John's  story,  and  he  puts  this  and  that 
together,  and  he  says  to  himself,  '  I'll  get  in  with 
Boffin,  and  I'll  get  in  with  this  young  lady,  and 
I'll  work  'em  both  at  the  same  time,  and  I'll 
bring  my  pigs  to  market  somewhere.'  I  hear 
him  say  it,  bless  you  !  Why,  I  look  at  him  now. 
and  I  see  him  say  it!" 

Mr.  Boffin  pointed  at  the  culprit,  as  it  were  in 
the  act,  and  hugged  himself  in  his  great  pene- 
tration. 

"But  luckily  he  hadn't  to  deal  with  the  peo- 
ple he  supposed,  Bella  my  dear !"  said  Mr.  Bof- 
fin. "  No  !  Luckily  he  had  to  deal  with  you, 
and  with  me,  and  with  Daniel  and  Miss  Dancer, 
and  with  Elwes,  and  with  A^ulture  Hopkins,  and 
with  Blewbury  Jones  and  all  the  rest  of  us,  one 
down  t'other  come  on.  And  he's  beat,  that's 
what  he  is ;    regularly  beat.      He  thought  to 


260 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


squeeze  money  out  of  us,  and  he  has  done  for 
himself  instead,  Bella  my  dear  !" 

Bella  my  dear  made  no  response,  gave  no  sign 
of  acquiescence.  When  she  had  first  covered  her 
face  she  had  sunk  upon  a  chair  with  her  hands 
resting  on  the  back  of  it,  and  had  never  moved 
since.  There  was  a  shoi't  silence  at  this  point, 
and  Mrs.  Boffin  softly  rose  as  if  to  go  to  her. 
But  Mr.  Boffin  stopped  her  with  a  gesture,  and 
she  obediently  sat  down  again  and  staid  where 
she  was. 

"There's  your  pay,  Mister  Rokesmith,"  said 
the  Golden  Dustman,  jerking  the  folded  scrap 
of  paper  he  had  in  his  hand  toward  his  late 
Secretary.  "I  dare  say  you  can  stoop  to  pick 
it  up,  after  what  you  have  stooped  to  here." 

"I  have  stooped  to  nothing  but  this,"  Roke- 
smith answered,  as  he  took  it  from  the  ground  ; 
"and  this  is  mine,  for  I  have  earned  it  by  the 
hardest  of  hard  labor." 

"You're  a  pretty  quick  packer,  I  hope,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin  ;  "  because  the  sooner  you  are  gone, 
bag  and  baggage,  the  better  for  all  parties."  ■ 

"You  need  have  no  fear  of  my  lingering." 

"There's  just  one  thing  though,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  "that  I  should  like  to  ask  you  before  we 
come  to  a  good  riddance,  if  it  was  only  to  show 
this  young  lady  how  conceited  you  schemers  are, 
in  thinking  that  nobody  finds  out  how  you  con- 
tradict yourselves." 

"Ask  me  any  thing  you  wish  to  ask,"  re- 
turned Rokesmith,  "but  use  the  expedition  that 
you  recommend." 

"You  pretend  to  have  a  mighty  admiration 
for  this  young  lady?"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  laying 
his  hand  protectingly  on  Bella's  head  without 
looking  down  at  heY. 

"  I  do  not  pretend." 

"  Oh !  Well.  You  have  a  mighty  admiration 
for  this  young  lady — since  you  are  so  particu- 
lar?" 

"Yes." 

"How  do  you  reconcile  that  with  this  young 
lady's  being  a  weak-spirited,  improvident  idiot, 
not  knowing  what  was  due  to  herself,  flinging 
up  her  money  to  the  church  weather-cocks,  and 
racing  off  at  a  splitting  pace  for  the  work- 
house ?" 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

"Don't  yau?  Or  won't  ,you?  What  else 
could  you  have  made  this  young  lady  out  to  be, 
if  she  had  listened  to  such  addresses  as  yours?" 

"  What  else,  if  I  had  been  so  happy  as  to  win 
her  affections  and  possess  her  heart?" 

"Win  her  affections,"  retorted  Mr.  Boffin, 
with  ineffable  contempt,  "  and  possess  her  heart ! 
Mew  says  the  cat,  Quack-quack  says  the  duck, 
Bow-wow-wow  says  the  dog !  Win  her  affec- 
tions and  possess  her  heart !  Mew,  Quack- 
quack,  Bow-wow!" 

John  Rokesmith  stared  at  him  in  his  outburst, 
as  if  with  some  faint  idea  that  he  had  gone  mad. 

"What  is  due  to  this  young  lady,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  "  is  Money,  and  this  young  lady  right 
well  knows  it." 

"You  slander  the  young  lady." 

"  You  slander  the  young  lady ;  you  with  your 
affections  and  hearts  and  trumpery,"  returned 
Mr.  Boffin.  "It's  of  a  piece  with  the  rest  of 
your  behavior.  I  heard  of  these  doings  of  yours 
only  last  night,  or  you  should  have  heard  of  'em 
from  me  sooner,  take  your  oath  of  it.     I  heard 


of  'em  from  a  lady  with  as  good  a  head-piece  as 
the  best,  and  she  knows  this  young  lady,  and  I 
know  this  young  lady,  and  we  all  three  know 
that  it's  Money  she  makes  a  stand  for — money, 
money,  money — and  that  you  and  your  affec- 
tions and  hearts  are  a  Lie,  Sir!" 

"Mrs. Boffin,"  said  Rokesmith,  quietly  fum- 
ing to  her,  "for  your  delicate  and  unvarying 
kindness  I  thank  you  with  the  warmest  grati- 
tude.    Good-by !     Miss  Wilfer,  good-by !" 

_  "  And  now,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  laying 
his  hand  on  Bella's  head  again,  "you  may  be- 
gin to  make  yourself  quite  comfortable,  and  I 
hope  you  feel  that  you've  been  righted." 

But  Bella  was  so  far  from  appearing  to  feel 
it  that  she  shrank  from  his  hand  and  from  the 
chair,  and,  starting  up  in  an  incoherent  passion 
of  tears,  and  stretching  out  her  arms,  cried,  "  O 
Mr.  Rokesmith,  before  you  go,  if  you  could  but 
make  me  poor  again !  O  !  make  me  poor  again, 
Somebody,  I  beg  and  pray,  or  my  heart  will 
break  if  this  goes  on  !  Pa,  dear,  make  me  poor 
again  and  take  me  home !  I  was  bad  enough 
there,  but  I  have  been  so  much  worse  here. 
Don't  give  me  money,  Mr.  Boffin,  I  won't  have 
money.  Keep  it  away  from  me,  and  only  let 
me  speak  to  good  little  Pa,  and  lay  my  head 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  tell  him  all  my  griefs. 
Nobody  else  can  understand  me,  nobody  else 
can  comfort  me,  nobody  else  knows  how  un- 
worthy I  am,  and  yet  can  love  me  like  a  little 
child.  I  am  better  with  Pa  than  any  one — 
moi-e  innocent,  more  sorry,  more  glad!"  So, 
crying  out  in  a  wild  way  that  she  could  not  bear 
this,  Bella  drooped  her  head  on  Mrs.  Boffin's 
ready  breast. 

John  Rokesmith  from  his  place  in  the  room, 
and  Mr.  Boffin  from  his,  looked  on  at  her  in 
silence  until  she  was  silent  herself.  Then  Mr. 
Boffin  observed,  in  a  soothing  and  comfortable 
tone,  "  There,  my  dear,  there ;  you  are  righted 
now,  and  it's  all  right.  I  don't  wonder,  I'm 
sure,  at  your  being  a  little  flurried  by  having  a 
scene  with  this  fellow,  but  it's  all  over,  my  dear, 
and  you're  righted,  and  it's — and  it's  all  right !" 
Which  Mr.  Boffin  repeated  with  a  highly  satis- 
fied air  of  completeness  and  finality. 

"I  hate  you!"  cried  Bella,  turning  suddenly 
upon  him,  with  a  stamp  of  her  little  foot — "  at 
least,  I  can't  hate  you,  but  I  don't  like  you  !" 

"  Hul-lo  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Boffin,  in  an 
amazed  under-tone. 

"You're  a  scolding,  unjust,  abusive,  aggra- 
vating, bad  old  creature  !"  cried  Bella.  "  I  am 
angry  with  my  ungi'ateful  self  for  calling  you 
names;  but  you  are,  you  are;  you  know  you 
are!" 

Mr.  Boffin  stared  here,  and  stared  there,  as 
misdoubting  that  he  must  be  in  some  sort  of 
fit. 

"I  have  heard  you  with  shame,"  said  Bella. 
"With  shame  for  myself,  and  with  shame  for 
you.  You  ought  to  be  above  the  base  tale-bear- 
ing of  a  time-serving  woman  ;  but  you  are  above 
nothing  now." 

Mr.  Boffin,  seeming  to  become  convinced  that 
this  was  a  fit,  rolled  his  eyes  and  loosened  his 
neckcloth. 

"  When  I  came  here  I  respected  you  and  hon- 
ored you,  and  I  soon  loved  you,"  cried  Bella. 
"And  now  I  can't  bear  the  sight  of  you.  At 
least,  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  go  so  far  as 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


261 


that — only  you're  a — you're  a  Monster !"  Hav- 
ing shot  this  bolt  out  with  a  great  expenditure 
of  force,  Bella  hysterically  laughed  and  cried  to- 
gether. 

"The  best  wish  I  can  wish  you  is," said  Bella, 
returning  to  the  charge,  "that  you  had  not  one 
single  farthing  in  the  world.  If  any  true  friend 
and  well-wisher  could  make  you  a  bankrupt  you 
would  be  a  Duck ;  but  as  a  man  of  property  you 
are  a  Demon!" 

After  dispatching  this  second  bolt  with  a  still 
greater  expenditure  of  force,  Bella  laughed  and 
cried  still  more. 

"Mr.  Rokesmith,  pray  stay  one  moment. 
Pray  hear  one  word  from  me  before  you  go !  I 
am  deeply  sorry  for  the  reproaches  you  have 
borne  on  my  account.  Out  of  the  depths  of  my 
heart  I  earnestly  and  truly  beg  your  pardon." 

As  she  stepped  toward  him,  he  met  her.  As 
she  gave  him  her  hand,  he  put  it  to  his  lips,  and 
said,  "God  bless  you!"  No  laughing  was 
mixed  with  Bella's  crying  then  ;  her  tears  were 
pure  and  fervent. 

"There  is  not  an  ungenerous  word  that  I 
have  heard  addressed  to  you — heard  with  scorn 
and  indignation,  Mr.  Rokesmith  —  but  it  has 
wounded  me  far  more  than  you,  for  I  have  de- 
served it,  and  you  never  have.  Mr.  Rokesmith, 
it  is  to  me  you  owe  this  perverted  account  of 
what  passed  between  us  that  night.  I  parted 
with  the  secret,  even  while  I  was  angry  with 
myself  for  doing  so.  It  was  very  bad  in  me,  but 
indeed  it  was  not  wicked.  I  did  it  in  a  moment 
of  conceit  and  folly — one  of  my  many  such  mo- 
ments—  one  of  my  many  such  hours  —  years. 
As  I  am  punished  for  it  severely,  try  to  forgive 
it!" 

"  I  do  with  all  my  soul." 

"Thank  you.  O  thank  you!  Don't  part 
from  me  till  I  have  said  one  other  word,  to  do 
you  justice.  The  only  fault  you  can  be  truly 
charged  with,  in  having  spoken  to  me  as  you  did 
that  night — with  how  much  delicacy  and  how 
much  forbearance  no  one  but  I  can  know  or  be 
grateful  to  you  for — is,  that  you  laid  yourself 
open  to  be  slighted  by  a  worldly  shallow  girl 
whose  head  was  turned,  and  who  was  quite  una- 
ble to  rise  to  the  worth  of  what  you  offered  her. 
Mr.  Rokesmith,  that  girl  has  often  seen  herself 
in  a  pitiful  and  poor  light  since,  but  never  in  so 
pitiful  and  poor  a  light  as  now,  when  the  mean 
tone  in  which  she  answered  you — sordid  and 
vain  girl  that  she  was— has  been  echoed  in  her 
ears  by  Mr.  Boffin." 

He  kissed  her  hand  again. 

"  Mr.  Boffin's  speeches  were  detestable  to  me, 
shocking  to  me,"  said  Bella,  startling  that  gen- 
tleman with  another  stamp  of  her  little  foot. 
"It  is  quite  true  that  there  was  a  time,  and  very 
lately,  when  I  deserved  to  be  so  '  righted,'  Mr. 
Rokesmith ;  but  I  hope  that  I  shall  never  de- 
serve it  again !" 

He  once  more  put  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and 
then  relinquished  it,  and  left  the  room.  Bella 
was  hurrying  back  to  the  chair  in  which  she  had 
hidden  her  face  so  long,  when,  catching  sight 
of  Mrs.  Boffin  by  the  way,  she  stopped  at  her. 
"He  is  gone,"  sobbed  Bella  indignantly,  de- 
spairingly, in  fifty  ways  at  once,  with  her  arms 
round  Mrs.  Boffin's  neck.  "  He  has  been  most 
shamefully  abused,  and  most  unjustly  and  most 
basely  driven  away,  and  I  am  the  cause  of  it !" 


All  this  time  Mr.  Boffin  had  been  rolling  his 
eyes  over  his  loosened  neckerchief,  as  if  his  fit 
were  still  upon  him.  Appearing  now  to  think 
that  he  was  coming  to,  he  stared  straight  before 
him  for  a  while,  tied  his  neckerchief  again,  took 
several  long  inspirations,  swallowed  several  times, 
and  ultimately  exclaimed  with  a  deep  sigh,  as 
if  he  felt  himself  on  the  whole  better  :   "Well !" 

No  word,  good  or  bad,  did  Mrs.  Boffin  say : 
but  she  tenderly  took  care  of  Bella,  and  glanced 
at  her  husband  as  if  for  orders.  Mr.  Boffin, 
without  imparting  any,  took  his  seat  on  a  chair 
over  against  them,  and  there  sat  leaning  for- 
ward, with  a  fixed  countenance,  his  legs  apart, 
a  hand  on  each  knee,  and  his  elbows  squared, 
until  Bella  should  dry  her  eyes  and  raise  her 
head,  which  in  the  fullness  of  time  she  did. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  said  Bella,  rising  hur- 
riedly. "I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  all  you 
have  done  for  me,  but  I  can't  stay  here." 

"My  darling  girl !"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Boffin. 

"No,  I  can't  stay  here,"  said  Bella;  "I  can't 
indeed.  Ugh!  you  vicious  old  thing!"  (This 
to  Mr.  Boffin.) 

"  Don't  be  rash,  my  love,"  urged  Mrs.  Boffin. 
"  Think  well  of  what  you  do." 

"Yes,  you  had  better  think  well,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin. 

"I  shall  never  more  think  well  of  v/om,"  cried 
Bella,  cutting  him  short,  with  intent  defiance  in 
her  expressive  little  eyebrows,  and  championship 
of  the  late  Secretary  in  every  dimple.  "  No  ! 
never  again !  Your  money  has  changed  you 
to  marble.  You  are  a  hard-hearted  Miser.  You 
are  worse  than  Dancer,  worse  than  Hopkins, 
worse  than  Blackberry  Jones,  worse  than  any 
of  the  wretches.  And  more !"  proceeded  Bella, 
breaking  into  tears  again,  "you  were  wholly 
undeserving  of  the  Gentleman  you  have  lost." 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say,  Miss  Bella," 
the  Golden  Dustman  slowly  remonstrated,  "that 
you  set  up  Rokesmith  against  me?" 

"  I  do !"  said  Bella.  "  He  is  worth  a  Million 
of  you." 

Very  pretty  she  looked,  though  very  angry, 
as  she  made  herself  as  tall  as  she  possibly  could 
(which  was  not  extremely  tall),  and  utterly  re- 
nounced her  patron  with  a  lofty  toss  of  her  rich 
brown  head. 

"I  would  rather  he  thought  well  of  me,"  said 
Bella,  "  though  he  swept  the  street  for  bread, 
than  that  you  did,  though  you  splashed  the  mud 
upon  him  from  the  wheels  of  a  chariot  of  pure 
gold.     There !" 

"Well  I'm  sure!"  cried  Mr.  Boffin,  staring. 

"And  for  a  long  time  past,  when  you  have 
thought  you  set  yourself  above  him,  I  have  only 
seen  you  under  his  feet,"  said  Bella — "There! 
And  throughout  I  saw  in  him  the  master,  and  I 
saw  in  you  the  man — There!  And  when  you 
used  him  shamefully,  I  took  his  part  and  loved 
him— There !     I  boast  of  it !" 

After  which  strong  avowal  Bella  underwent 
reaction,  and  cried  to  any  extent,  with  her  face 
on  the  back  of  her  chair. 

"Now,  look  here,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  as  soon 
as  he  could  find  an  opening  for  breaking  the 
silence  and  striking  in.  "Give  me  your  atten- 
tion, Bella.     I  am  not  angry." 

"I  am r  said  Bella. 

"I  say,"  resumed  the  Golden  Dustman,  "I 
am  not  angry,  and  I  mean  kindly  to  you,  and  I 


2G2 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


want  to  overlook  this.     So  you'll  stay  where  you 
are,  and  we'll  a^ree  to  say  no  more  about  it." 

"No,  I  can't  stay  here,"  cried  Bella,  rising 
hurriedly  again  ;  "  I  can't  think  of  staying  here. 
I  must  go  home  for  good." 

"Now,  don't  be  silly,"  Mr.  Boffin  reasoned. 
"Don't  do  what  you  can't  undo;  don't  do  what 
you're  sure  to  be  sorry  for." 

"I  shall  never  be  sorry  for  it,"  said  Bella; 
"  and  I  should  always  be  sorry,  and  should  every 
minute  of  my  life  despise  myself,  if  I  remained 
here  after  what  has  happened." 

"At  least,  Bella,"  argued  Mr.  Boffin,  "let 
there  be  no  mistake  about  it.  Look  before  you 
leap,  you  know.  Stay  where  you  are,  and  all's 
well,  ayd  all's  as  it  was  to  be.  Go  away,  and 
you  can  never  come  back." 

"I  know  that  I  can  never  come  back,  and 
that's  what  I  mean,"  said  Bella. 

"You  mustn't  expect,"  Mr.  Boffin  pursued, 
"that  I'm  a-going  to  settle  money  on  you,  if 
you  leave  us  like  this,  because  I  am  not.  No, 
Bella !     Be  careful !     Not  one  brass  farthing." 

"Expect!"  said  Bella,  haughtily.  "Do  you 
think  that  anv  power  on  earth  could  make  me 
take  it,  if  you  did,  Sir?" 

But  there  was  Mrs.  Boffin  to  part  from,  and, 
in  the  full  flush  of  her  dignity,  the  impressible 
little  soul  collapsed  again.  Down  upon  her 
knees  before  that  good  woman,  she  rocked  her- 
self upon  her  breast,  and  cried,  and  sobbed,  and 
folded  her  in  her  arms  with  all  her  might. 

"You're  a  dear,  a  dear,  the  best  of  dears!" 
cried  Bella.  "You're  the  best  of  human  creat- 
m*es.  I  can  never  be  thankful  enough  to  you, 
and  can  never  forget  you.  If  I  should  live  to 
be  blind  and  deaf,  I  know  I  shall  see  and  hear 
you,  in  my  fancy,  to  the  last  of  my  dim  old 
days !" 

Mrs.  Boffin  wept  most  heartily,  and  embraced 
her  with  all  fondness  ;  but  said  not  one  single 
word  except  that  she  was  her  dear  girl.  She 
said  that  often  enough,  to  be  sure,  for  she  said 
it  over  and  over  again  ;  but  not  one  word  else. 

Bella  broke  from  her  at  length,  and  was  going 
weeping  out  of  the  room,  when,  in  her  own  little 
queer  affectionate  way,  she  half  relented  toward 
Mr.  Boffin. 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  sobbed  Bella,  "  that  I  called 
you  names,  Sir,  because  you  richly  deserved  it. 
But  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  called  you  names, 
because  vou  used  to  be  so  different.  Say  good- 
by!" 

"Good-by,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  shortly. 

"  If  I  knew  which  of  your  hands  was  the  least 
spoiled,  I  would  ask  you  to  let  me  touch  it,"  said 
Bella,  "  for  the  last  time.  But  not  because  I  re- 
pent of  what  I  have  said  to  you.  For  I  don't. 
It's  true !" 

"Try  the  left  hand,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  holding 
it  out  in  a  stolid  manner ;  it's  the  least  used." 

"You  have  been  wonderfully  good  and  kind  to 
me,"  said  Bella,  "and  I  kiss  it  for  that.  You 
have  been  as  bad  as  bad  could  be  to  Mr.  Roke- 
smith,  and  I  throw  it  away  for  that.  Thank 
you  for  myself,  and  good-by  !" 

"  Good-by,"  said  Mr.  Boffin  as  before. 

Bella  caught  him  round  the  neck  and  kissed 
him,  and  ran  out  forever. 

She  ran  up  stairs,  and  sat  down  on  the  floor 
in  her  own  room,  and  cried  abundantly.  But 
the  day  was  declining,  and  she  had  no  time  to 


lose.  She  opened  all  the  places  where  she  kept 
her  dresses ;  selected  only  those  she  had  brought 
with  her,  leaving  all  the  rest ;  and  made  a  great 
misshapen  bundle  of  them,  to  be  sent  for  after- 
ward. 

"I  won't  take  one  of  the  others,"  said  Bella, 
tying  the  knots  of  the  bundle  very  tight,  in  the  se- 
verity of  her  resolution.  "  I'll  leave  all  the  pres- 
ents behind,  and  begin  again  entirely  on  my  own 
account."  That  the  resolution  might  be  thor- 
oughly carried  into  practice,  she  even  changed 
the  dress  she  wore  for  that  in  which  she  had 
come  to  the  grand  mansion.  Even  the  bonnet 
she  put  on  was  the  bonnet  that  had  mounted  into 
the  Boffin  chariot  at  Holloway. 

"Now  I  am  complete,"  said  Bella.  "It's  a 
little  trying,  but  I  have  steeped  my  eyes  in  cold 
water,  and  I  won't  cry  any  more.  You  have 
been  a  pleasant  room  to  me,  dear  room.  Adieu ! 
We  shall  never  see  each  other  again." 

With  a  parting  kiss  of  her  fingers  to  it  she 
softly  closed  the  door,  and  went  with  a  light  foot 
down  the  great  staircase,  pausing  and  listening 
as  she  went,  that  she  might  meet  none  of  the 
household.  No  one  chanced  to  be  about,  and 
she  got  down  to  the  hall  in  quiet.  The  door  of 
the  late  Secretary's  room  stood  open.  She  peeped 
in  as  she  passed,  and  divined  from  the  emptiness 
of  his  table,  and  the  general  appearance  of  things, 
that  he  was  already  gone.  Softly  opening  the 
great  hall  door,  and  softly  closing  it  upon  her- 
self, she  turned  and  kissed  it  on  the  outside — in- 
sensible old  combination  of  wood  and  iron  that 
it  was  ! — before  she  ran  away  from  the  house  at 
a  swift  pace. 

"That  was  well  done!"  panted  Bella,  slack- 
ening in  the  next  street,  and  subsiding  into  a 
walk.  "If  I  had  left  myself  any  breath  to  cry 
with,  I  should  have  cried  again.  Now  poor 
dear  darling  little  Pa,  you  are  going  to  see  your 
lovely  woman  unexpectedly." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  FEAST  OF  THE  THREE  HOBGOBLINS. 

The  City  looked  unpromising  enough  as  Bella 
made  her  way  along  its  gritty  streets.  Most  of 
its  money-mills  were  slackening  sail,  or  had  left 
off  grinding  for  the  day.  The  master-millers 
had  already  departed,  and  the  journeymen  were 
departing.  There  was  a  jaded  aspect  on  the 
business  lanes  and  courts,  and  the  very  pave- 
ments had  a  weary  appearance,  confused  by  the 
tread  of  a  million  of  feet.  There  must  be  hours 
of  night  to  temper  down  the  day's  distraction  of 
so  feverish  a  place.  As  yet  the  worry  of  the 
newly-stopped  whirling  and  grinding  on  the  part 
of  the  money-mills  seemed  to  linger  in  the  air, 
and  the  quiet  was  more  like  the  prostration  of  a 
spent  giant  than  the  repose  of  one  who  was  re- 
newing his  strength. 

If  Bella  thought,  as  she  glanced  at  the  mighty 
Bank,  how  agreeable  it  would  be  to  have  an 
hour's  gardening  there,  with  a  bright  copper 
shovel,  among  the  money,  still  she  was  not  in  an 
avaricious  vein.  Much  improved  in  that  respect, 
and  with  certain  half-formed  images  which  had 
little  gold  in  their  composition,  dancing  before 
her  bright  eves,  she  arrived  in  the  drug-flavored 
region  of  Mincing  Lane,  with  the  sensation  of 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


263 


having  just  opened   a  drawer  in  a   chemist's 
shop. 

The  counting-house  of  Chicksey,  Veneering, 
and  Stobbles  was  pointed  out  by  an  elderly  fe- 
male accustomed  to  the  care  of  offices,  who 
dropped  upon  Bella  out  of  a  public  house,  wip- 
ing her  mouth,  and  accounting  for  its  humidity 
on  natural  principles  well  known  to  the  physical 
sciences,  by  explaining  that  she  had  looked  in  at 
the  door  to  see  what  o'clock  it  was.  The  count- 
ing-house was  a  wall-eyed  ground-floor  by  a  dark 
gateway,  and  Bella  was  considering,  as  she  ap- 
proached it,  could  there  be  any  precedent  in  the 
City  for  her  going  in  and  asking  for  R.  Wilfer, 
when  whom  should  she  see,  sitting  at  one  of  the 
windows  with  the  plate-glass  sash  raised,  but  R. 
Wilfer  himself,  preparing  to  take  a  slight  re- 
fection ! 

On  approaching  nearer,  Bella  discerned  that 
the  refection  had  the  appearance  of  a  small  cot- 
tage-loaf and  a  pennyworth  of  milk.  Simul- 
taneously with  this  discovery  on  her  part,  her 
father  discovered  her,  and  invoked  the  echoes  of 
Mincing  Lane  to  exclaim  "  My  gracious  me!" 

He  then  came  cherubically  flying  out  without 
a  hat,  and  embraced  her,  and  handed  her  in. 
"For  it's  after  hours  and  I  am  all  alone,  my 
dear,"  he  explained,  "and  am  having — as  I 
sometimes  do  when  they  are  all  gone — a  quiet 
tea." 

Looking  round  the  office,  as  if  her  father  were 
a  captive  and  this  his  cell,  Bella  hugged  him 
and  choked  him  to  her  heart's  content. 

"  I  never  was  so  surprised,  my  dear !"  said  her 
father.  "I  couldn't  believe  my  eyes.  Upon 
my  life,  I  thought  they  had  taken  to  lying ! 
The  idea  of  your  coming  down  the  Lane  your- 
self! Why  didn't  you  send  the  footman  down 
the  Lane,  my  dear?" 

"I  have  brought  no  footman  with  me,  Pa." 

"  Oh  indeed  !  But  you  have  brought  the  ele- 
gant turn-out,  my  love  ?" 

"No,  Pa." 

"You  never  can  have  walked,  my  dear?" 

"Yes,  I  have,  Pa." 

He  looked  so  very  much  astonished  that  Bella 
could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  break  it  to  him 
just  yet. 

"The  consequence  is,  Pa,  that  your  lovely 
woman  feels  a  little  faint,  and  would  very  much 
like  to  share  your  tea." 

The  cottage-loaf  and  the  pennyworth  of  milk 
had  been  set  forth  on  a  sheet  of  paper  on  the 
window-seat.  The  cherubic  pocket-knife,  with 
the  first  bit  of  the  loaf  still  on  its  point,  lay  be- 
side them  where  it  had  been  hastily  thrown 
down.  Bella  took  the  bit  off,  and  put  it  iu  her 
mouth.  "My  dear  child,"  said  her  father, 
"  the  idea  of  your  partaking  of  such  lowly  fare ! 
But  at  least  you  must  have  your  own  loaf  and 
your  own  penn'orth.  One  moment,  my  dear. 
The  Dairy  is  just  over  the  way  and  round  the 
corner." 

Regardless  of  Bella's  dissuasions  he  ran  out, 
and  quickly  returned  with  the  new  supply. 
"My  dear  child,"  he  said,  as  he  spread  it  on 
another  piece  of  paper  before  her,  "  the  idea  of 
a  splendid — !"  and  then  looked  at  her  figure, 
and  stopped  short. 

"What's  the  matter,  Pa?" 

" — of  a  splendid  female,"  he  resumed  more 
slowly,  "putting  up  with  such  accommodation 


as  the  present! — Is  that  a  new  dress  you  have 
on,  my  dear?" 

"No,  Pa,  an  old  one.  Don't  vou  remember 
it?" 

"Why,  I  thought  I  remembered  it,  my  dear!" 
"You  should,  for  you  bought  it,  Pa." 
"Yes,  I  thought  I  bought  it,  my  dear!"  said 
the  cherub,  giving  himself  a  little  shake,  as  if  to 
rouse  his  faculties. 

"And  have  you  grown  so  fickle  that  you  don't 
like  your  own  taste,  Pa  dear  ?" 

"Well,  my  love,"  he  returned,  swallowing  a 
bit  of  the  cottage-loaf  with  considerable  effort, 
for  it  seemed  to  stick  by  the  way:  "I  should 
have  thought  it  was  hardly  sufficiently  splendid 
for  existing  circumstances." 

"And  so,  Pa,"  said  Bella,  moving  coaxingly 
to  his  side  instead  of  remaining  opposite,  "you 
sometimes  have  a  quiet  tea  here  all  alone?  I 
am  not  in  the  tea's  way,  if  I  draw  my  arm  over 
your  shoulder  like  this,  Pa?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,  and  no,  my  dear.  Yes  to  the 
first  question,  and  Certainly  Not  to  the  second. 
Respecting  the  quiet  tea,  my  dear,  why  you  see 
the  occupations  of  the  day  are  sometimes  a  little 
wearing;  and  if  there's  nothing  interposed  be- 
tween the  day  and  your  mother,  why  she  is 
sometimes  a  little  wearing,  too." 
"I  know,  Pa." 

"Yes,  my  dear.  So  sometimes  I  put  a  quiet 
tea  at  the  window  here,  with  a  little  quiet  con- 
templation of  the  Lane  (which  comes  soothing), 
between  the  day,  and  domestic — " 
"Bliss,"  suggested  Bella,  sorrowfully. 
"And  domestic  Bliss,"  said  her  father,  quite 
contented  to  accept  the  phrase. 

Bella  kissed  him.  "And  it  is  in  this  dark 
dingy  place  of  captivity,  poor  dear,  that  you  pass 
all  the  hours  of  your  life  when  you  are  not  at 
home?" 

"Not  at  home,  or  not  on  the  road  there,  or 
on  the  road  here,  my  love.  Yes.  You  see  that 
little  desk  in  the  corner?" 

"In  the  dark  corner,  furthest  both  from  the 
light  and  from  the  fire-place?  The  shabbiest 
desk  of  all  the  desks?" 

"Now,  does  it  really  strike  you  in  that  point 
of  view,  my  dear?"  said  her  father,  surveying  it 
artistically  with  his  head  on  one  side:  "that's 
mine.     That's  called  Rumty's  Perch." 

"Whose  Perch?"  asked  Bella  with  great  in- 
dignation. 

"Rumty's.  You  see,  being  rather  high  and 
up  two  steps  they  call  it  a  Perch.  And  they 
call  me  Rumty." 

"How  dare  they!"  exclaimed  Bella. 
"  They're  playful,  Bella  my  dear ;  they're  play- 
ful. They're  more  or  less  younger  than  I  am, 
and  they're  playful.  What  does  it  matter?  It 
might  be  Surly,  or  Sulky,  or  fifty  disagreeable 
things  that  I  really  shouldn't  like  te  be  con- 
sidered. But  Rumty  !  Lor,  why  not  Rumty?" 
To  inflict  a  heavy  disappointment  on  this  sweet 
nature,  which  had  been,  through  all  her  caprices, 
the  object  of  her  recognition,  love,  and  admira- 
tion from  infancy,  Bella  felt  to  be  the  hardest 
task  of  her  hard  day.  "I  should  have  done 
better,"  she  thought,  "to  tell  him  at  first;  I 
should  have  done  better  to  tell  him  just  now, 
when  he  had  some  slight  misgiving;  he  is  quite 
happy  again,  and  I  shall  make  him  wretched." 
He  was  falling  back  on  his  loaf  and  milk. 


264 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


with  the  pleasantest  composure,  and  Bella  steal- 
ing her  arm  a  little  closer  about  him,  and  at  the 
same  time  sticking  up  his  hair  with  an  irresisti- 
ble propensity  to  play  with  him  founded  on  the 
habit  of  her  whole  life,  had  prepared  herself  to 
say  :  "Pa  dear,  don't  be  cast  down,  but  I  must 
tell  you  something  disagreeable ! "  when  he  inter- 
rupted her  in  an  unlooked-for  manner. 

"My  gracious  me!"  he  exclaimed,  invoking 
the  Mincing  Lane  echoes  as  before.  "This  is 
verv  extraordinary !" 

"What  is,  Pa?" 

"Why  here's  Mr.  Rokesmith  now!" 

"No,  no,  Pa,  no,"  cried  Bella,  greatly  flur- 
ried.    "  Surely  not." 

"  Yes  there  is !     Look  here !" 

Sooth  to  say,  Mr.  Rokesmith  not  only  passed 
the  window,  but  came  into  the  counting-house. 
And  not  only  came  into  the  counting-house, 
but,  finding  himself  alone  there  with  Bella  and 
her  father,  rushed  at  Bella  and  caught  her  in 
his  arms,  with  the  rapturous  words  "My  dear, 
dear  girl;  my  gallant,  generous,  disinterested, 
courageous,  noble  girl!"  And  not  only  that 
even  (which  one  might  have  thought  astonish- 
ment enough  for  one  dose),  but  Bella,  after 
hanging  her  head  for  a  moment,  lifted  it  up  and 
laid  it  on  his  breast,  as  if  that  were  her  head's 
chosen  and  lasting  resting-place  ! 

"I  knew  you  would  come  to  him,  and  I  fol- 
lowed you,"  said  Rokesmith.  "My  love,  my 
life !    You  are  mine  ?" 

To  which  Bella  responded,  "Yes,  I  am  yours 
if  you  think  me  worth  taking !"  And  after  that, 
seemed  to  shrink  to  next  to  nothing  in  the  clasp 
of  his  arms,  partly  because  it  was  such  a  strong 
one  on  his  part,  and  partly  because  there  was 
such  a  yielding  to  it  on  hers. 

The  cherub,  whose  hair  would  have  done  for 
itself,  under  the  influence  of  this  amazing  spec- 
tacle, what  Bella  had  just  now  done  for  it,  stag- 
gered back  into  the  window-seat  from  which  he 
had  risen,  and  surveyed  the  pair  with  his  eyes 
dilated  to  their  utmost. 

" But  we  must  think  of  dear  Pa,"  said  Bella; 
"I  haven't  told  dear  Pa;  let  us  speak  to  Pa." 
Upon  which  they  turned  to  do  so. 

"I  wish  first,  my  dear,"  remarked  the  cherub 
faintly,  "that  you'd  have  the  kindness  to  sprin- 
kle me  with  a  little  milk,  for  I  feel  as  if  I  was — 
Going." 

In  fact,  the  good  little  fellow  had  become 
alarmingly  limp,  and  his  senses  seemed  to  be 
rapidly  escaping,  from  the  knees  upward.  Bella 
sprinkled  him  with  kisses  instead  of  milk,  but 
gave  him  a  little  of  that  article  to  drink ;  and 
he  gradually  revived  under  her  caressing  care. 

"We'll  break  it  to  you  gently,  dearest  Pa," 
said  Bella. 

"My  dear,"  returned  the  cherub,  looking  at 
them  both,  "you  broke  so  much  in  the  first — 
Gush,  if  I  may  so  express  myself — that  I  think 
I  am  equal  to  a  good  large  breakage  now." 

"Mr.  Wilfer,"  said  John  Rokesmith,  excited- 
ly and  joyfully,  "Bella  takes  me,  though  I  have 
no  fortune,  even  no  present  occupation  ;  nothing 
but  what  I  can  get  in  the  life  before  us.  Bella 
takes  me !" 

"Yes,  I  should  rather  have  inferred,  my  dear 
Sir,"  returned  the  cherub  feebly,  "that  Bella 
took  you,  from  what  I  have  within  these  few 
minutes  remarked." 


"You  don't  know,  Pa,"  said  Bella,  "how  ill 
I  have  used  him !" 

"You  don't  know,  Sir,"  said  Rokesmith, 
what  a  heart  she  has  !" 

"You  don't  know,  Pa,"  said  Bella,  "what  a 
shocking  creature  I  was  growing,  when  he  saved 
me  from  myself!" 

"You  don't  know,  Sir,"  said  Rokesmith, 
"what  a  sacrifice  she  has  made  for  me !" 

"My  dear  Bella,"  replied  the  cherub,  still 
pathetically  scared,  "and  my  dear  John  Roke- 
smith, if  you  will  allow  me  so  to  call  you — " 

"Yes  do,  Pa,  do!"  urged  Bella.  "J  allow 
you,  and  my  will  is  his  law.  Isn't  it— dear  John 
Rokesmith?" 

There  was  an  engaging  shyness  in  Bella, 
coupled  with  an  engaging  tenderness  of  love  and 
confidence  and  pride,  in  thus  first  calling  him 
by  name,  which  made  it  quite  excusable  in  John 
Rokesmith  to  do  what  he  did.  What  he  did 
was,  once  more  to  give  her  the  appearance  of 
vanishing  as  aforesaid. 

"I  think,  my  dears,"  observed  the  cherub, 
"that  if  you  could  make  it  convenient  to  sit  one 
on  one  side  of  me,  and  the  other  on  the  other, 
we  should  get  on  rather  more  consecutively, 
and  make  things  rather  plainer.  John  Roke- 
smith mentioned,  a  while  ago,  that  he  had  no 
present  occupation." 

"None,"  said  Rokesmith. 

"No,  Pa,  none,"  said  Bella. 

"From  which  I  argue,"  proceeded  the  cher- 
ub, "that  he  has  left  Mr.  Boffin?" 

"Yes,  Pa.     And  so — " 

"  Stop  a  bit,  my  dear.  I  wish  to  lead  up  to 
it  by  degrees.  And  that  Mr.  Boffin  has  not 
treated  him  well?" 

"  Has  treated  him  most  shamefully,  dear  Pa !" 
cried  Bella  with  a  flashing  face. 

"Of  which,"  pursued  the  cherub,  enjoining 
patience  with  his  hand,  "a  certain  mercenary 
young  person  distantly  related  to  myself  could 
not  approve  ?     Am  I  leading  up  to  it  right  ?" 

"Could  not  approve,  sweet  Pa,"  said  Bella, 
with  a  tearful  laugh  and  a  joyful  kiss. 

"Upon  which,"  pursued  the  cherub,  "the 
certain  mercenary  young  person  distantly  relat- 
ed to  myself,  having  previously  observed  and 
mentioned  to  myself  that  prosperity  was  spoiling 
Mr.  Boffin,  felt  that  she  must  not  sell  her  sense 
of  what  was  right  and  what  was  wrong,  and 
what  was  true  and  what  was  false,  and  what  was 
just  and  what  was  unjust,  for  any  price  that 
could  be  paid  to  her  by  any  one  alive  ?  Am  I 
leading  up  to  it  right?" 

With  another  tearful  laugh  Bella  joyfully 
kissed  him  again. 

"And  therefore — and  therefore,"  the  cherub 
went  on  in  a  glowing  voice,  as  Bella's  hand  stole 
gradually  up  his  waistcoat  to  his  neck,  "this 
mercenary  young  person  distantly  related  to  my- 
self refused  the  price,  took  off  the  splendid  fash- 
ions that  were  part  of  it,  put  on  the  compara- 
tively poor  dress  that  I  had  last  given  her,  and 
trusting  to  my  supporting  her  in  what  was  right, 
came  straight  to  me.     Have  I  led  up  to  it  ?" 

Bella's  hand  was  round  his  neck  by  this  time, 
and  her  face  was  on  it. 

"The  mercenary  young  person  distantly  re- 
lated to  myself,"  said  her  good  father,  "did 
well!  The*  mercenary  young  person  distantly 
related  to  mvself  did  not  trust  to  me  in  vain !     I 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


265 


admire  this  mercenary  young  person  distantly 
related  to  myself  more  in  this  dress  than  if  she 
had  come  to  me  in  China  silks,  Cashmere  shawls, 
and  Golconda  diamonds.  I  love  this  young  per- 
son dearly.  I  say  to  the  man  of  this  young  per- 
son's heart,  out  of  my  heart  and  with  all  of  it, 
'  My  blessing  on  this  engagement  betwixt  you, 
and  she  brings  you  a  good  fortune  when  she 
brings  you  the  poverty  she  has  accepted  for  your 
sake  and  the  honest  truth's  !'  " 

The  stanch  little  man's  voice  failed  him  as  he 
gave  John  Rokesmith  his  hand,  and  he  was  si- 
lent, bending  his  face  low  over  his  daughter. 
But  not  for  long.  He  soon  looked  up,  saying  in 
a  sprightly  tone : 

"And  now,  my  dear  child,  if  you  think  you 
can  entertain  John  Rokesmith  for  a  minute  and 
a  half,  I'll  run  over  to  the  Dairy,  and  fetch  him 
a  cottage  loaf  and  a  drink  of  milk,  that  we  may 
all  have  tea  together.'' 

It  was,  as  Bella  gayly  said,  like  the  supper 
provided  for  the  three  nursery  hobgoblins  at  their 
house  in  the  forest,  without  their  thunderous  low 
growlings  of  the  alarming  discovery,  "Some- 
body's been  drinking  my  milk  !"  It  was  a  deli- 
cious repast ;  by  far  the  most  delicious  that 
Bella,  or  John  Rokesmith,  or  even  R.  Wilfer  had 
ever  made.  The  uncongenial  oddity  of  its  sur- 
roundings, with  the  two  brass  knobs  of  the  iron 
safe  of  Chicksey,  Veneering,  and  Stobbles  star- 
ing from  a  corner,  like  the  eyes  of  some  dull 
dragon,  only  made  it  the  more  delightful. 

"To  think,"  said  the  cherub,  looking  round 
the  office  with  unspeakable  enjoyment,  "that 
any  thing  of  a  tender  nature  should  come  off 
here,  is  what  tickles  me.  To  think  that  ever  I 
should  have  seen  my  Bella  folded  in  the  arms  of 
her  future  husband,  here,  you  know  !" 

It  was  not  until  the  cottage  loaves  and  the 
milk  had  for  some  time  disappeared,  and  the  fore- 
shadowings  of  night  were  creeping  over  Mincing 
Lane,  that  the  cherub  by  degrees  became  a  little 
nervous,  and  said  to  Bella,  as  he  cleared  his  throat : 

"  Hem  ! — Have  you  thought  at  all  about  your 
mother,  my  dear?" 

"Yes,  Pa." 

"And  your  sister  Lavvy,  for  instance,  my 
dear  ?" 

"Yes,  Pa.  I  think  we  had  better  not  enter 
into  particulars  at  home.  I  think  it  will  be  quite 
enough  to  say  that  I  had  a  difference  with  Mr. 
Boffin,  and  have  left  for  good." 

"John  Rokesmith  being  acquainted  with  your 
Ma,  my  loye,"  said  her  father,  after  some  slight 
hesitation,  "I  need  have  no  delicacy  in  hinting 
before  him  that  you  may  perhaps  find  your  Ma 
a  little  wearing." 

! '  A  little,  patient  Pa  ?"  said  Bella  with  a  tune- 
ful laugh :  the  tunefuler  for  being  so  loving  in 
its  tone. 

"  Well !  We'll  say,  strictly  in  confidence 
among  ourselves,  wearing ;  we  won't  qualify 
it,"  the  cherub  stoutly  admitted.  "And  your 
sister's  temper  is  wearing." 

"I  don't  mind,  Pa." 

"And  you  must  prepare  yourself,  you  know, 
my  precious,"  said  her  father,  with  much  gentle- 
ness, "  for  our  looking  very  poor  and  meagre  at 
home,  and  being  at  the  best  but  very  uncomfort- 
able, after  Mr.  Boffin's  house." 

"  I  don't  mind,  Pa.  I  could  bear  much  harder 
trials — for  John." 


The  closing  words  were  not  so  softly  and  blush- 
ingly  said  but  that  John  heard  them,  and  showed 
that  he  heard  them  by  again  assisting  Bella  to 
another  of  those  mysterious  disappearances. 

"Well!"  said  the  cherub  gayly,  and  not  ex- 
pressing disapproval,  "when  you  —  when  you 
come  back  from  retirement,  my  love,  and  reap- 
pear on  the  surface,  I  think  it  will  be .  time  to 
lock  up  and  go." 

If  the  counting-house  of  Chicksey,  Veneering, 
and  Stobbles  had  ever  been  shut  up  by  three  hap- 
pier people,  glad  as  most  people  were  to  shut  it 
up,  they  must  have  been  superlatively  happy  in- 
deed. But  first  Bella  mounted  upon  Rumty's 
Perch,  and  said,  "Show  me  what  you  do  here 
all  day  long,  dear  Pa.  Do  you  write  like  this  ?" 
laying  her  round  cheek  upon  her  plump  left  arm, 
and  losing  sight  of  her  pen  in  waves  of  hair,  in  a 
highly  unbusiness-like  manner.  Though  John 
Rokesmith  seemed  to  like  it. 

So  the  three  hobgoblins,  having  effaced  all 
traces  of  their  feast,  and  swept  up  the  crumbs, 
came  out  of  Mincing  Lane  to  walk  to  Holloway ; 
and  if  two  of  the  hobgoblins  didn't  wish  the  dis- 
tance twice  as  long  as  it  was,  the  third  hobgoblin 
was  much  mistaken.  Indeed,  that  modest  spirit 
deemed  himself  so  much  in  the  way  of  their  deep 
enjoyment  of  the  journey  that  he  apologetically 
remarked :  "  I  think,  my  dears,  I'll  take  the  lead 
on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  seem  not  to 
belong  to  you."  Which  he  did,  cherubically 
strewing  the  path  with  smiles,  in  the  absence  of 
flowers. 

It  was  almost  ten  o'clock  when  they  stopped 
within  view  of  Wilfer  Castle ;  and  then,  the  spot 
being  quiet  and  deserted,  Bella  began  a  series 
of  disappearances  which  threatened  to  last  all 
night. 

"I  think,  John,"  the  cherub  hinted  at  last, 
"  that  if  you  can  spare  me  the  young  person  dis- 
tantly related  to  myself,  I'll  take  her  in." 

"I  can't  spare  her,"  answered  John,  "but  I 
must  lend  her  to  you — My  Darling !"  A  word 
of  magic  which  caused  Bella  instantly  to  disap- 
pear again. 

"Now,  dearest  Pa,"  said  Bella,  when  she  be- 
came visible,  "put  your  hand  in  mine,  and  we'll 
run  home  as  fast  as  ever  we  can  run,  and  get  it 
over.     Now,  Pa.     Once ! — " 

"My  dear,"  the  cherub  faltered,  with  some- 
thing of  a  craven  air,  "I  was  going  to  observe 
that  if  your  mother — " 

"You  mustn't  hang  back,  Sir,  to  gain  time," 
cried  Bella,  putting  out  her  right  foot ;  "do you 
see  that,  Sir  ?  That's  the  mark ;  come  up  to  the 
mark,  Sir.  Once  !  Twice !  Three  times  and 
away,  Pa !"  Off  she  skimmed,  bearing  the  cherub 
along,  nor  ever  stopped,  nor  suffered  him  to  stop, 
until  she  had  pulled  at  the  bell.  "Now,  dear 
Pa,"  said  Bella,  taking  him  by  both  ears  as  if 
he  were  a  pitcher,  and  conveying  his  face  to  her 
rosy  lips,  "  we  are  in  for  it !" 

Miss  Lavvy  came  out  to  open  the  gate,  wait- 
ed on  by  that  attentive  cavalier  and  friend  of  the 
family,  Mr.  George  Sampson.  "Why,  it's  nev- 
er Bella!"  exclaimed  Miss  Lavvy,  starting  back 
at  the  sight.  And  then  bawled,  "Ma!  Here's 
Bella!" 

This  produced,  before  they  could  get  into  the 
house,  Mrs.  Wilfer.  Who,  standing  in  the  port- 
al, received  them  with  ghostly  gloom,  and  all 
her  other  appliances  of  ceremony. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"  My  child  is  welcome,  though  unlooked  for," 
said  she,  at  the  time  presenting  her  cheek  as  if 
it  were  a  cool  slate  for  visitors  to  enroll  them- 
selves upon.  "You,  too,  R.  W.,  are  welcome, 
though  late.  Does  the  male  domestic  of  Mrs. 
Boffin  hear  me  there?"  This  deep-toned  in- 
quiry was  cast  forth  into  the  night,  for  response 
from  the  menial  in  question. 

"There  is  no  one  waiting,  Ma,  dear,"  said 
Bella. 

"There  is  no  one  waiting?"  repeated  Mrs. 
Wilfer,  in  majestic  accents. 

"No,  Ma  dear." 

A  dignified  shiver  pervaded  Mrs.  Wilfer's 
shoulders  and  gloves,  as  who  should  say,  "An 
Enigma  !"  and  then  she  marched  at  the  head  of 
the  procession  to  the  family  keeping-room,  where 
she  observed : 

"Unless,  R.  W. :"  who  started  on  being  sol- 
emnly turned  upon:  "you  have  taken  the  pre- 
caution of  making  some  addition  to  our  frugal 
supper  on  your  way  home,  it  will  prove  but  a 
distasteful  one  to  Bella.  Cold  neck  of  mutton 
and  a  lettuce  can  ill  compete  with  the  luxuries 
of  Mr.  Boffin's  board." 

"Pray  don't  talk  like  that,  Ma  dear,"  said 
Bella;    "Mr.  Boffin's  board  is  nothing  to  me." 

But,  here  Miss  Lavinia,  who  had  been  intent- 
lv  eving  Bella's  bonnet,  struck  in  with  "  Why, 
Bella !" 

"Yes,  Lavvy,  I  know." 

The  Irrepressible  lowered  her  eyes  to  Bella's 
dress,  and  stooped  to  look  at  it,  exclaiming  again : 
"Why,  Bella!" 

"Yes,  Lavvy,  I  know  what  I  have  got  on.  I 
was  going  to  tell  Ma  when  you  interrupted.  I 
have  left  Mr.  Boffin's  house  for  good,  Ma,  and  I 
have  come  home  again." 

Mrs.  Wilfer  spake  no  word,  but,  having  glared 
at  her  offspring  for  a  minute  or  two  in  an  aw- 
ful silence,  retired  into  her  corner  of  state  back- 
ward, and  sat  down  :  like  a  frozen  article  on 
sale  in  a  Russian  market. 

"In  short,  dear  Ma,"  said  Bella,  taking  off 
the  depreciated  bonnet  and  shaking  out  her  hair, 
"I  have  had  a  very  serious  difference  with  Mr. 
Boffin  on  the  subject  of  his  treatment  of  a  mem- 
ber of  his  household,  and  it's  a  final  difference, 
and  there's  an  end  of  all." 

"And  I  am  bound  to  tell  you,  my  dear,"  added 
R.  W.,  submissively,  "that  Bella  has  acted  in  a 
truly  brave  spirit,  and  with  a  truly  right  feeling. 
And  therefore  I  hope,  my  dear,  you'll  not  allow 
yourself  to  be  greatly  disappointed." 

"George!" — said  Miss  Lavvy,  in  a  sepul- 
chral, warning  voice,  founded  on  her  mother's 
— "George  Sampson,  speak  !  What  did  I  tell 
you  about  those  Boffins?" 

Mr.  Sampson,  perceiving  his  frail  bark  to  be 
laboring  among  shoals  and  breakers,  thought  it 
safest  not  to  refer  back  to  any  particular  thing 
that  he  had  been  told,  lest  he  should  refer  back 
to  the  wrong  thing.  With  admirable  seaman- 
ship he  got  his  bark  into  deep  water  by  murmur- 
ing, "Yes,  indeed." 

"Yes!  I  told  George  Sampson,  as  George 
Sampson  tells  you,"  said  Miss  Lavvy,  "that 
those  hateful  Boffins  would  pick  a  quarrel  with 
Bella  as  soon  as  her  novelty  had  worn  off.  Have 
they  done  it,  or  have  they  not?  Was  I  right, 
or  was  I  wrong?  And  what  do  you  say  to  us, 
Bella,  of  your  Boffins  now  ?" 


"Lavvy  and  Ma,"  said  Bella,  "I  say  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Boffin  what  I  always  have  said ;  and 
I  always  shall  say  of  them  what  I  always  have 
said.  But  nothing  will  induce  me  to  quarrel 
with  any  one  to-night.  I  hope  you  are  not 
sorry  to  see  me,  Ma  dear,"  kissing  her;  "and  I 
hqpe  you  are  not  sorry  to  see  me,  Lavvy,"  kiss- 
ing her  too;  "and  as  I  notice  the  lettuce  Ma 
mentioned  on  the  table,  I'll  make  the  salad." 

Bella  playfully  setting  herself  about  the  task, 
Mrs.  Wilfer's  impressive  countenance  followed 
her  with  glaring  eyes,  presenting  a  combination 
of  the  once  popular  sign  of  the  Saracen's  Head 
with  a  piece  of  Dutch  clock-work,  and  suggest- 
ing to  an  imaginative  mind  that  from  the  com- 
position of  the  salad  her  daughter  might  pru- 
dently omit  the  vinegar.  But  no  word  issued 
from  the  majestic  matron's  lips.  And  this  was 
more  terrific  to  her  husband  (as  perhaps  she 
knew)  than  any  flow  of  eloquence  with  which 
she  could  have  edified  the  company. 

"  Now,  Ma  dear,"  said  Bella  in  due  course, 
"the  salad's  ready,  and  it's  past  supper-time." 

Mrs.  Wilfer  rose,  but  remained  speechless. 
"George!"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  in  her  voice  of 
warning,  "Ma's  chair!"  Mr.  Sampson  flew  to 
the'  excellent  lady's  back,  and  followed  her  up 
close,  chair  in  hand,  as  she  stalked  to  the  ban- 
quet. Arrived  at  the  table,  she  took  her  rigid 
seat,  after  favoring  Mr.  Sampson  with  a  glare 
for  himself,  which  caused  the  young  gentleman 
to  retire  to  his  place  in  much  confusion. 

The  cherub  not  presuming  to  address  so  tre- 
mendous an  object,  transacted  her  supper  through 
the  agency  of  a  third  person,  as  "  Mutton  to  your 
Ma,  Bella,  my  dear;"  and  "Lavvy,  I  dare  say 
your  Ma  would  take  some  lettuce  if  you  were  to 
put  it  on  her  plate."  Mrs.  Wilfer's  manner  of 
receiving  those  viands  was  marked  by  petrified 
absence  of  mind ;  in  which  state,  likewise,  she 
partook  of  them,  occasionally  laying  down  her 
knife  and  fork,  and  saying  within  her  own  spir- 
it, "What  is  this  I  am  doing?"  and  glaring  at 
one  or  other  of  the  party,  as  if  in  indignant  search 
of  information.  A  magnetic  result  of  such  glar- 
ing was,  that  the  person  glared  at  could  not  by 
any  means  successfully  pretend  to  be  ignorant 
of  the  fact;  so  that  a  by-stander,  without  be- 
holding Mrs.  Wilfer  at  all,  must  have  known  at 
whom  she  was  glaring,  by  seeing  her  refracted, 
from  the  countenance  of  the  bcglared  one. 

Miss  Lavinia  was  extremely  affable  to  Mr. 
Sampson  on  this  special  occasion,  and  took  the 
opportunity  of  informing  her  sister  why. 

"It  was  not  worth  troubling  you  about,  Bel- 
la, when  you  were  in  a  sphere  so  far  removed 
from  your  family  as  to  make  it  a  matter  in  which 
you  could  be  expected  to  take  very  little  inter- 
est," said  Lavinia  with  a  toss  of  her  chin  ;  "  but 
George  Sampson  is  paying  his  addresses  to  me." 

Bella  was  glad  to  hear  it.  Mr.  Sampson  be- 
came thoughtfully  red,  and  felt  called  upon  to 
encircle  Miss  Lavinia's  waist  with  his  arm  ;  but, 
encountering  a  large  pin  in  the  young  lady's 
belt,  scarified  a  finger,  uttered  a  sharp  exclama- 
tion, and  attracted  the  lightning  of  Mrs.  Wil- 
fer's glare. 

"George  is  getting  on  very  well,"  said  Miss 
Lavinia — which  might  not  have  been  supposed 
at  the  moment — "and  I  dare  say  we  shall  be 
married  one  of  these  days.  I  didn't  care  to 
mention  it  when  you  were  with  your  Bof— " 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


267 


here  Miss  Lavinia  checked  herself  in  a  bounce, 
and  added  more  placidly,  "when  yon  were  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  ;  but  now  I  think  it  sisterly 
to  name  the  circumstance." 

"Thank  you,  Lavvy  dear.  I  congratulate 
you." 

"Thank  you,  Bella.  The  truth  is,  George 
and  I  did  discuss  whether  I  should  tell  you ;  but 
I  said  to  George  that  you  wouldn't  be  much  in- 
terested in  so  paltry  an  affair,  and  that  it  was 
far  more  likely  you  would  rather  detach  your- 
self from  us  altogether,  than  have  him  added  to 
the  rest  of  us." 

"That  was  a  mistake,  dear  Lavvy,"  said 
Bella. 

"It  turns  out  to  be,"  replied  Miss  Lavinia; 
"but  circumstances  have  changed,  you  know, 
my  dear.  George  is  in  a  new  situation,  and  his 
prospects  are  very  good  indeed.  I  shouldn't  have 
had  the  courage  to  tell  you  so  yesterday,  when 
you  would  have  thought  his  prospects  poor,  and 
not  worth  notice;  but  I  feel  quite  bold  to-night." 

"When  did  you  begin  to  feel  timid,  Lavvy?" 
inquired  Bella,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  didn't  say  that  I  ever  felt  timid,  Bella," 
replied  the  Irrepressible.  "  But  perhaps  I  might 
have  said,  if  I  had  not  been  restrained  by  deli- 
cacy toward  a  sister's  feelings,  that  I  have  for 
some  time  felt  independent ;  too  independent, 
my  dear,  to  subject  myself  to  have  my  intended 
match  (you'll  prick  yourself  again,  George) 
looked  down  upon.  It  is  not  that  I  could  have 
blamed  you  for  looking  down  upon  it,  when  you 
were  looking  up  to  a  rich  and  great  match, 
Bella;  it  is  only  that  I  was  independent." 

Whether  the  Irrepressible  felt  slighted  by 
Bella's  declaration  that  she  would  not  quarrel, 
or  whether  her  spitefulness  was  evoked  by  Bella's 
return  to  the  sphere  of  Mr.  George  Sampson's 
courtship,  or  whether  it  was  a  necessary  fillip  to 
her  spirits  that  she  should  come  into  collision 
with  somebody  on  the  present  occasion — any 
how  she  made  a  dash  at  her  stately  parent  now, 
with  the  greatest  impetuosity. 

"Ma,  pray  don't  sit  staring  at  me  in  that  in- 
tensely aggravating  manner!  If  you  see  a  black 
on  my  nose,  tell  me  so  ;  if  you  don't,  leave  me 
alone." 

"Do  you  address  Me  in  those  words?"  said 
Mrs.  Wilfer.      ' '  Do  you  presume  ?" 

"Don't  talk  about  presuming;  Ma,  for  good- 
ness' sake.  A  girl  who  is  old  enough  to  be  en- 
gaged, is  quite  old  enough  to  object  to  be  stared 
at  as  if  she  was  a  Clock." 

"  Audacious  one  !"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer.  "  Your 
grandmamma,  if  so  addressed  by  one  of  her 
daughters,  at  any  age,  would  have  insisted  on 
her  retiring  to  a  dark  apartment." 

"My  grandmamma,"  returned  Lavvy,  fold- 
ing her  arms  and  leaning  back  in  her  chair, 
"  wouldn't  have  sat  staring  people  out  of  coun- 
tenance, I  think." 

"  She  would,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer. 

"Then  it's  a  pity  she  didn't  know  better,"  said 
Lavvy.  "And  if  my  grandmamma  wasn't  in 
her  dotage  when  she  took  to  insisting  on  people's 
retiring  to  dark  apartments,  she  ought  to  have 
been.  A  pretty  exhibition  my  grandmamma 
must  have  made  of  herself!  I  wonder  whether 
she  ever  insisted  on  people's  retiring  into  the  ball 
of  St.  Paul's  ;  and  if  she  did,  how  she  got  them 
there !" 


"  Silence  !"    proclaimed    Mrs.  Wilfer.      "  I 
command  silence !" 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  intention  of  being 
silent,  Ma,"  returned  Lavinia,  coolly,  "  but  quite 
the  contrary.  I  am  not  going  to  be  eyed  as  if  1 
|  had  come  from  the  Boffins,  and  sit  silent  under 
it.  I  am  not  going  to  have  George  Sampson 
|  eyed  as  if  he  had  come  from  the  Boffins,  and  sit 
silent  under  it.  '  If  Fa  thinks  proper  to  be  eyed 
as  if  he  had  come  from  the  Boffins  also,  well  and 
good.     I  don't  choose  to.     And  I  won't!" 

Lavinia's  engineering  having  made  this  crook- 
ed opening  at  Bella,  Mrs.  Wilfer  strode  into  it. 

"You  rebellious  spirit !  You  mutinous  child ! 
Tell  me  this,  Lavinia.  If,  in  violation  of  your 
mother's  sentiments,  you  had  condescended  to 
allow  yourself  to  be  patronized  by  the  Boffins,  and 
if  you  had  come  from  those  halls  of  slavery — " 

"That's  mere  nonsense,  Ma,"  said  Lavinia. 

"How!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilfer,  with  sub- 
lime severity. 

"  Halls  of  slavery,  Ma,  is  mere  stuff  and  non- 
sense," returned  the  unmoved  Irrepressible. 

"I  say,  presumptuous  child,  if  you  had  come 
from  the  neighborhood  of  Portland  Place,  bend- 
ing under  the  yoke  of  patronage  and  attended 
by  its  domestics  in  glittering  garb  to  visit  me, 
do  you  think  my  deep-seated  feelings  could  have 
been  expressed  in  looks?" 

"All  I  think  about  it  is,"  returned  Lavinia, 
"that  I  should  wish  them  expressed  to  the 
right  person." 

"And  if,"  pursued  her  mother,  "if  making 
light  of  my  warnings  that  the  face  of  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin alone  was  a  face  teeming  with  evil,  you  had 
clung  to  Mrs.  Boffin  instead  of  to  me,  and  had 
after  all  come  home  rejected  by  Mrs.  Boffin, 
trampled  under  foot  by  Mrs.  Boffin,  and  cast 
out  by  Mrs.  Boffin,  do  you  think  my  feelings 
could  have  been  expressed  in  looks  ?" 

Lavinia  was  about  replying  to  her  honored 
parent  that  she  might  as  well  have  dispensed 
with  her  looks  altogether  then,  when  Bella  rose 
and  said,  "Good-night,  dear  Ma.  I  have  had 
a  tiring  day,  and  I'll  go  to  bed."  This  broke 
up  the  agreeable  party.  Mr.  George  Sampson 
shortly  afterward  took  his  leave,  accompanied  by 
Miss  Lavinia  with  a  candle  as  far  as  the  hall, 
and  without  a  candle  as  far  as  the  garden-gate ; 
Mrs.  Wilfer,  washing  her  hands  of  the  Boffins, 
went  to  bed  after  the  manner  of  Lady  Macbeth  ; 
and  R.  W.  was  left  alone  among  the  dilapida- 
tions of  the  supper-table,  in  a  melancholy  attitude. 

But  a  light  footstep  roused  him  from  his 
meditations,  and  it  was  Bella's.  Her  pretty 
hair  was  hanging  all  about  her,  and  she  had 
tripped  down  softly,  brush  in  hand,  and  bare- 
foot, to  say  good-night  to  him. 

"My  dear,  you  most  unquestionably  are  a 
lovely  "woman,"  said  the  cherub,  taking  up  a 
tress  in  his  hand. 

"Look  here,  Sir,"  said  Bella;  "when  your 
lovely  woman  marries,  you  shall  have  that  piece 
if  you  like,  and  she'll  make  you  a  chain  of  it. 
Would  you  prize  that  remembrance  of  the  dear 
creature?" 

"Yes,  my  precious." 

"Then  you  shall  have  it  if  you're  good,  Sir. 
I  am  very,  very  sorry,  dearest  Pa,  to  have  brought 
home  all  this  trouble." 

"My  pet,"  returned  her  father,  in  the  simplest 
good  faith,  "don't  make  yourself  uneasy  about 


268 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


THE    LOVELY   WOMAN   HAS   HER   FORTUNE   TOLD. 


that.  It  really  is  not  worth  mentioning,  because 
things  at  home  would  have  taken  pretty  much 
the  same  turn  any  way.  If  your  mother  and 
sister  don't  find  one  subject  to  get  at  times  a 
little  wearing  on,  they  find  another.  We're 
never  out  of  a  wearing  subject,  my  dear,  I  assure 
you.  I  am  afraid  you  find  your  old  room  with 
Lavvy  dreadfully  inconvenient,  Bella  ?" 

"No  I  don't,  Pa;  I  don't  mind.  Why  don't 
I  mind,  do  you  think,  Pa?" 

"Well,  my  child,  you  used  to  complain  of  it 
when  it  wasn't  such  a  contrast  as  it  must  be  now. 
Upon  my  word,  I  can  only  answer,  because  you 
are  so  much  improved." 

"  No,  Pa.  Because  I  am  so  thankful  and  so 
happy  !" 

Here  she  choked  him  until  her  long  hair  made 
him  sneeze,  and  then  she  laughed  until  she  made 
him  laugh,  and  then  she  choked  him  again  that 
they  might  not  be  overheard. 


"Listen,  Sir,"  said  Bella.  "  Your  lovely  wo- 
man was  told  her  fortune  to-night  on  her  wav 
home.  It  won't  be  a  large  fortune,  because  if 
the  lovely  woman's  Intended  gets  a  certain  ap- 
pointment that  he  hopes  to  get  soon,  she  will 
marry  on.  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year. 
But  that's  at  first,  and  even  if  it  should  never 
be  more,  the  lovely  woman  will  make  it  quite 
enough.  But  that's  not  all,  Sir.  In  the  for- 
tune there's  a  certain  fair  man — a  little  man, 
the  fortune-teller  said — who,  it  seems,  will  al- 
ways find  himself  near  the  lovely  woman,  and 
will  always  have  kept,  expressly  for  him,  such  a 
peaceful  corner  in  the  lovely  woman's  little  house 
as  never  was.  Tell  me  the  name  of  that  man, 
Sir." 

"Is  he  a  Knave  in  the  pack  of  cards?"  in- 
quired the  cherub,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"Yes!"  cried  Bella,  in  high  glee,  choking 
him    again.      "He's    the    Knave   of  WilferBl 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


269 


Dear  Pa,  the  lovely  woman  means  to  look  for- 
ward to  this  fortune  that  has  been  told  for  her, 
so  delightfully,  and  to  cause  it  to  make  her  a 
much  better  lovely  woman  than  she  ever  has 
been  yet.  What  the  little  fair  man  is  expected 
to  do,  Sir,  is  to  look  forward  to  it  also,  by  say- 
ing to  himself  when  he  is  in  danger  of  being 
over-worried,  'I  see  land  at  last !'  " 

"I  see  land  at  last!"  repeated  her  father. 

"There's  a  dear  Knave  of  Wilfers!"  ex- 
claimed Bella ;  then  putting  out  her  small  white 
bare  foot,  "That's  the  mark,  Sir.  Come  to  the 
mark.  Put  your  boot  against  it.  We  keep  to 
it  together,  mind !  Now,  Sir,  you  may  kiss  the 
lovely  woman  before  she  runs  away,  so  thankful 
and  sp  happy.  O  yes,  fair  little  man,  so  thank- 
ful and  so  happy !" 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A    SOCIAL    CHORUS. 

Amazement  sits  enthroned  upon  the  counte- 
nances of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alfred  Lammle's  circle 
of  acquaintance,  when  the  disposal  of  their  first- 
class  furniture  and  effects  (including  a  Billiard 
Table  in  capital  letters),  "by  auction,  under  a 
bill  of  sale,"  is  publicly  announced  on  a  waving 
hearth-rug  in  Sackville  Street.  But  nobody  is 
half  so  much  amazed  as  Hamilton  Veneering, 
Esquire,  M.P.  for  Pocket  Breaches,  who  in- 
stantly begins  to  find  out  that  the  Lammles  are 
the  only  people  ever  entered  on  his  soul's  regis- 
ter who  are  not  the  oldest  and  dearest  friends 
he  has  in  the  world.  Mrs.  Veneering,  W.M.P. 
for  Pocket  Breaches,  like  a  faithful  wife  shares 
her  husband's  discovery  and  inexpressible  aston- 
ishment. Perhaps  the  Veneerings  twain  may 
deem -the  last  unutterable  feeling  particularly 
due  to  their  reputation,  by  reason  that  once  upon 
a  time  some  of  the  longer  heads  in  the  City  are 
whispered  to  have  shaken  themselves,  when  Ve- 
neering's  extensive  dealings  and  great  wealth 
were  mentioned.  But  it  is  certain  that  neither 
Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Veneering  can  find  words  to  won- 
der in,  and  it  becomes  necessary  that  they  give 
to  the  oldest  and  dearest  friends  they  have  in  the 
world  a  wondering  dinner. 

For  it  is  by  this  time  noticeable  that,  what- 
ever befalls,  the  Veneerings  must  give  a  dinner 
upon  it.  Lady  Tippins  lives  in  a  chronic  state 
of  invitation  to  dine  with  the  Veneerings,  and 
in  a  chronic  state  of  inflammation  arising  from 
the  dinners.  Boots  and  Brewer  go  about  in 
cabs,  with  no  other  intelligible  business  on  earth 
than  to  beat  up  people  to  come  and  dine  with  the 
Veneerings.  Veneering  pervades  the  legislative 
lobbies,  intent  upon  entrapping  his  fellow-legis- 
lators to  dinner.  Mrs.  Veneering'  dined  with 
five-and-twenty  bran-new  faces  overnight ;  calls 
upon  them  all  to-day ;  sends  them  every  one 
a  dinner-card  to-morrow,  for  the  week  after 
next ;  before  that  dinner  is  digested,  calls  upon 
their  brothers  and  sisters,  their  sons  and  daugh- 
ters, their  nephews  and  nieces,  their  aunts  and 
uncles  and  cousins,  and  invites  them  all  to  din- 
ner. And  still,  as  at  first,  howsoever,  the  din- 
ing circle  widens,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  all 
the  diners  are  consistent  in  appearing  to  go  to 
the  Veneerings,  not  to  dine  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Veneering  (which  would  seem  to  be  the  last 
S 


thing  in  their  minds),  but  to  dine  with  one  an- 
other. 

Perhaps,  after  all — who  knows? — Veneering 
may  find  this  dining,  though  expensive,  remu- 
nerative, in  the  sense  that  it  makes  champions. 
Mr.  Podsnap,  as  a  representative  man,  is  not 
alone  in  caring  very  particularly  for  his  own 
dignity,  if  not  for  that  of  his  acquaintances,  and 
therefore  in  angrily  supporting  the  acquaintances 
who  have  taken  out  his  Permit,  lest,  in  their 
being  lessened,  he  should  be.  The  gold  and 
silver  camels,  and  the  ice-pails,  and  the  rest  of 
the  Veneering  table  decorations,  make  a  brilliant 
show,  and  when  I,  Podsnap,  casually  remark  else- 
where that  I  dined  last  Monday  with  a  gorgeous 
caravan  of  camels,  I  find  it  personally  offensive 
to  have  it  hinted  to  me  that  they  are  broken- 
kneed  camels,  or  camels  laboring  under  sus- 
picion of  any  sort.  "I  don't  display  camels 
myself,  I  am  above  them ;  I  am  a  more  solid 
man  ;  but  these  camels  have  basked  in  the  light 
of  my  countenance,  and  how  dare  you,  Sir,  in- 
sinuate to  me  that  I  have  irradiated  any  but  un- 
impeachable camels  ?" 

The  camels  are  polishing  up  in  the  Analyt- 
ical^ pantry  for  the  dinner  of  wonderment  on 
the  occasion  of  the  Lammles  going  to  pieces, 
and  Mr.  Twemlow  feels  a  little  queer  on  the 
sofa  at  his  lodgings  over  the  stable  yard  in 
Duke  Street,  Saint  James's,  in  consequence  of 
having  taken  two  advertised  pills  at  about  mid- 
day, on  the  faith  of  the  printed  representation 
accompanying  the  box  (price  one  and  a  penny 
half-penny,  government  stamp  included),  that 
the  same  "will  be  found  highly  salutary  as  a 
precautionary  measure  in  connection  with  the 
pleasures  of  the  table."  To  whom,  while  sickly 
with  the  fancy  of  an  insoluble  pill  sticking  in 
his  gullet,  and  also  with  the  sensation  of  a  de-  * 
posit  of  warm  gum  languidly  wandering  within 
him  a  little  lower  down,  a  servant  enters  with 
the  announcement  that  a  lady  wishes  to  speak 
with  him. 

"  A  lady !"  says  Twemlow,  pluming  his  ruffled 
feathers.     "Ask  the  favor  of  the  lady's  name." 

The  lady's  name  is  Lammle.  The  lady  will 
not  detain  Mr.  Twemlow  longer  than  a  very  few  . 
minutes.  The  lady  is  sure  that  Mr.  Twemlow 
will  do  her  the  kindness  to  see  her,  on  being  told 
that  she  particularly  desires  a  short  interview. 
The  lady  has  no  doubt  whatever  of  Mr.  Twem- 
low's  compliance  when  he  hears  her  name.  Has 
begged  the  servant  to  be  particular  not  to  mis- 
take her  name.  Would  have  sent  in  a  card,  but 
has  none. 

"  Show  the  lady  in."  Lady  shown  in,  comes 
in. 

Mr.  Twemlow's  little  rooms  are  modestly  fur- 
nished, in  an  old-fashioned  manner  (rather  like 
the  housekeeper's  room  at  Snigsworthy  Park), 
and  would  be  bare  of  mere  ornament  were  it  not 
for  a  full-length  engraving  of  the  sublime  Snigs- 
worth  over  the  chimney-piece,  snorting  at  a 
Corinthian  column,  with  an  enormous  roll  of 
paper  at  his  feet,  and  a  heavy  curtain  going  to 
tumble  down  on  his  head ;  those  accessories  be- 
ing understood  to  represent  the  noble  lord  as 
somehow  in  the  act  of  saving  his  country. 

"Pray  take  a  seat,  Mrs.  Lammle."  Mrs. 
Lammle  takes  a  seat  and  opens  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"I  have  no  doubt,  Mr.  Twemlow,  that  you 


270 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


have  heard  of  a  reverse  of  fortune  having  be- 
fallen us.  Of  course  you  have  heard  of  it,  for 
no  kind  of  news  travels  so  fast — among  one's 
friends  especially. " 

Mindful  of  the  wondering  dinner,  Twemlow, 
with  a  little  twinge,  admits  the  imputation. 

"Probably  it  will  not,"  says  Mrs.  Lammle, 
with  a  certain  hardened  manner  upon  her,  that 
makes  Twemlow  shrink,  "have  surprised  you 
so  much  as  some  others,  after  what  passed  be- 
tween us  at  the  house  which  is  now  turned  out 
at  windows.  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  calling 
upon  you,  Mr.  Twemlow,  to  add  a  sort  of  post- 
script to  what  I  said  that  day." 

Mr.  Twemlow's  dry  and  hollow  cheeks  become 
more  dry  and  hollow  at  the  prospect  of  some 
new  complication. 

"Really,"  says  the  uneasy  little  gentleman, 
"  really,  Mrs.  Lammle,  I  should  take  it  as  a  fa- 
vor if  you  could  excuse  me  from  any  further 
confidence.  It  has  ever  been  one  of  the  objects 
of  my  life — which,  unfortunately,  has  not  had 
many  objects — to  be  inoffensive,  and  to  keep  out 
of  cabals  and  interferences." 

Mrs.  Lammle,  by  far  the  more  observant  of 
the  two,  scarcely  finds  it  necessary  to  look  at 
Twemlow  while  he  speaks,  so  easily  does  she 
read  him. 

"  My  postscript — to  retain  the  term  I  have 
used" — says  Mrs.  Lammle,  fixing  her  eyes  on  his 
face,  to  enforce  what  she  says  herself — "coin- 
cides exactly  with  what  you  say,  Mr.  Twemlow. 
So  far  from  troubling  you  with  any  new  confi- 
dence, I  merely  wish  to  remind  you  what  the  old 
one  was.  So  far  from  asking  you  for  interfer- 
ence, I  merely  wish  to  claim  your  strict  neutral- 
.  ity." 

Twemlow  going  on  to  reply,  she  rests  her  eyes 
*  again,  knowing  her  ears  to  be  quite  enough  for 
the  contents  of  so  weak  a  vessel. 

"I  can,  I  suppose,"  says  Twemlow,  nervously, 
"offer  no  reasonable  objection  to  hearing  any 
thing  that  you  do  me  the  honor  to  wish  to  say 
to  me  under  those  heads.  But  if  I  may,  with  all 
possible  delicacy  and  politeness,  entreat  you  not 
to  range  beyond  them,  I — I  beg  to  do  so." 

"  Sir,"  says  Mrs.  Lammle,  raising  her  eyes  to 
his  face  again,  and  quite  daunting  him  with  her 
hardened  manner,  "  I  imparted  to  you  a  certain 
piece  of  knowledge,  to  be  imparted  again,  as 
you  thought  best,  to  a  certain  person." 

"Which  I  did,"  says  Twemlow. 

"  And  for  doing  which,  I  thank  you ;  though, 
indeed,  I  scarcely  know  why  I  turned  traitress 
to  my  husband  in  the  matter,  for  the  girl  is  a 
poor  little  fool.  I  was  a  poor  little  fool  once 
myself;  I  can  find  no  better  reason."  Seeing 
the  effect  she  produces  on  him  by  her  indifferent 
laugh  and  cold  look,  she  keeps  her  eyes  upon 
him  as  she  proceeds.  ' '  Mr.  Twemlow,  if  you 
should  chance  to  see  my  husband,  or  to  see  me, 
or  to  see  both  of  us,  in  the  favor  or  confidence 
of  any  one  else — whether  of  our  common  ac- 
quaintance or  not,  is  of  no  consequence — you 
have  no  right  to  use  against  us  the  knowledge 
I  intrusted  you  with,  for  one  special  purpose 
which  has  been  accomplished.  This  is  what  I 
came  to  say.  It  is  not  a  stipulation  ;  to  a  gen- 
tleman it  is  simply  a  reminder." 

Twemlow  sits  murmuring  to  himself  with  his 
hand  to  his  forehead. 

"  It  is  so  plain  a  case,"  Mrs.  Lammle  goes  on, 


"as  between  me  (from  the  first  relying  on  your 
honor)  and  you,  that  I  will  not  waste  anothe 
word  upon  it. "  She  looks  steadily  at  Mr.  Twem- 
low, until,  with  a  shrug,  he  makes  her  a  little 
one-sided  bow,  as  though  saying  "Yes,  I  think 
you  have  a  right  to  rely  upon  me,"  and  then 
she  moistens  her  lips,  and  shows  a  sense  of  re- 
lief. 

"I  trust  I  have  kept  the  promise  I  made 
through  your  servant,  that  I  would  detain  you  a 
very  few  minutes.  I  need  trouble  you  no  longer, 
Mr.  Twemlow." 

"Stay!"  says  Twemlow,  rising  as  she  rises. 
''Pardon  me  a  moment.  I  should  never  have 
sought  you  out,  madam,  to  say  what  I  am  going 
to  say,  but  since  you  have  sought  me  out  and 
are  here,  I  will  throw  it  off  my  mind.  Was  it 
quite  consistent,  in  candor,  with  our  taking  that 
resolution  against  Mr.  Fledgeby,  that  you  should 
afterward  address  Mr.  Fledgeby  as  your  dear 
and  confidential  friend,  and  entreat  a  favor  of 
Mr.  Fledgeby  ?  Always  supposing  that  you  did  ; 
I  assert  no  knowledge  of  my  own  on  the  subject ; 
it  has  been  represented  to  me  that  you  did." 

"Then  he  told  you?"  retorts  Mrs.  Lammle, 
who  again  has  saved  her  eyes  while  listening, 
and  uses  them  with  strong  effect  while  speak- 
ing. 

"Yes." 

"It  is  strange  that  he  should  have  told  you 
the  truth,"  says  Mrs.  Lammle,  seriously  ponder- 
ing. "Pray  whei-e  did  a  circumstance  so  very 
extraordinary  happen  ?" 

Twemlow  hesitates.  He  is  shorter  than  the 
lady  as  well  as  weaker,  and,  as  she  stands  above 
him  with  her  hardened  manner  and  her  well- 
used  eyes,  he  finds  himself  at  such  a  disadvant- 
age that  he  would  like  to  be  of  the  opposite 
sex. 

"May  I  ask  where  it  happened,  Mr.  Twem- 
low?    In  strict  confidence  ?" 

"  I  must  confess,"  says  the  mild  little  gentle- 
man, coming  to  his  answer  by  degrees,  "that  I 
felt  some  compunctions  when  Mr.  Fledgeby  men- 
tioned it.  I  must  admit  that  I  could  not  regard 
myself  in  an  agreeable  light.  More  particular- 
ly, as  Mr.  Fledgeby  did,  with  great  civility, 
which  I  could  not  feel  that  I  deserved  from  him, 
render  me  the  same  service  that  you  had  en- 
treated him  to  render  you."  ^ 

It  is  a  part  of  the  true  nobility  of  the  poor  gen- 
tleman's soul  to  say  this  last  sentence.  "  Other- 
wise," he  has  reflected,  "I  shall  assume  the  su- 
perior position  of  having  no  difficulties  of  my 
own,  while  I  know  of  hers.  Which  would  be 
mean,  very  mean." 

"Was  Mr.  Fledgeby's  advocacy  as  effectual 
in  your  case  as  in  ours?"  Mrs.  Lammle  de- 
mands. 

"As  ^effectual." 

"Can  you  make  up  your  mind  to  tell  me 
where  you  saw  Mr.  Fledgeby,  Mr.  Twemlow?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  fully  intended  to  have 
done  so.  The  reservation  was  not  intentional. 
I  encountered  Mr.  Fledgeby,  quite  by  accident, 
on  the  spot. — By  the  expression,  on  the  spot,  I 
mean  at  Mr.  Riah's  in  Saint  Mary  Axe." 

"Have  you  the  misfortune  to  be  in  Mr.  Riah's 
hands  then?" 

"Unfortunately,  madam,"  returns  Twemlow, 
"the  one  money-obligation  to  which  I  stand 
committed,  the  one  debt  of  my  life  (but  it  is  a 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


271 


just  debt ;  pray  observe  that  I  don't  dispute  it), 
has  fallen  into  Mr.  Riah's  hands. " 

"Mr.  Twemlow,"  says  Mrs.  Lammle,  fixing 
his  eyes  with  hers :  which  he  would  prevent  her 
doing  if  he  could,  but  he  can't;  "it  has  fallen 
into  Mr.  Fledgeby's  hands.  Mr.  Riah  is  his 
mask.  It  has  fallen  into  Mr.  Fledgeby's  hands. 
Let  me  tell  you  that,  for  your  guidance.  The 
information  may  be  of  use  to  you,  if  only  to  pre- 
vent your  credulity,  in  judging  another  man's 
truthfulness  by  your  own,  from  being  imposed 
upon." 

"Impossible !"  cries  Twemlow,  standing  aghast. 
' '  How  do  you  know  it  ?" 

' '  I  scarcely  know  how  I  know  it.  The  whole 
train  of  circumstances  seemed  to  take  fire  at 
once,  and  show  it  to  me." 

"  Oh  !  Then  you  have  no  proof. " 
"It  is  very  strange,"  says  Mrs.  Lammle,  cold- 
ly and  boldly,  and  with  some  disdain,  "how  like 
men  are  to  .one  another  in  some  things,  though 
their  characters  are  as  different  as  can  be  !  No 
two  men  can  have  less  affinity  between  them, 
one  would  say,  than  Mr.  Twemlow  and  my  hus- 
band. Yet  my  husband  replies  to  me"' You 
have  no  proof, '  and  Mr.  Twemlow  replies  to  me 
with  the  very  same  words !" 

"But why,  madam?"  Twemlow  ventures  gen- 
tly to  argue.  "Consider  why  the  very  same 
words  ?  Because  thev  state  the  fact.  Because 
you  have  no  proof." 

' '  Men  are  very  wise  in  their  way, "  quoth  Mrs. 
Lammle,  glancing  haughtily  at  the  Snigsworth 
portrait,  and  shaking  out  her  dress  before  de- 
parting ;  "  but  they  have  wisdom  to  learn.  My 
husband,  who  is  not  over-confiding,  ingenuous, 
or  inexperienced,  sees  this  plain  thing  no  more 
than  Mr.  Twemlow  does — because  there  is  no 
proof!  Yet  I  believe  five  women  out  of  six,  in 
my  place,  would  see  it  as  clearly  as  I  do.  How- 
ever, I  will  never  rest  (if  only  in  remembrance 
of  Mr.  Fledgeby's  having  kissed  my  hand)  until 
my  husband  does  see  it.  And  you  will  do  well 
for  yourself  to  see  it  from  this  time  forth,  Mr. 
Twemlow,  though  I  can  give  you  no  proof." 

As  she  moves  toward  the  door,  Mr.  Twemlow, 
attending. on  her,  expresses  his  soothing  hope 
that  the  condition  of  Mr.  Lammle's  affairs  is  not 
irretrievable. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Mrs.  Lammle  answers,  stop- 
ping, and  sketching  out  the  pattern  of  the  paper 
on  the  wall  with  the  point  of  her  parasol;  "it 
depends.  There  may  be  an  opening  for  him 
dawning  now,  or  there  may  be  none.  We  shall 
soon  find  out.  If  none,  we  are  bankrupt  here, 
and  must  go  abroad,  I  suppose." 

Mr.  Twemlow,  in  his  good-natured  desire  to 
make  the  best  of  it,  remarks  that  there  are  pleas- 
ant lives  abroad. 

"Yes,"  returns  Mrs.  Lammle,  still  sketching 
on  the  wall ;  "  but  I  doubt  whether  billiard-play- 
ing, card-playing,  and  so  forth,  for  the  means 
to  live  under  suspicion  at  a  dirty  table-d'hote,  is 
one  of  them." 

It  is  much  for  Mr.  Lammle,  Twemlow  polite- 
ly intimates  (though  greatly  shocked),  to  have 
one  always  beside  him  who  is  attached  to  him  in 
all  his  fortunes,  and  whose  restraining  influence 
will  prevent  him  from  courses  that  would  be 
discreditable  and  ruinous.  As  he  says  it,  Mrs. 
Lammle  leaves  off  sketching,  and  looks  at  him. 
' '  Restraining  influence,  Mr.  Twemlow  ?    We 


must  eat  and  drink,  and  dress,  and  have  a  roof 
over  our  heads.  Always  beside  him  and  at- 
tached in  all  his  fortunes  ?  Not  much  to  boast 
of  in  that;  what  can  a  woman  at  my  age  do? 
My  husband  and  I  deceived  one  another  when 
we  married  ;  we  must  bear  the  consequences  of 
the  deception — that  is  to  say,  bear  one  another, 
and  bear  the  burden  of  scheming  together  for 
to-day's  dinner  and  to-morrow's  breakfast — till 
death  divorces  us." 

With  those  words  she  walks  out  into  Duke 
Street,  Saint  James's.  Mr.  Twemlow  returning 
to  his  sofa,  lays  down  his  aching  head  on  its 
slippery  little  horse-hair  bolster,  with  a  strong 
internal  conviction  that  a  painful  interview  is 
not  the  kind  of  thing  to  be  taken  after  the  din- 
ner pills  w^iich  are  so  highly  salutary  in  connec- 
tion with  the  pleasures  of  the  table. 

But  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  finds  the  wor- 
thy little  gentleman  getting  better,  and  also  get- 
ting himself  into  his  obsolete  little  silk  stockings 
and  pumps,  for  the  wondering  dinner  at  the  Ve- 
neerings.  And  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening 
finds  him  trotting  out  into  Duke  Street,  to  trot 
to  the  corner  and  save  a  sixpence  in  coach-hire. 
Tippins  the  divine  has  dined  herself  into  such 
a  condition  by  this  time  that  a  morbid  mind 
might  desire  her,  for  a  blessed  change,  to  sup  at 
last  and  turn  into  bed.  Such  a  mind  has  Mr. 
Eugene  Wrayburn,  whom  Twemlow  finds  con- 
templating Tippins  with  the  moodiest  of  vis- 
ages, while  that  playful  creature  rallies  him  on 
being  so  long  overdue  at  the  woolsack.  Skittish 
is  Tippins  with  Mortimer  Lightwood  too,  and 
has  raps  to  give  him  with  her  fan  for  having 
been  best  man  at  the  nuptials  of  these  deceiving 
what's-their-names  who  have  gone  to  pieces. 
Though,  indeed,  the  fan  is  generally  lively,  and 
taps  away  at  the  men  in  all  directions,  with 
something  of  a  grizzly  sound  suggestive  of  the 
clattering  of  Lady  Tippins's  bones. 

A  new  race  of  intimate  friends  has  sprung  up 
at  Veneering's  since  he  went  into  Parliament 
for  the  public  good,  to  whom  Mrs.  Veneering  is 
very  attentive.     These  friends,  like  astronomic- 
al distances,  are  only  to  be  spoken  of  in  the  very 
largest  figures.     Boots  says  that  one  of  them  is 
a  Contractor  who  (it  has  been  calculated)  gives 
employment,  directly  and  indirectly,  to  five  hun- 
dred thousand  men.     Brewer  says  that  another 
of  them  is  a  Chairman,  in  such  request  at  so 
many  Boards,  so  far  apart,  that  he  never  trav- 
els less  by  railway  than  three  thousand  miles  a 
week.     Buffer  says  that  another  of  them  hadn't 
a  sixpence  eighteen  months  ago,  and,  through 
the  brilliancy  of  his  genius  in  getting  those 
shares  issued  at  eighty-five,  and  buying  them 
all  up  with  no  money  and  selling  them  at  par 
for  cash,  has  now  three  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  thousand  pounds — Buffer  particularly  in- 
sisting on  the  odd  seventy-five,  and  declining  to 
take  a  farthing  less.     With  Buffer,  Boots,  and 
Brewer,  Lady  Tippins  is  eminently  facetious  on 
the  subject  of  these  Fathers  of  the  Scrip-Church  : 
surveying  them  through  her  eye-glass,  and  in- 
quiring whether  Boots  and  Brewer  and  Buffer 
think  they  will  make  her  fortune  if  she  makes 
love  to  them  ?  with  other  pleasantries  of  that  na- 
ture.    Veneering,  in  his  different  way,  is  much 
occupied  with  the  Fathers  too,  piously  retiring 
with  them  into  the  conservatory,  from  which 
retreat  the  word  "Committee"  is  occasional! v 


272 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


heard,  and  where  the  Fathers  instruct  Veneer- 
ing how  he  must  leave  the  valley  of  the  piano 
on  his  left,  take  the  level  of  the  mantle-piece, 
cross  by  an  open  cutting  at  the  candelabra,  seize 
the  carrying-traffic  at  the  console,  and  cut  up 
the  opposition  root  and  branch  at  the  window 
curtains. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Podsnap  are  of  the  company, 
and  the  Fathers  descry  in  Mrs.  Podsnap  a  fine 
woman.  She  is  consigned  to  a  Father — Boots's 
Father,  who  employs  five  hundred  thousand 
men — and  is  brought  to  anchor  on  Veneering's 
left;  thus  affording  opportunity  to  the  sportive 
Tippins  on  his  right  (he,  as  usual,  being  mere 
vacant  space),  to  entreat  to  be  told  something 
about  those  loves  of  Navvies,  and  whether  they 
do  really  live  on  raw  beef-steaks,  and  drink  por- 
ter out  of  their  barrows.  But  in  spite  of  such 
little  skirmishes  it  is  felt  that  this  was  to  be  a 
wondering  dinner,  and  that  the  wondering  must 
not  be  neglected.  Accordingly,  Brewer,  as  the 
man  who  has  the  greatest  reputation  to  sustain, 
becomes  the  interpreter  of  the  general  instinct. 

"  I  took,"  says  Brewer,  in  a  favorable  pause, 
"a  cab  this  morning,  and  I  rattled  off  to  that 
Sale.'* 

Boots  (devoured  by  envy)  says,  "  So  did  I." 

Buffer  says,  "  So  did  I ;"  but  can  find  nobody 
to  care  whether  he  did  or  not. 

"And  what  was  it  like?"  inquires  Veneering. 

"I  assure  you,"  replies  Brewer,  looking  about 
for  any  body  else  to  address  his  answer  to,  and 
giving  the  preference  to  Lightwood;  "I  assure 
you,  the  things  were  going  for  a  song.  Hand- 
some things  enough,  but  fetching  nothing." 

"So  I  heard  this  afternoon, "says  Lightwood. 

Brewer  begs  to  know  now,  would  it  be  fair  to 
ask  a  professional  man  how — on — earth — these 
—"people — ever — did — come — to — such — a — to- 
tal smash  ?"  (Brewer's  divisions  being  for  em- 
phasis.) 

Lightwood  replies  that  he  was  consulted*  cer- 
tainly, but  could  give  no  opinion  which  would 
pay  off  the  Bill  of  Sale,  and  therefore  violates 
no  confidence  in  supposing  that  it  came  of  their 
living  beyond  their  means. 

"But  how," says  Veneering,  "can  people  do 
that!" 

Hah !  That  is  felt  on  all  hands  to  be  a  shot 
in  the  bull's-eye.  How  can  people  do  that! 
The  Analytical  Chemist  going  round  with  Cham- 
pagne looks  very  much  as  if  he  could  give  them 
a  pretty  good  idea  how  people  did  that,  if  he 
had  a  mind. 

"How,"  says  Mrs.  Veneering,  laying  down 
her  fork  to  press  her  aquiline  hands  together  at 
the  tips  of  the  fingers,  and  addressing  the  Fa- 
ther who  travels  the  three  thousand  miles  per 
week  :  ' '  how  a  mother  can  look  at  her  baby, 
and  know  that  she  lives  beyond  her  husband's 
means,  I  can  not  imagine." 

Eugene  suggests  that  Mrs.  Lammle,  not  being 
a  mother,  had  no  baby  to  look  at. 

"True,"  says  Mrs.  Veneering,  "but  the  prin- 
ciple is  the  same." 

Boots  is  clear  that  the  principle  is  the  same. 
So  is  Buffer.  It  is  the  unfortunate  destiny  of 
Buffer  to  damage  a  cause  by  espousing  it.  The 
rest  of  the  company  have  meekly  yielded  to  the 
proposition  that  the  principle  is  the  same,  until 
Buffer  says  it  is  ;  when  instantly  a  general  mur- 
mur arises  that  the  principle  is  not  the  same. 


"But  I  don't  understand,"  says  the  Father 
of  the  three  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand 
pounds,  " — if  these  people  spoken  of  occupied 
the  position  of  being  in  society — they  were  in 
society  ?" 

Veneering  is  bound  to  confess  that  they  dined 
here,  and  were  even  married  from  here. 

"Then  I  don't  understand,"  pursues  the  Fa- 
ther, "how  even  their  living  beyond  their  means 
could  bring  them  to  what  has  been  termed  a  total 
smash.  Because  there  is  always  such  a  thing  as 
an  adjustment  of  affairs  in  the  case  of  people  of 
any  standing  at  all." 

Eugene  (who  would  seem  to  be  in  a  gloomy 
state  of  suggestiveness)  suggests,  "  Suppose  you 
have  no  means  and  live  beyond  them  ?" 

This  is  too  insolvent  a  state  of  things  for  the 
Father  to  entertain.  It  is  too  insolvent  a  state 
of  things  for  any  one  with  any  self-respect  to  en- 
tertain, and  is  universally  scouted.  But  it  is  so 
amazing  how  any  people  can  have  come  to  a  to- 
tal smash  that  every  body  feels  bound  to  account 
for  it  specially.  One  of  the  Fathers  says,  "  Gam- 
ing-table." Another  of  the  Fathers  says,  "  Spec- 
ulated without  knowing  that  speculation  is  a 
science."  Boots  says,  "  Horses."  Lady  Tippins 
says  to  her  fan,  "Two  establishments."  Mr. 
Podsnap,  saying  nothing,  is  referred  to  for  his 
opinion;  which  he  delivers  as  follows,  much 
flushed  and  extremely  angry : 

"Don't  ask  me.  I  desire  to  take  no  part  in 
the  discussion  of  these  people's  affairs.  I  abhor 
the  subject.  It  is  an  odious  subject,  an  offensive 
subject,  a  subject  that  makes  me  sick,  and  I — " 
And  with  his  favorite  right-arm  flourish,  which 
sweeps  away  every  thing  and  settles  it  forever, 
Mr.  Podsnap  sweeps  these  inconveniently  unex- 
plainable  wretches  who  have  lived  beyond  their 
means  and  gone  to  total  smash  off  the  face  of 
the  universe. 

Eugene,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  is  observ- 
ing Mr.  Podsnap  with  an  irreverent  face,  and 
may  be  about  to  offer  a  new  suggestion,  when 
the  Analytical  is  beheld  in  collision  with  the 
Coachman;  the  Coachman  manifesting  a  pur- 
pose of  coming  at  the  company  with  a  silver  sal- 
ver, as  though  intent  upon  making  a  collection 
for  his  wife  and  family ;  the  Analytical  cutting 
him  off  at  the  sideboard.  The  superior  stateli- 
ness,  if  not  the  superior  generalship,  of  the  Ana- 
lytical prevails  over  a  man  who  is  as  nothing  off 
the  box;  and  the  Coachman,  yielding  up  his 
salver,  retires  defeated. 

Then  the  Analytical,  perusing  a  scrap  of  pa- 
per lying  on  the  salver  with  the  air  of  a  literary 
Censor,  adjusts  it,  takes  his  time  about  going  to 
the  table  with  it,  and  presents  it  to  Mr.  Eugene 
Wrayburn.  Whereupon  the  pleasant  Tippins 
says  aloud,  "The  Lord  Chancellor  has  re- 
signed !" 

With  distracting  coolness  and  slowness — for  he 
knows  the  curiosity  of  the  Charmer  to  be  always 
devouring — Eugene  makes  a  pretense  of  getting 
out  an  eye-glass,  polishing  it,  and  reading  the 
paper  with  difficulty,  long  after  he  has  seen  what 
is  written  on  it.  What  is  written  on  it  in  wet 
ink,  is: 

"Young  Blight." 

"Waiting?"  says  Eugene  over  his  shoulder, 
in  confidence,  with  the  Analytical. 

"Waiting,"  returns  the  Analytical,  in  re- 
sponsive confidence. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


273 


Eugene  looks  "Excuse me"  toward  Mrs.  Ve- 
neering, goes  out,  and  finds  Young  Blight,  Mor- 
timer's clerk,  at  the  hall  door. 

"You  told  me  to  bring  him,  Sir,  to  wherever 
you  was,  if  he  come  while  you  was  out  and  I  was 
in,"  says  that  discreet  young  gentleman,  stand- 
ing on  tip-toe  to  whisper;  "and  I've  brought 
him." 

"Sharp  boy.     Where  is  he?"  asks  Eugene. 

"He's  in  a  cab,  Sir,  at  the  door.  I  thought 
it  best  not  to  show  him,  you  see,  if  it  could  be 
helped;  for  he's  a  shaking  all  over,  like — " 
Blight's  simile  is  perhaps  inspired  by  the  sur- 
rounding dishes  of  sweets — "like  Glue  Monge." 

"Sharp  boy  again,"  returns  Eugene.  "I'll 
go  to  him." 

Goes  out  straightway,  and,  leisurely  leaning 
his  arms  on  the  open  window  of  a  cab  in  wait- 
ing, looks  in  at  Mr.  Dolls,  who  has  brought  his 
own  atmosphere  with  him,  and  would  seem  from 
its  odor  to  have  brought  it,  for  convenience  of 
carriage,  in  a  rum-cask. 

"Now,  Dolls,  wake  up!" 


"  Mist  Wrayburn  ?  Drection  !  Fifteen  shil- 
lings!" 

After  carefully  reading  the  dingy  scrap  of  pa- 
per handed  to  him,  and  as  carefully  tucking  it 
into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  Eugene  tells  out  the 
money:  beginning  incautiously  by  telling  the 
first  shilling  into  Mr.  Dolls's  hand,  which  in- 
stantly jerks  it  out  of  window ;  and  ending  by 
telling  the  fifteen  shillings  on  the  seat. 

"Give  him  a  ride  back  to  Charing  Cross, 
sharp  boy,  and  there  get  rid  of  him." 

Returning  to  the  dining-room,  and  pausing 
for  an  instant  behind  the  screen  at  the  door, 
Eugene  overhears,  above  the  hum  and  clatter, 
the  fair  Tippins  saying:  "I  am  dying  to  ask 
him  what  he  was  called  out  for!" 

"Are  you?"  mutters  Eugene,  "then  perhaps 
if  you  can't  ask  him  you'll  die.  So  I'll  be  a  ben- 
efactor to  society,  and  go.  A  stroll  and  a  cigar, 
and  I  can  think  this  over.  Think  this  over." 
Thus,  with  a  thoughtful  face,  he  finds  his  hat 
and  cloak,  unseen  of  the  Analytical,  and  goes 
his  way. 


274 


OUK  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


BOOK    IV,— A    TURNING, 


CHAPTER  I. 

SETTING    TRAPS. 

Plashwater  Weir-Mill  Lock  looked  tran- 
quil and  pretty  on  an  evening  in  the  summer 
time.  A  soft  air  stirred  the  leaves  of  the  fresh 
green  trees,  and  passed  like  a  smooth  shad- 
ow over  the  river,  and  like  a  smoother  shadow 
over  the  yielding  grass.  The  voice  of  the  falling 
water,  like  the  voices  of  the  sea  and  the  wind, 
were  as  an  outer  memory  to  a  contemplative 
listener ;  but  not  particularly  so  to  Mr.  Rider- 
hood,  who  sat  on  one  of  the  blunt  wooden  levers 
of  his  lock-gates,  dozing.  Wine  must  be  got 
into  a  butt  by  some  agency  before  it  can  be  drawn 
out;  and  the  wine  of  sentiment  never  having 
been  got  into  Mr.  Riderhood  by  any  agency, 
nothing  in  nature  tapped  him. 

As  the  Rogue  sat,  ever  and  again  nodding 
himself  off  his  balance,  his  recovery  was  always 
attended  by  an  angry  stare  and  growl,  as  if,  in 
the  absence  of  any  one  else,  he  had  aggressive 
inclinations  toward  himself.  In  one  of  these 
starts  the  cry  of  "Lock  ho!  Lock!"  prevented 
his  relapse  into  a  doze.  Shaking  himself  as  he 
got  up,  like  the  surly  brute  he  was,  he  gave  his 
growl  a  responsive  twist  at  the  end,  and  turned 
his  face  down-stream  to  see  who  hailed. 

It  was  an  amateur  sculler,  well  up  to  his  work 
though  taking  it  easily,  in  so  light  a  boat  that 
the  Rogue  remarked :  "  A  little  less  on  you,  and 
you'd  a'most  ha'  been  a  Wagerbut;"  then  went 
to  work  at  his  windlass  handles  and  sluices,  to 
let  the  sculler  in.  As  the  latter  stood  in  his 
boat,  holding  on  by  the  boat-hook  to  the  wood- 
work at  the  lock  side,  waiting  for  the  gates  to 
open,  Rogue  Riderhood  recognized  his  "T'other 
governor,"  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn ;  who  was, 
however,  too  indifferent  or  too  much  engaged  to 
recognize  him. 

The  creaking  lock-gates  opened  slowly,  and  the 
light  boat  passed  in  as  soon  as  there  was  room 
enough,  and  the  creaking  lock-gates  closed  upon 
it,  and  it  floated  low  down  in  the  dock  between 
the  two  sets  of  gates,  until  the  water  should  rise 
and  the  second  gates  should  open  and  let  it  out. 
When  Riderhood  had  run  to  his  second  windlass 
and  turned  it,  and  while  he  leaned  against  the 
lever  of  that  gate  to  help  it  to  swing  open  pres- 
ently, he  noticed,  lying  to  rest  under  the  green 
hedge  by  the  towing  path  astern  of  the  Lock,  a 
Bargeman. 

The  water  rose  and  rose  as  the  sluice  poured 
in,  dispersing  the  scum  which  had  formed  be- 
hind the  lumbering  gates,  and  sending  the  boat 
up,  so  that  the  sculler  gradually  rose  like  an  ap- 
parition against  the  light  from  the  bargeman's 
point  of  view.  Riderhood  observed  that  the 
bargeman  rose  too,  leaning  on  his  arm,  and 
seemed  to  have  his  eyes  fastened  on  the  rising 
figure. 

But  there  was  the  toll  to  be  taken,  as  the 
gates  were  now  complaining  and  opening.  The 
T'other  governor  tossed  it  ashore,  twisted  in  a 


piece  of  paper,  and,  as  he  did  so,  knew  his 
man. 

"Ay,  ay?  It's  you,  is  it,  honest  friend?" 
said  Eugene,  seating  himself  preparatory  to  re- 
suming his  sculls.     "  You  got  the  place,  then  ?" 

"  I  got  the  place,  and  no  thanks  to  you  for  it, 
nor  yet  none  to  Lawyer  Lightwood,"  gruffly  an- 
swered Riderhood. 

"We  saved  our  recommendation,  honest  fel- 
low," said  Eugene,  "for  the  next  candidate — 
the  one  who  will  offer  himself  when  you  are 
transported  or  hanged.  Don't  be  long  about  it ; 
will  you  be  so  good  ?" 

So  imperturbable  was  the  air  with  which  he 
gravely  bent  to  his  work  that  Riderhood  re- 
mained staring  at  him,  without  having  found  a 
retort,  until  he  had  rowed  past  a  line  of  wooden 
objects  by  the  weir,  which  showed  like  huge  tee- 
totums standing  at  rest  in  the  water,  and  was  al- 
most hidden-by  the  drooping  boughs  on  the  left 
bank,  as  he  rowed  away,  keeping  out  of  the  op- 
posing current.  It  being  then  too  late  to  retort 
with  any  effect — if  that  could  ever  have  been 
done — the  honest  man  confined  himself  to  curs- 
ing and  growling  in  a  grim  under-tone.  Hav- 
ing then  got  his  gates  shut,  he  crossed  back  by 
his  plank  lock-bridge  to  the  towing-path  side  of 
the  river. 

If,  in  so  doing,  he  took  another  glance  at  the 
bargeman,  he  did  it  by  stealth.  He  cast  him- 
self on  the  grass  by  the  Lock  side,  in  an  indolent 
way,  with  his  back  in  that  direction,  and,  having 
gathered  a  few  blades,  fell  to  chewing  them. 
The  dip  of  Eugene  Wrayburn's  sculls  had  be- 
come hardly  audible  in  his  ears  when  the  barge- 
man passed  him,  putting  the  utmost  width  that 
he  could  between  them,  and  keeping  under  the 
hedge.  Then  Riderhood  sat  up  and  took  a  long 
look  at  his  figure,  and  then  cried:  "Hi — i — i! 
Lock  ho !  Lock !  Plashwater  Weir-Mill  Lock !" 

The  bargeman  stopped,  and  looked  back. 

"Plashwater  Weir -Mill  Lock,  T'otherest 
gov — er — nor — or— or — or!"  cried  Mr.  Rider- 
hood, with  his  hands  to  his  mouth. 

The  bargeman  turned  back.  Approaching 
nearer  and  nearer,  the  bargeman  became  Brad- 
ley Headstone,  in  rough  water-side  second-hand 
clothing. 

"Wish  I  may  die,"  said  Riderhood,  smiting 
his  right  leg,  and  laughing,  as  he  sat  on  the 
grass,  "  if  you  ain't  ha'  been  a  imitating  me, 
T'otherest  governor !  Never  thought  myself  so 
good-looking  afore !" 

Truly,  Bradley  Headstone  had  taken  careful 
note  of  the  honest  man's  dress  in  the  course  of 
that  night-walk  they  had  had  together.  He 
must  have  committed  it  to  memory,  and  slowly 
got  it  by  heart.  It  was  exactly  reproduced  in 
the  dress  he  now  wore.  And  whereas,  in  his 
own  schoolmaster  clothes,  he  usually  looked  as 
if  they  were  the  clothes  of  some  other  man,  he 
now  looked,  in  the  clothes  of  some  other  man  or 
men,  as  if  they  were  his  own. 

"  This  your  Lock  ?"  said  Bradley,  whose  sur- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


275 


prise  had  a  genuine  air;  "they  told  me,  where 
I  last  inquired,  it  was  the  third  I  should  come  to. 
This  is  only  the  second." 

"It's  my  belief,  governor,"  returned  Rider- 
hood,  with  a  wink  and  shake  of  his  head,  "  that 
you've  dropped  one  in  your  counting.  It  ain't 
Locks  as  you've  been  giving  your  mind  to.  No, 
no!" 

As  he  expressively  jerked  his  pointing  finger 
in  the  direction  the  boat  had  taken,  a  flush  of 
impatience  mounted  into  Bradley's  face,  and  he 
looked  anxiously  up  the  river. 

"It  ain't  Locks  as  you've  been  a  reckoning 
up,"  said  Riderhood,  when  the  schoolmaster's 
eyes  came  back  again.     "No,  no !" 

"What  other  calculations  do  you  suppose  I 
have  been  occupied  with  ?    Mathematics  ?" 

"I  never  heerd  it  called  that.  It's  a  long 
word  for  it.  Hows'ever,  p'raps  you  call  it  so," 
said  Riderhood,  stubbornly  chewing  his  grass. 

"It.     What?" 

"  I'll  say  them,  instead  of  it,  if  you  like,"  was 
the  coolly  growled  reply.     "It's  safer  talk  too." 

"What  do  you  mean  that  I  should  understand 
by  them?" 

"  Spites,  affronts,  offenses  giv'  and  took,  dead- 
ly aggrawations,  such  like,"  answered  Rider- 
hood. 

Do  what  Bradley  Headstone  would,  he  could 
not  keep  that  former  flush  of  impatience  out  of 
his  face,  or  so  master  his  eyes  as  to  prevent  their 
again  looking  anxiously  up  the  river. 

"Ha  ha!  Don't  be  afeerd,  Totherest,"  said 
Riderhood.  "The  T'other's  got  to  make  way 
agin  the  stream,  and  he  takes  it  easy.  You  can 
soon  come  up  with  him.  But  wot's  the  good  of 
saying  that  to  you !  You  know  how  fur  you 
could  have  outwalked  him  betwixt  any  wheres 
about  where  he  lost  the  tide — say  Richmond — 
and  this,  if  you  had  had  a  mind  to  it." 

"You  think  I  have  been  following  him  ?"  said 
Bradley. 

"I  know  you  have,"  said  Riderhood. 

"Well!  I  have,  I  have,"  Bradley  admitted. 
"But,"  with  another  anxious  look  up  the  river, 
"he  may  land." 

"Easy  you!  He  won't  be  lost  if  he  does 
land,"  said  Riderhood.  "He  must  leave  his 
boat  behind  him.  He  can't  make  a  bundle  or  a 
parcel  on  it,  and  carry  it  ashore  with  him  under 
his  arm." 

"He  was  speaking  to  you  just  now,"  said 
Bradley,  kneeling  on  one  knee  on  the  grass  be- 
side the  Lock-keeper.     "  What  did  he  say  ?" 

"  Cheek,"  said  Riderhood. 

"What?" 

"Cheek," repeated  Riderhood,  with  an  angry 
oath;  "cheek  is  what  he  said.  He  can't  say 
nothing  but  cheek.  I'd  ha'  liked  to  plump  down 
aboard  of  him,  neck  and  crop,  with  a  heavy  jump, 
and  sunk  him." 

Bradley  turned  away  his  haggard  face  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  said,  tearing  up  a  tuft 
of  grass : 

"Damn  him!" 

"Hooroar!"  cried  Riderhood.  "Does  you 
credit!  Hooroar!  I  cry  chorus  to  the  T'oth- 
erest." 

"What  turn,"  said  Bradley,  with  an  effort  at 
self-repression  that  forced  him  to  wipe  his  face, 
"did  his  insolence  take  to-day?" 

"  It  took  the  turn,"  answered  Riderhood,  with 


sullen  ferocity,  "of  hoping  as  I  was  getting  ready 
to  be  hanged." 

"  Let  him  look  to  that,"  cried  Bradley.  "  Let 
him  look  to  that !  It  will  be  bad  for  him  when 
men  he  has  injured,  and  at  whom  he  has  jeered, 
are  thinking  of  getting  hanged.  Let  him  get 
ready  for  his  fate  when  that  comes  about. 
There  was  more  meaning  in  what  he  said  than 
he  knew  of,  or  he  wouldn't  have  had  brains 
enough  to  say  it.  Let  him  look  to  it ;  let  him 
look  to  it !  When  men  he  has  wronged,  and  on 
whom  he  has  bestowed  his  insolence,  are  getting 
ready  to  be  hanged,  there  is  a  death-bell  ringing. 
And  not  for  them." 

Riderhood,  looking  fixedly  at  him,  gradual- 
ly arose  from  his  recumbent  posture  while  the 
schoolmaster  said  these  words  with  the  utmost 
concentration  of  rage  and  hatred.  So,  when 
the  words  were  all  spoken,  he  too  kneeled  on 
one  knee  on  the  grass,  and  the  two  men  looked 
at  one  another. 

"Oh!"  said  Riderhood,  very  deliberately 
spitting  out  the  grass  he  had  been  chewing. 
"Then,  I  make  out,  T'otherest,  as  he  is  a-going 
to  her?" 

"He  left  London,"  answered  Bradley,  "yes- 
terday. I  have  hardly  a  doubt,  this  time,  that 
at  last  he  is  going  to  her." 

"You  ain't  sure,  then?" 

"I  am  as  sure  here,"  said  Bradley,  with  a 
clutch  at  the  breast  of  his  coarse  shirt,  "as  if  it 
was  written  there ;"  with  a  blow  or  a  stab  at  the 
sky. 

"Ah  !  But  judging  from  the  looks  on  you," 
retorted  Riderhood,  completely  ridding  himself 
of  his  grass,  and  drawing  his  sleeve  across  his 
mouth,  "you've  made  ekally  sure  afore,  and 
have  got  disapinted.     It  has  told  upon  you." 

"Listen,"  said  Bradley,  in  a  low  voice,  bend- 
ing forward  to  lay  his  hand  upon  the  Lock-keep- 
er's shoulder.     "  These  are  my  holidays." 

"Are  they,  by  George!" muttered  Riderhood, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  passion-wasted  face.  ' '  Your 
working  days  must  be  stiff  'uns  if  these  is  your 
holidays." 

"  And  I  have  never  left  him,"  pursued  Brad- 
ley, waving  the  interruption  aside  with  an  im- 
patient hand,  "since  they  began.  And  I  never 
will  leave  him  now  till  I  have  seen  him  with 
her." 

"And  when  you  have  seen  him  with  her?" 
said  Riderhood.  . 

" — I'll  come  back  to  you." 

Riderhood  stiffened  the  knee  on  which  he  had 
been  resting,  got  up,  and  looked  gloomily  at  his 
new  friend.  After  a  few  moments  they  walked 
side  by  side  in  the  direction  the  boat  had  taken, 
as  if  by  tacit  consent ;  Bradley  pressing  forward, 
and  Riderhood  holding  back;  Bradley  getting 
out  his  neat  prim  purse  into  his  hand  (a  present 
made  him  by  penny  subscription  among  his 
pupils) ;  and  Riderhood,  unfolding  his  arms  to 
smear  his  coat-cuff  across  his  mouth  with  a 
thoughtful  air. 

"I  have  a  pound  for  you,"  said  Bradley. 

"You've  two,"  said  Riderhood. 

Bradley  held  a  sovereign  between  his  fingers. 
Slouching  at  his  side  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
towing-path,  Riderhood  held  his  left  hand  open, 
with  a  certain  slight  drawing  action  toward  him- 
self. Bradley  dipped  in  his  purse  for  another 
sovereign,  and  two  chinked  in  Riderhood's  hand, 


276 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


the  drawing  action  of  which,  promptly  strength- 
ening, drew  them  home  to  his  pocket. 

"Now,  I  must  follow  him,"  said  Bradley- 
Headstone.  "  He  takes  this  river-road  —  the 
fool! — to  confuse  observation,  or  divert  atten- 
tion, if  "not  solely  to  baffle  me.  But  he  must 
have  the  power  of  making  himself  invisible  be- 
fore he  can  shake  Me  off." 

Riderhood  stopped.     "If  you  don't  get  disa- 
pinted  agin,  T'otherest,  maybe  you'll  put  up  at 
the  Lock-house  when  you  come  back?" 
"I  will." 

Riderhood  nodded,  and  the  figure  of  the  barge- 
man went  its  way  along  the  soft  turf  by  the  side 
of  the  towing-path,  keeping  near  the  hedge  and 
moving  quickly.  They  had  turned  a  point  from 
which  a  long  stretch  of  river  was  visible.  A 
stranger  to  the  scene  might  have  been  certain 
that  here  and  there  along  the  line  of  hedge  a 
figure  stood,  watching  the  bargeman,  and  wait- 
ing for  him  to  come  up.  So  he  himself  had 
often  believed  at  first,  until  his  eyes  became  used 
to  the  posts,  bearing  the  dagger  that  slew  Wat 
Tyler,  in  the  City  of  London  shield. 

Within  Mr.  Riderhood's  knowledge  all  dag- 
gers were  as  one.  Even  to  Bradley  Headstone, 
who  could  have  told  to  the  letter  without  book 
all  about  Wat  Tyler,  Lord  Mayor  Walworth,  and 
the  King,  that  it  is  dutiful  for  youth  to  know, 
there  was  but  one  subject  living  in  the  world 
for  every  sharp  destructive  instrument  that  sum- 
mer evening.  So,  Riderhood  looking  after  him 
as  he  went,  and  he  with  his  furtive  hand  laid 
upon  the  dagger  as  he  passed  it,  and  his  eyes 
upon  the  boat,  were  much  upon  a  par. 

The  boat  went  on,  under  the  arching  trees, 
and  over  their  tranquil  shadows  in  the  water. 
The  bargeman  skulking  on  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  stream,  went  on  after  it.  Sparkles  of 
light  showed  Riderhood  when  and  where  the 
rower  dipped  his  blades,  until,  even  as  he  stood 
idly  watching,  the  sun  went  down  and  the  land- 
scape was  dyed  red.  And  then  the  red  had  the 
appearance  of  fading  out  of  it  and  mounting  up 
to  Heaven,  as  we  say  that  blood,  guiltily  shed,  does. 
Turning  back  toward  his  Lock  (he  had  not 
gone  out  of  view  of  it),  the  Rogue  pondered  as 
deeply  as  it  was  within  the  contracted  power  of 
such  a  fellow  to  do.  "Why  did  he  copy  my 
clothes?  He  could  have  looked  like  what  he 
wanted  to  look  like  without  that."  This  was 
the  subject-matter  in  his  thoughts ;  in  which, 
too,  there  came  lumbering  up,  by  times,  like  any 
half  floating  and  half  sinking  rubbish  in  the  riv- 
er, the  question,  Was  it  done  by  accident  ?  The 
setting  of  a  trap  for  finding  out  whether  it  was 
accidentally  done,  soon  superseded,  as  a  practi- 
cal piece  of  cunning,  the  abstruser  inquiry  why 
otherwise  it  was  done.  And  he  devised  a  means. 
Rogue  Riderhood  went  into  his  Lock-house, 
and  brought  forth,  into  the  now  sober  gray  light, 
his  chest  of  clothes.  Sitting  on  the  grass  beside 
it,  he  turned  out,  one  by  one,  the  articles  it  con- 
tained, until  he  came  to  a  conspicuous  bright 
red  neckerchief  stained  black  here  and  there  by 
wear.  It  arrested  his  attention,  and  he  sat  paus- 
ing over  it,  until  he  took  off  the  rusty  colorless 
wisp  that  he  wore  round  his  throat,  and  substi- 
tuted the  red  neckerchief,  leaving  the  long  ends 
flowing.  "Now,"  said  the  Rogue,  " if  arter  he 
sees  me  in  this  neckhankecher,  I  see  him  in  a 
sim'lar  neckhankecher,  it  won't  be  accident!" 


Elated  by  his  device,  he  carried  his  chest  in  again 
and  went  to  supper. 

"Lock  ho!  Lock!"  It  was  a  light  night, 
and  a  barge  coming  down  summoned  him  out 
of  a  long  doze.  In  due  course  he  had  let  the 
barge  through  and  was  alone  again,  looking  to 
the  closing  of  his  gates,  when  Bradley  Head- 
stone appeared  before  him,  standing  on  the  brink  • 
of  the  Lock. 

"  Halloa !"  said  Riderhood.  "  Back  a'ready, 
T'otherest?" 

"  He  has  put  up  for  the  night,  at  an  Angler's 
Inn,"  was  the  fatigued  and  hoarse  reply.  "He 
goes  on,  up  the  river,  at  six  in  the  morning.  I 
have  come  back  for  a  couple  of  hours'  rest." 

"You  want  'em,"  said.  Riderhood,  making 
toward  the  schoolmaster  by  his  plank  bridge. 

"I  don't  want  them,"  returned  Bradley,  irri- 
tably, "because  I  would  rather  not  have  them, 
but  would  much  prefer  to  follow  him  all  night. 
However,  if  he  won't  lead  I  can't  follow.  I 
have  been  waiting  about,  until  I  could  discover, 
for  a  certainty,  at  what  time  he  starts;  if  I 
couldn't  have  made  sure  of  it,  I  should  have 
staid  there. — This  would  be  a  bad  pit  for  a  man 
to  be  flung  into  with  his  hands  tied.  These 
slippery  smooth  walls  would  give  him  no  chance. 
And  I  suppose  those  gates  would  suck  him 
down?" 

"Suck  him  down,  or  swaller  him  up,  he 
wouldn't  get  out,"  said  Riderhood.  "Not  even 
if  his  hands  warn't  tied,  he  wouldn't.  Shut  him 
in  at  both  ends,  and  I'd  give  him  a  pint  o'  old 
ale  ever  to  come  up  to  me  standing  here." 

Bradley  looked  down  with  a  ghastly  relish. 
"You  run  about  the  brink,  and  run  across  it,  in 
this  uncertain  light,  on  a  few  inches  width  of 
rotten  wood,"  said  he.  "I  wonder  you  have 
no  thought  of  being  drowned." 
"I  can't  be !"  said  Riderhood. 
"You  can't  be  drowned?" 
"No !"  said  Riderhood,  shaking  his  head  with 
an  air  of  thorough  conviction,  "it's  well  known. 
I've  been  brought  out  o'  drowning,  and  I  can't 
be  drowned.  I  wouldn't  have  that  there  busted 
B'lowbridger  aware  on  it,  or  her  people  might 
make  it  tell  agin'  the  damages  I  mean  to  get. 
But  it's  well  known  to  water-side  characters  like 
myself,  that  him  as  has  been  brought  out  o' 
drowning,  can  never  be  drowned." 

Bradley  smiled  sourly  at  the  ignorance  he 
would  have  corrected  in  one  of  his  pupils,  and 
continued  to  look  down  into  the  water,  as  if  the 
place  had  a  gloomy  fascination  for  him. 
"  You  seem  to  like  it,"  said  Riderhood. 
He  took  no  notice,  but  stood  looking  down, 
as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  words.  There  was  a 
very  dark  expression  on  his  face ;  an  expression 
that  the  Rogue  found  it  hard  to  understand.  It 
was  fierce,  and  full  of  purpose  ;  but  the  purpose 
might  have  been  as  much  against  himself  as 
against  another.  If  he  had  stepped  back  for  a 
spring,  taken  a  leap,  and  thrown  himself  in,  it 
would  have  been  no  surprising  sequel  to  the 
look.  Perhaps  his  troubled  soul,  set  upon  some 
violence,  did  hover  for  the  moment  between  that 
violence  and  another. 

"Didn't  you  say,"  asked  Riderhood,  after 
watching  him  for  a  while  with  a  sidelong  glance, 
"as  you  had  come  back  for  a  couple  o'  hours' 
rest?"  But  even  then  he  had  to  jog  him  with 
his  elbow  before  he  answered. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


277 


"Eh?    Yes." 

"Hadn't  you  better  come  in  and  take  your 
couple  o'  hours'  rest  ?" 

"Thank  you.     Yes." 

With  the  look  of  one  just  awakened  he  fol- 
lowed Riderhood  into  the  Lock-house,  where  the 
latter  produced  from  a  cupboard  some  cold  salt- 
beef  and  half  a  loaf,  some  gin  in  a  bottle,  and 
some  water  in  a  jug.  The  last  he  brought  in, 
cool  and  dripping,  from  the  river. 

"There,  T'otherest,"  said  Riderhood,  stoop- 
ing over  him  to  put  it  on  the  table.  "  You'd 
better  take  a  bite  and  a  sup  afore  you  takes  your 
snooze."  The  draggling  ends  of  the  red  neck- 
erchief caught  the  schoolmaster's  eyes.  Rider- 
hood saw  him  look  at  it. 

"Oh!"  thought  that, worthy.  "You're  a- 
taking  notice,  are  you  ?  Come !  You  shall 
have  a  good  squint  at  it  then."  With  which  re- 
flection he  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  ta- 
ble, threw  open  his  vest,  and  made  a  pretense  of 
retying  the  neckerchief  with  much  deliberation. 

Bradley  ate  and  drank.  As  he  sat  at  his 
platter  and  mug  Riderhood  saw  him,  again  and 
yet  again,  steal  a  look  at  the  neckerchief,  as  if 
he  were  correcting  his  slow  observation  and 
prompting  his  sluggish  memory.  "  When  you're 
ready  for  your  snooze,"  said  that  honest  creat- 
ure, "chuck  yourself  on  my  bed  in  the  corner, 
T'otherest.  It'll  be  broad  day  afore  three.  I'll 
call  you  early." 

"I  shall  require  no  calling,"  answered  Brad- 
ley. And  soon  afterward,  divesting  himself 
only  of  his  shoes  and  coat,  lay  down. 

Riderhood,  leaning  back  in  his  wooden  arm- 
chair, with  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  looked 
at  him  as  he  lay  with  his  right  hand  clenched  in 
his  sleep  and  his  teeth  set,  until  a  film  came 
over  his  own  sight  and  he  slept  too.  He  awoke 
to  find  that  it  was  daylight,  arrd  that  his  visitor 
was  already  astir,  and  going  out  to  the  river-side 
to  cool  his  head :  "  Though  I'm  blest,"  muttered 
Riderhood  at  the  Lock-house  door,  looking  after 
him,  "if  I  think  there's  water  enough  in  all  the 
Thames  to  do  that  for  you  !"  Within  five  min- 
utes he  had  taken  his  departure,  and  was  pass- 
ing on  into  the  calm  distance  as  he  had  passed 
yesterday.  Riderhood  knew  when  a  fish  leaped 
by  his  starting  and  glancing  round. 

"Lock  ho!  Lock!"  at  intervals  all  day,  and 
"  Lock  ho  !  Lock !"  thrice  in  the  ensuing  night, 
but  no  return  of  Bradley.  The  second  day  was 
sultry  and  oppressive.  In  the  afternoon  a  thun- 
der-storm came  up,  and  had  but  newly  broken 
into  a  furious  sweep  of  rain  when  he  rushed  in 
at  the  door,  like  the  storm  itself. 

"You've  seen  him  with  her!"  exclaimed 
Riderhood,  starting  up. 

"I  have." 

"Where?" 

"  At  his  journey's  end.  His  boat's  hauled  up 
for  three  days.  I  heard  him  give  the  order. 
Then  I  saw  him  wait  for  her  and  meet  her.  I 
saw  them" — he  stopped  as  though  he  were  suffo- 
cating, and  began  again — "I  saw  them  walking 
side  by  side  last  night." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"Nothing." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

He  dropped  into  a  chair  and  laughed.  Im- 
mediately afterward  a  great  spirt  of  blood  burst 
from  his  nose. 


"How  does  that  happen?"  asked  Riderhood. 

"I  don't  know.  I  can't  keep  it  back.  It  has 
happened  twice  —  three  times  —  four  times — I 
don't  know  how  many  times — since  last  night. 
I  taste  it,  smell  it,  see  it;  it  chokes. me,  and 
then  it  breaks  out  like  this." 

He  went  into  the  pelting  rain  again  with  his 
head  bare,  and,  bending  low  over  the  river,  and 
scooping  up  the  water  with  his  two  hands,  wash- 
ed the  blood  away.  All  beyond  his  figure,  as 
Riderhood  looked  from  the  door,  was  a  vast 
dark  curtain  in  solemn  movement  toward  one 
quarter  of  the  heavens.  He  raised  his  head  and 
came  back,  wet  from  head  to  foot,  but  with  the 
lower  part  of  his  sleeves,  where  he  had  dipped 
into  the  river,  streaming  water. 

"Your  face  is  like  a  ghost's,"  said  Riderhood. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  ghost?"  was  the  sullen 
retort. 

"I  mean  to  say  you're  quite  wore  out." 

"  That  may  well  be.  I  have  had  no  rest  since 
I  left  here.  I  don't  remember  that  I  have  so 
much  as  sat  down  since  I  left  here." 

"Lie  down  now,  then,"  said  Riderhood. 

"  I  will,  if  you'll  give  me  something  to  quench 
my  thirst  first." 

The  bottle  and  jug  were  again  produced,  and 
he  mixed  a  weak  draught,  and  another,  and 
drank  both  in  quick  succession.  "You  asked 
me  something,"  he  said  then. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  replied  Riderhood. 

"I  tell  you,"  retorted  Bradley,  turning  upon 
him  in  a  wild  and  desperate  manner,  "you 
asked  me  something  before  I  went  out  to  wash 
my  face  in  the  river." 

"Oh!  Then?"  said  Riderhood,  backing  a 
little.  "I  asked  you  wot  you  wos  a-going  to 
do." 

"How  can  a  man  in  this  state  know?"  he 
answered,  protesting  with  both  his  tremulous 
hands,  with  an  action  so  vigorously  angry  that 
he  shook  the  water  from  his  sleeves  upon  the 
floor  as  if  he  had  wrung  them.  "How  can  I 
plan  any  thing  if  I  haven't  sleep  ?" 

"Why,  that's  what  I  as  good  as  said,"  re- 
turned the  other.     "Didn't  I  say  lie  down?" 

"Well,  perhaps  you  did." 

"Well!  Anyways  I  says  it  again.  Sleep 
where  you  slept  last ;  the  sounder  and  longer 
you  can  sleep,  the  better  you'll  know  arterward 
what  you're  up  to." 

His  pointing  to  the  truckle-bed  in  the  corner 
seemed  gradually  to  bring  that  poor  couch  to 
Bradley's  wandering  remembrance.  He  slipped 
off  his  worn,  down-trodden  shoes,  and  cast  him- 
self heavily,  all  wet  as  he  was,  upon  the  bed. 

Riderhood  sat  down  in  his  wooden  arm-chair, 
and  looked  through  the  window  at  the  lightning 
and  listened  to  the  thunder.  But  his  thoughts 
were  far  from  being  absorbed  by  the  thunder  and 
the  lightning,  for  again  and  again  and  again  he 
looked  very  curiously  at  the  exhausted  man  upon 
the  bed.  The  man  had  turned  up  the  collar  of  the 
rough  coat  he  wore  to  shelter  himself  from  the 
storm,  and  had  buttoned  it  about  his  neck.  Un- 
conscious of  that,  and  of  most  things,  he  had  left 
the  coat  so,  both  when  he  had  laved  his  face  in 
the  river  and  when  he  had  cast  himself  upon 
the  bed  ;  though  it  would  have  been  much  easier 
to  him  if  he  had  unloosened  it. 

The  thunder  rolled  heavily,  and  the  forked 
lightning  seemed  to  make  jagged  rents  in  every 


278 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


IN  THE   LOCK-KEEPER'S   HOUSE. 


part  of  the  vast  curtain  without,  as  Riderhood 
sat  by  the  window  glancing  at  the  bed.  Some- 
times he  saw  the  man  upon  the  bed  by  a  red 
light ;  sometimes  by  a  blue ;  sometimes  he 
scarcely  saw  him  in  the  darkness  of  the  storm ; 
sometimes  he  saw  nothing  of  him  in  the  blind- 
ing glare  of  palpitating  white  fire.  Anon,  the 
rain  would  come  again  with  a  tremendous  rush, 
and  the  river  would  seem  to  rise  to  meet  it,  and 
a  blast  Of  wind,  bursting  upon  the  door,  would 
nutter  the  hair  and  dress  of  the  man,  as  if  invis- 
ible messengers  were  come  around  the  bed  to 
carry  him  away.  From  all  these  phases  of  the 
storm  Riderhood  would  turn,  as  if  they  were  in- 
terruptions— rather  striking  interruptions,  pos- 
sibly, but  interruptions  still — of  his  scrutiny  of 
the  sleeper. 

"He  sleeps  sound,"  he  said  within  himself; 
"yet  he's  that  up  to  me  and  that  noticing  of  me 
that  my  getting  out  of  my  chair  may  wake  him, 
when  a  rattling  peal  won't,  let  alone  my  touch- 
ing of  him." 

He  very  cautiously  rose  to  his  feet.     "  T'oth- 


erest,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  calm  voice,  "are  you 
a  lying  easy  ?  There's  a  chill  in  the  air,  gov- 
ernor.    Shall  I  put  a  coat  over  you  ?" 

No  answer. 

"That's  about  what  it  is  a'ready,  you  see," 
muttered  Riderhood,  in  a  lower  and  a  different 
voice ;   "a  coat  over  you,  a  coat  over  you  !" 

The  sleeper  moving  an  arm,  he  sat  down  again 
in  t  his  chair,  and  feigned  to  watch  the  storm 
from  the  window.  It  was  a  grand  spectacle,  but 
not  so  grand  as  to  keep  his  eyes,  for  half  a  min- 
ute together,  from  stealing  a  look  at  the  man 
upon  the  bed. 

It  was  at  the  concealed  throat  of  the  sleeper 
that  Riderhood  so  often  looked  so  curiously, 
until  the  sleep  seemed  to  deepen  into  the  stupor 
of  the  dead-tired  in  mind  and  body.  Then  Rider- 
hood came  from  the  window  cautiously,  and  stood 
by  the  bed. 

"Poor  man!'v  he  murmured  in  a  low  tone, 
with  a  crafty  face,  and  a  very  watchful  eye  and 
ready  foot,  lest  he  should  start  up  ;  "this  here 
coat  of  his  must  make  him  uneasy  in  his  sleep. 


OUR  MUTUAL  #RIEND. 


279 


Shall  I  loosen  it  for  him,  and  make  him  more 
comfortable  ?  Ah !  I  think  I  ought  to  it,  poor 
man.     I  think  I  will." 

He  touched  the  first  button  with  a  very  cau- 
tious hand  and  a  step  backward.  But  the  sleep- 
er remaining  in  profound  unconsciousness,  he 
touched  the  other  buttons  with  a  more  assured 
hand,  and  perhaps  the  more  lightly  on  that  ac- 
count. Softly  and  slowly  he  opened  the  coat  and 
drew  it  back. 

The  draggling  ends  of  a  bright-red  neckerchief 
were  then  disclosed,  and  he  had  even  been  at  the 
pains  of  dipping  parts  of  it  in  some  liquid,  to 
give  it  the  appearance  of  having  become  stained 
by  wear.  With  a  much-perplexed  face  Rider- 
hood  looked  from  it  to  the  sleeper,  and  from  the 
sleeper  to  it,  and  finally  crept  back  to  his  chair, 
and  there,  with  his  hand  to  his  chin,  sat  long  in 
a  brown  study,  looking  at  both. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   GOLDEN  DUSTMAN  RISES   A  LITTLE. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle  had  come  to  breakfast 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin.  They  were  not  ab- 
solutely uninvited,  but  had  pressed  themselves 
with  so  much  urgency  on  the  golden  couple,  that 
evasion  of  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  their  com- 
pany Avould  have  been  difficult,  if  desired. 
They  were  in  a  charming  state  of  mind,  were 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle,  and  almost  as  fond  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  as  of  one  another. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Boffin,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle, 
"it  imparts  new  life  to  me  to  see  my  Alfred 
in  confidential  communication  with  Mr.  Boffin. 
The  two  were  formed  to  become  intimate.  So 
much  simplicity  combined  with  so  much  force 
of  character,  such  natural  sagacity  united  to 
such  amiability  and  gentleness — these  are  the 
distinguishing  characteristics  of  both." 

This  being  said  aloud  gave  Mr.  Lammle  an 
opportunity,  as  he  came  with  Mr.  Boffin  from 
the  window  to  the  breakfast-table,  of  taking  up 
his  dear  and  honoi'ed  wife. 

"  My  Sophronia,"  said  that  gentleman,  "your 
too  partial  estimate  of  your  poor  husband's  char- 
acter— " 

"No!  Not  too  partial,  Alfred,"  urged  the 
lady,  tenderly  moved;  "never  say  that." 

"My  child,  your  favorable  opinion,  then,  of 
vour  husband — you  don't  object  to  that  phrase, 
darling  ?" 

"  How  can  I,  Alfred  ?" 

"Your  favorable  opinion  then,  my  Precious, 
does  less  than  justice  to  Mr.  Boffin,  and  more 
than  justice  to  me." 

"To  the  first  charge,  Alfred,  I  plead  guilty. 
But  to  the  second,  oh  no,  no !" 

"Less  than  justice  to  Mr.  Boffin,  Sophronia," 
said  Mr.  Lammle,  soaring  into  a  tone  of  moral 
grandeur,  "because  it  represents  Mr.  Boffin  as 
on  a  lower  level;  more  than  justice  to  me,  So- 
phronia, because  it  represents  me  as  on  Mr.  Bof- 
fin's higher  level.  Mr.  Boffin  bears  and  forbears 
far  more  than  I  could." 

"Par  more  than  you  could  for  yourself,  Al- 
fred ?" 

"  My  love,  that  is  not  the  question." 

"Not  the  question,  Lawyer  ?"  said  Mrs.  Lam- 
mle, archly. 


"No,  dear  Sophronia.  Prom  my  lower  level 
I  regard  Mr.  Boffin  as  too  generous,  as  possessed 
of  too  much  clemency,  as  being  too  good  to  per- 
sons who  are  unworthy  of  him  and  ungrateful  to 
him.  To  those  noble  qualities  I  can  lay  no 
claim.  On  the  contrary,  they  rouse  my  indig- 
nation when  I  see  them  in  action." 

"Alfred!" 

"  They  rouse  my  indignation,  my  dear,  against 
the  unworthy  persons,  and  give  me  a  combative 
desire  to  stand  between  Mr.  Boffin  and  all  such 
persons.  Why  ?  Because  in  my  lower  nature 
I  am  more  worldly  and  less  delicate.  Not  being 
so  magnanimous  as  Mr.  Boffin,  I  feel  his  inju- 
ries more  than  he  does  himself,  and  feel  more 
capable  of  opposing  his  injurers." 

It  struck  Mrs.  Lammle  that  it  appeared  rath- 
er difficult  this  morning  to  bring  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Boffin  into  agreeable  conversation.  Here  had 
been  several  lures  thrown  out,  and  neither  of 
them  had  uttered  a  word.  Here  were  she,  Mrs. 
Lammle,  and  her  husband  discoursing  at  once 
affectingly  and  effectively,  but  discoursing  alone. 
Assuming  that  the  dear  old  creatures  were  im- 
pressed by  what  they  heard,  still  one  would  like 
to  be  sure  of  it,  the  more  so,  as  at  least  one  of 
the  dear  old  creatures  was  somewhat  pointedly 
referred  to.  If  the  dear  old  creatures  were  too 
bashful  or  too  dull  to  assume  their  required 
places  in  the  discussion,  why  then  it  would  seem 
desirable  that  the  dear  old  creatures  should  be 
taken  by  their  heads  and  shoulders  and  brought 
into  it. 

"But  is  not  my  husband  saying  in  effect," 
asked  Mrs.  Lammle,  therefore,  with  an  innocent 
air,  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  "that  he  becomes 
unmindful  of  his  own  temporary  misfortunes  in 
his  admiration  of  another  whom  he  is  burning 
to  serve  ?  And  is  not  that  making  an  admission 
that  his  nature  is  a  generous  one  ?  I  am  wretch- 
ed in  argument,  but  surely  this  is  so,  dear  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Boffin?" 

Still,  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Boffin  said  a  word. 
He  sat  with  his  eyes  on  his  plate,  eating  his  muf- 
fins and  ham,  and  she  sat  shyly  looking  at  the 
tea-pot.  tVErs.  Lammle's  innocent  appeal  was 
merely  thrown  into  the  air,  to  mingle  with  the 
steam  of  the  urn.  Glancing  toward  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Boffin,  she  very  slightly  raised  her  eye- 
brows^ as  though  inquiring  of  her  husband: 
"Do  I  notice  any  thing  wrong  here?" 

Mr.  Lammle,  who  had  found  his  chest  effect- 
ive on  a  variety  of  occasions,  manoeuvred  his 
capacious  shirt-front  into  the  largest  demonstra- 
tion possible,  and  then  smiling  retorted  on  his 
wife,  thus: 

"Sophronia,  darling,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin 
will  remind  you  of  the  old  adage,  that  self-praise 
is  no  recommendation." 

"  Self-praise,  Alfred  ?  Do  you  mean  because 
we  are  one  and  the  same  ?" 

"No,  my  dear  child.  I  mean  that  you  can 
not  fail  to  remember,  if  you  reflect  for  a  single 
moment,  that  what  you  are  pleased  to  compli- 
ment me  upon  feeling  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Boffin 
you  have  yourself  confided  to  me  as  your  own 
feeling  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Boffin." 

("I  shall  be  beaten  by  this  Lawyer,"  Mrs. 
Lammle  gayly  whispered  to  Mrs.  Boffin.  "I 
am  afraid  I  must  admit  it,  if  he  presses  me,  for 
it's  damagingly  true.") 

Several  white  dints  began  to  come  and  go 


280 


OUR 


mV: 


TUAL  FRIEND. 


about  Mrt  Lammle's  nose,  as  he  observed  that  I 
Mrs.  Boffin  merely  looked  up  from  the  tea-pot 
for  a  moment  with  an  embarrassed  smile,  which 
was  no  smile,  and  then  looked  down  again. 

"Do  you  admit  the  charge,  Sophronia?"  in- 
quired Alfred,  in  a  rallying  tone. 

"Really,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle,  still 
gayly,  "I  must  throw  myself  on  the  protection 
of  the  Court.  Am  I  bound  to  answer  that  ques- 
tion, my  Lord  ?"     To  Mr.  Boffin. 

"You  needn't,  if  you  don't  like,  ma'am,"  was 
his  answer.    "  It's  not  of  the  least  consequence." 

Both  husband  and  wife  glanced  at  him,  very 
doubtfully.  His  manner  was  grave,  but  not 
coarse,  and  derived  some  dignity  from  a  certain 
repressed  dislike  of  the  tone  of  the  conversation. 

Again  Mrs.  Lammle  raised  her  eyebrows  for 
instruction  from  her  husband.  He  replied  in  a 
slight  nod.      "Try 'em  again." 

"To  protect  myself  against  the  suspicion  of 
covert  self-laudation,  my  dear  Mrs.  Boffin,"  said 
the  airy  Mrs.  Lammle  therefore,  "I  must  tell 
you  how  it  was." 

"No.     Pray  don't,"  Mr.  Boffin  interposed. 

Mrs.  Lammle  turned  to  him  laughingly.  "The 
Court  objects  ?" 

"Ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "the  Court  (if  I 
am  the  Court)  does  object.  The  Court  objects 
for  two  reasons.  First,  because  the  Court  don't 
think  it  fair.  Secondly,  because  the  dear  old  lady, 
Mrs.  Court  (if  I  am  Mr.)  gets  distressed  by  it." 

A  very  remarkable  wavering  between  two 
bearings  —  between  her  propitiatory  bearing 
there,  and  her  defiant  bearing  at  Mr.  Twem- 
low's — was  observable  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Lam- 
mle as  she  said:  "What  does  the  Court  not 
consider  fair?" 

"Letting  you  go  on,"  replied  Mr. Boffin,  nod- 
ding  his  head  soothingly,  as  who  should  say, 
We  won't  be  harder  on  you  than  we  can  help ; 
we'll  make  the  best  of  it.  ' '  It's  not  above- 
board  and  it's  not  fair.  When  the  old  lady  is 
uncomfortable,  there's  sure  to  be  good  reason  for 
it.  I  see  she  is  uncomfortable,  and  I  plainly 
see  this  is  the  good  reason  wherefore.  Have  you 
breakfasted,  ma'am."  * 

Mrs.  Lammle,  settling  into  her  defiant  man- 
ner, pushed  her  plate  away,  looked  at  her  hus- 
band, and  laughed ;  but  by  no  means  gayly. 

"Have  you  breakfasted,  Sir?"  inquire*d  Mr. 
Boffin. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Alfred,  showing  all  his 
teeth.  "If  Mrs.  Boffin  will  oblige  me,  I'll  take 
another  cup  of  tea." 

He  spilled  a  little  of  it  over  the  chest  which 
ought  to  have  been  so  effective,  and  which  had 
done  so  little ;  but  on  the  whole  drank  it  with 
something  of  an  air,  though  the  coming  and  go- 
ing dints  got  almost  as  large,  the  while,  as  if 
they  had  been  made  by  pressure  of  the  tea-spoon. 
"A  thousand  thanks,"  he  then  observed.  "I 
have  breakfasted." 

"Now,  which,"  said  Mr.  Boffin  softly,  taking 
out  a  pocket-book,  "which  of  you  two  is  Cash- 
ier?" 

"Sophronia,  my  dear,"  remarked  her  hus- 
band, as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  waving  his 
right  hand  toward  her,  while  he  hung  his  left 
hand  by  the  thumb  in  the  arm-hole  of  his  waist- 
coat :    "it  shall  be  your  department." 

"I  would  rather,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "that  it 
was  your  husband's,  ma'am,  because — but  never 


mind,  because.  I  would  rather  have  to  do  with 
him.  However,  what  I  have  to  say,  I  will  say 
with  as  little  offense  as  possible ;  if  I  can  say  it 
without  any,  I  shall  be  heartily  glad.  You  two 
have  done  me  a  service,  a  very  great  service,  in 
doing  what  you  did  (my  old  lady  knows  what  it 
was),  and  I  have  put  into  this  envelope  a  bank- 
note for  a  hundred  pound.  I  consider  the  serv- 
ice well  worth  a  hundred  pound,  and  I  am  well 
pleased  to  pay  the  money.  Would  you  do  me 
the  favor  to  take  it,  and  likewise  to  accept  mv 
thanks  ?" 

With  a  haughty  action,  and  without  looking 
toward  him,  Mrs.  Lammle  held  out  her  left 
hand,  and  into  it  Mr.  Boffin  put  the  little  pack- 
et. When  she  had  conveyed  it  to  her  bosom, 
Mr.  Lammle  had  the  appearance  of  feeling  re- 
lieved, and  breathing  more  freely,  as  not  hav- 
ing been  quite  certain  that  the  hundred  pounds 
were  his  until  the  note  had  been  safely  trans- 
ferred out  of  Mr.  Boffin's  keeping  into  his  own 
Sophronia's. 

"It  is  not  impossible,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  ad- 
dressing Alfred,  "that  you  have  had  some  gen- 
eral idea,  Sir,  of  replacing  Rokesmith,  in  course 
of  time?" 

"It  is  not,"  assented  Alfred,  with  a  glitter- 
ing smile  and  a  great  deal  of  nose,  "not  im- 
"  "e." 

And  perhaps,  ma'am,"  pursued  Mr.  Boffin, 
addressing  Sophronia,  "you  have  been  so  kind 
as  to  take  up  my  old  lady  in  your  own  mind, 
and  to  do  her  the  honor  of  turning  the  question 
over  whether  you  mightn't  one  of  these  days 
have  her  in  charge,  like  ?  Whether  you  mightn't 
be  a  sort  of  Miss  Bella  Wilfer  to  her,  and  some- 
thing more  ?" 

"I  should  hope,"  returned  Mrs.  Lammle, 
with  a  scornful  look  and  in  a  loud  voice,  "that 
if  I  were  any  thing  to  your  wife,  Sir,  I  could 
hardly  fail  to  be  something  more  than  Miss  Bel- 
la Wilfer,  as  you  call  her."     , 

"What  do  you  call  her,  ma'am?"  asked  Mr. 
Boffin. 

Mrs.  Lammle  disdained  to  reply,  and  sat  de- 
fiantly beating  one  foot  on  the  ground. 

"Again  I  think  I  may  say,  that's  not  impos- 
sible. Is  it,  Sir?"  asked  Mr.  Boffin,  turning  to 
Alfred. 

"It  is  not,"  said  Alfred,  smiling  assent  as  be- 
fore, "  not  impossible." 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  gently,  "it  won't 
do.  I  don't  wish  to  say  a  single  word  that 
might  be  afterward  remembered  as  unpleasant ; 
but  it  won't  do." 

"Sophronia,  my  love,"  her  husband  repeat- 
ed, in  a  bantering  manner,  "you  hear  ?  It  won't 
do." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  with  his  voice  still 
dropped,  "  it  really  won't.  You  positively  must 
excuse  us.  If  you'll  go  your  way,  we'll  go  ours, 
and  so  I  hope  this  affair  ends  to  the  satisfaction 
of  all  parties." 

Mrs.  Lammle  gave  him  the  look  of  a  decided- 
ly dissatisfied  party  demanding  exemption  from 
the  category ;  but  said  nothing. 

"  The  best  thing  we  can  make  of  the  affair," 
said  Mr.  Boffin,  "is  a  matter  of  business,  and 
as  a  matter  of  business  it's  brought  to  a  conclu- 
sion. You  have  done  me  a  great  service,  a  very 
great  service,  and  I  have  paid  for  it.  Is  there 
any  objection  to  the  price  ?" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


281 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle  looked  at  one  another 
across  the  table,  but  neither  could  say  that  there 
was.  Mr.  Lammle  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
Mrs.  Lammle  sat  rigid. 

"Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "We  hope 
(my  old  lady  and  me)  that  you'll  give  us  credit 
for  taking  the  plainest  and  honestest  short-cut 
that  could  be  taken  under  the  circumstances. 
We  have  talked  it  over  with  a  deal  of  care  (my 
old  lady  and  me),  and  we  have  felt  that  at  all 
to  lead  you  on,  or  even  at  all  to  let  you  go  on 
of  your  own  selves,  wouldn't  be  the  right  thing. 
So  I  have  openly  given  you  to  understand  that — " 
Mr.  Boffin  sought  for  a  new  turn  of  speech,  but 
could  find  none  so  expressive  as  his  former  one, 
repeated  in  a  confidential  tone,  " — that  it  won't 
do.  If  I  could  have  put  the  case  more  pleasant- 
ly I  would ;  but  I  hope  I  haven't  put  it  very  un- 
pleasantly ;  at  all  events  I  haven't  meant  to. 
So,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  by  way  of  peroration, 
"wishing  you  well  in  the  way  you  go,  we  now 
conclude  with  the  observation  that  perhaps  you'll 
go  it." 

Mr.  Lammle  rose  with  an  impudent  laugh  on 
his  side  of  the  table,  and  Mrs.  Lammle  rose  with 
a  disdainful  frown  on  hers.  At  this  moment  a 
hasty  foot  was  heard  on  the  staircase,  and  Geor- 
giana  Podsnap  broke  into  the  room,  unannounced 
and  in  tears. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Sophronia!"  cried  Georgiana, 
wringing  her  hands  as  she  ran  up  to  embrace 
her,  "to  think  that  you  and  Alfred  should  be  ru- 
ined !  Oh,  my  poor  dear  Sophronia,  to  think  that 
you  should  have  had  a  Sale  at  your  house  after  all 
your  kindness  to  me  !  Oh,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin, 
pray  forgive  me  for  this  intrusion,  but  you  don't 
know  how  fond  I  was  of  Sophronia  when  Pa 
wouldn't  let  me  go  there  any  more,  or  what  I 
have  felt  for  Sophronia  since  I  heard  from  Ma 
of  her  having  been  brought  low  in  the  world ! 
You  don't,  you  can't,  you  never  can,  think  how 
I  have  lain  awake  at  night  and  cried  for  my 
good  Sophronia,  my  first  and  only  friend !" 

Mrs.  Lammle's  manner  changed  under  the 
poor  silly  girl's  embraces,  and  she  turned  ex- 
tremely pale  :  directing  one  appealing  look,  first 
to  Mrs.  Boffin,  and  then  to  Mr.  Boffin.  Both 
understood  her  instantly,  with  a  more  delicate 
subtlety  than  much  better  educated  people,  whose 
perception  came  less  directly  from  the  heart, 
could  have  brought  to  bear  upon  the  case. 

"I  haven't  a  minute, "said  poor  little  Georgi- 
ana, "to  stay.  I  am  out  shopping  early  with 
Ma,  and  I  said  I  had  a  headache  and  got  Ma  to 
leave  me  outside  in  the  phaeton,  in  Piccadilly, 
and  ran  round  to  Sackville  Street,  and  heard 
that  Sophronia  was  here,  and  then  Ma  came  to 
see,  oh  such  a  dreadful  old  stony  woman  from 
the  country  in  a  turban  in  Portland  Place,  and 
I  said  I  wouldn't  go  up  with  Ma,  but  would  drive 
round  and  leave  cards  for  the  Boffins,  which  is 
taking  a  liberty  with  the  name ;  but  oh  my 
goodness  I  am  distracted,  and  the  phaeton's  at 
the  door,  and  what  would  Pa  say  if  he  knew  it !" 

"Don't  ye  be  timid,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Boffin.     "You  came  in  to  see  us." 

"Oh  no,  I  didn't,"  cried  Georgiana.  "It's 
very  impolite,  I  know,  but  I  came  to  see  my 
poor  Sophronia,  my  only  friend.  Oh !  how  I 
felt  the  separation,  my  dear  Sophronia,  before  I 
knew  you  were  bi-ought  low  in  the  world,  and 
how  much  more  I  feel  it  now!" 


There  were  actually  tears  in  the  bold  wo- 
man's eyes,  as  the  soft-headed  and  soft-hearted 
girl  twined  her  arms  about  her  neck. 

"But  I've  come  on  business,"  said  Georgiana, 
sobbing  and  drying  her  face,  and  then  searching 
in  a  little  reticule,  "  and  if  I  don't  dispatch  it  I 
shall  have  come  for  nothing,  and  oh  good  gra- 
cious !  what  would  Pa  say  if  he  knew  of  Sack- 
ville Street,  and  what  would  Ma  say  if  she  was 
kept  waiting  on  the  door-steps  of  that  dreadful 
turban,  and  there  never  were  such  pawing  horses 
as  ours  unsettling  my  mind  every  moment  more 
and  more  when  I  want  more  mind  than  I  have 
got,  by  pawing  up  Mr.  Boffin's  street  where  they 
have  no  business  to  be.  Oh !  where  is,  where  is 
it?  Oh!  I  can't  find  it!"  All  this  time  sob- 
bing and  searching  in  the  little  reticule. 

' '  What  do  you  miss,  my  dear  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, stepping  forward. 

"Oh!  it's  little  enough,"  replied  Georgiana, 
"  because  Ma  always  treats  me  as  if  I  was  in  the 
nursery  (I  am  sure  I  wish  I  was !),  but  I  hardly 
ever  spend  it  and  it  has  mounted  up  to  fifteen 
pounds,  Sophronia,  and  I  hope  three  five-pound 
notes  are  better  than  nothing,  though  so  little, 
so  little  !  And  now  I  have  found  that — oh,  my 
goodness !  there's  the  other  gone  next !  Oh  no, 
it  isn't,  here  it  is  !" 

With  that,  always  sobbing  and  searching  in 
the  reticule,  Georgiana  produced  a  necklace. 

"Ma  says  chits  and  jewels  have  no  business 
together,"  pursued  Georgiana,  "and  that's  the 
reason  why  I  have  no  trinkets  except  this,  but  I 
suppose  my  aunt  Hawkinson  was  of  a  different 
opinion,  because  she  left  me  this,  though  I  used 
to  think  she  might  just  as  well  have  buried  it, 
for  it's  always  kept  in  jewelers'  cotton.  How- 
ever, here  it  is,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  and  of  use 
at  last,  and  you'll  sell  it,  dear  Sophronia,  and 
buy  things  With  it." 

"Give  it  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  gently  tak- 
ing it.  "I'll  see  that  it's  properly  disposed 
of." 

"Oh!  are  you  such  a  friend  of  Sophronia's, 
Mr.  Boffin  ?"  cried  Georgiana.  "Oh,  how  good 
of  you !  Oh,  my  gracious !  there  was  something 
else,  and  it's  gone  out  of  my  head !  Oh  no,  it 
isn't,  I  remember  what  it  was.  My  grandmam- 
ma's property,  that'll  come  to  me  when  I  am  of 
age,  Mr.  Boffin,  will  be  all  my  own,  and  neither 
Pa  nor  Ma  nor  any  body  else  will  have  any  con- 
trol, over  it,  and  what  I  wish  to  do  is  to  make 
some  of  it  over  somehow  to  Sophronia  and  Al- 
fred, by  signing  something  somewhere  that'll 
prevail  on  somebody  to  advance  them  something. 
I  want  them  to  have  something  handsome  to 
bring  them  up  in  the  world  again.  Oh,  my 
goodness  me !  Being  such  a  friend  of  my  dear 
Sophronia's,  you  won't  refuse  me,  will  you?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "it  shall  be  seen 
to." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you!"  cried  Georgi- 
ana. "If  my  maid  had  a  little  note  and  half  a 
crown,  I  could  run  round  to  the  pastrycook's  to 
sign  something,  or  I  could  sign  something  in 
the  Square  if  somebody  would  come  and  cough 
for  me  to  let  'em  in  with  the  key,  and  would 
bring  a  pen  and  ink  with  'em  and  a  bit  of  blot- 
ting-paper. Oh,  my  gracious !  I  must  tear  my- 
self away,  or  Pa  and  Ma  will  both  find  out ! 
Dear,  dear  Sophi-onia,  good,  good-bv!" 

The  credulous  little  creature  again  embraced 


282 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Mrs.  Lammle  most  affectionately,  and  then  held 
out  her  hand  to  Mr.  Lammle. 

"Good-by,  dear  Mr.  Lammle  —  I  mean  Al- 
fred. You  won't  think  after  to-day  that  I  have 
deserted  you  and  Sophronia  because  you  have 
been  brought  low  in  the  world,  will  you  ?  Oh 
me !  oh  me !  I  have  been  crying  my  eyes  out 
of  my  head,  and  Ma  will  be  sure  to  ask  me 
what's  the  matter.  Oh,  take  me  down,  some- 
body, please,  please,  please!" 

Mr.  Boffin  took  her  down,  and  saw  her  driven 
away,  with  her  poor  little  red  eyes  and  weak 
chin  peering  over  the  great  apron  of  the  custard- 
colored  phaeton,  as  if  she  had  been  ordered  to 
expiate  some  childish  misdemeanor  by  going  to 
bed  in  the  daylight,  and  were  peeping  over  the 
counterpane  in  a  miserable  flutter  of  repentance 
and  low  spirits.  Returning  to  the  breakfast- 
room,  he  found  Mrs.  Lammle  still  standing  on 
her  side  of  the  table,  and  Mr.  Lammle  on  his. 

"  I'll  take  care,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  showing  the 
money  and  the  necklace,  "that  these  are  soon 
given  back." 

Mrs.  Lammle  had  taken  up  her  parasol  from 
a  side-table,  and  stood  sketching  with  it  on  the 
pattern  of  the  damask  cloth,  as  she  had  sketched 
on  the  pattern  of  Mr.  Twemlow's  papered  wall. 

"You  will  not  undeceive  her  I  hope,  Mr. 
Boffin  ?"  she  said,  turning  her  head  toward  him, 
but  not  her  eyes. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"I  mean,  as  to  the  worth  and  value  of  her 
friend,"  Mrs.  Lammle  explained,  in  a  measured 
voice,  and  with  an  emphasis  on  her  last  word. 

"No,"  he  returned.  "I  may  try  to  give  a 
hint  at  her  home  that  she  is  in  want  of  kind  and 
careful  protection,  but  I  shall  say  no  more  than 
that  to  her  parents,  and  I  shall  say  nothing  to 
the  young  lady  herself. " 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,"  said  Mrs.  Lammle, 
still  sketching,  and  seeming  to  bestow  great  pains 
upon  it,  "there  are  not  many  people,  I  think, 
who,  under  the  circumstances,  would  have  been 
so  considerate  and  sparing  as  you  have  been  to 
me  just  now.     Do  you  care  to  be  thanked  ?" 

"Thanks  are  always  worth  having," said  Mrs. 
Boffin,  in  her  ready  good-nature. 

"  Then  thank  you  both." 

"Sophronia,"  asked  her  husband,  mockingly, 
"  are  you  sentimental  ?" 

"Well,  well,  my  good  Sir,"  Mr.  Boffin  inter- 
posed, "it's  a  very  good  thing  to  think  well  of 
another  person,  and  it's  a  very  good  thing  to  be 
thought  well  of  by  another  person.  Mrs.  Lammle 
will  be  none  the  worse  for  it,  if  she  is." 

"  Much  obliged.  But  I  asked  Mrs.  Lammle 
if  she  was." 

She  stood  sketching  on  the  table-cloth,  with 
her  face  clouded  and  set,  and  was  silent. 

"Because,"  said  Alfred,  "I  am  disposed  to 
be  sentimental  myself,  on  your  appropriation  of 
the  jewels  and  the  money,  Mr.  Boffin.  As  our 
little  Georgiana  said,  three  five-pound  notes  are 
better  than  nothing,  and  if  you  sell  a  necklace 
you  can  buy  things  with  the  produce." 

"//you  sell  it,"  was  Mr.  Boffin's  comment, 
as  he  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

Alfred  followed  it  with  his  looks,  and  also 
greedily  pursued  the  notes  until  they  vanished 
into  Mr.  Boffin's  waistcoat  pocket.  Then  he 
directed  a  look,  half  exasperated  and  half  jeer- 
ing, at  his  wife.     She  still  stood  sketching ;  but, 


as  she  sketched,  there  was  a  struggle  within  her, 
which  found  expression  in  the  depth  of  the  few 
last  lines  the  parasol  point  indented  into  the 
table-cloth,  and  then  some  tears  fell  from  her 
eyes. 

"Why,  confound  the  woman,"  exclaimed 
Lammle,  "  she  is  sentimental!" 

She  walked  to  the  window,  flinching  under 
his  angry  stare,  looked  out  for  a  moment,  and 
turned  round  quite  coldly. 

"You  have  had  no  former  cause  of  complaint 
on  the  sentimental  score,  Alfred,  and  you  will 
have  none  in  future.  It  is  not  worth  your  no- 
ticing. We  go  abroad  soon,  with  the  money  we 
have  earned  here  ?" 

"You  know  we  do ;  you  know  we  must." 

"There  is  no  fear  of  my  taking  any  sentiment 
with  me.  I  should  soon  be  eased  of  it  if  I  did. 
But  it  will  be  all  left  behind.  It  is  all  left  be- 
hind.    Are  you  ready,  Alfred?" 

"What  the  deuce  have  I  been  waiting  for 
but  you,  Sophronia?" 

"  Let  us  go  then.  I  am  sorry  I  have  delayed 
our  dignified  departure." 

She  passed  out  and  he  followed  her.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Boffin  had  the  curiosity  softly  to  raise 
a  window  and  look  after  them  as  they  went  down 
the  long  street.  They  walked  arm  in  arm,  show- 
ily enough,  but  without  appearing  to  interchange 
a  syllable.  It  might  have  been  fanciful  to  sup- 
pose that  under  their  outer  bearing  there  was 
something  of  the  shamed  air  of  two  cheats  who 
were  linked  together  by  concealed  handcuffs; 
but,  not  so,  to  suppose  that  they  were  haggard- 
ly weary  of  one  another,  of  themselves,  and  of 
all  this  world.  In  turning  the  street  corner  they 
might  have  turned  out  of  this  world,  for  any  thing 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  ever  saw  of  them  to  the  con- 
trary; for  they  set  eyes  on  the  Lammles  never 
more. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   GOLDEN  DUSTMAN   SINKS   AGAIN. 

The  evening  of  that  day  being  one  of  the 
reading  evenings  at  the  Bower,  Mr.  Boffin  kissed 
Mrs.  Boffin  after  a  five  o'clock  dinner,  and  trot- 
ted out,  nursing  his  big  stick  in  both  arms,  so 
that,  as  of  old,  it  seemed  to  be  whispering  in 
his  ear.  He  carried  so  very  attentive  an  ex- 
pression on  his  countenance  that  it  appeared  as 
if  the  confidential  discourse  of  the  big  stick  re- 
quired to  be  followed  closely.  Mr.  Boffin's  face 
was  like  the  face  of  a  thoughtful  listener  to  an 
intricate  communication,  and,  in  trotting  along, 
he  occasionally  glanced  at  that  companion  with 
the  look  of  a  man  who  was  interposing  the  re- 
mark :   "You  don't  mean  it !" 

Mr.  Boffin  and  his  stick  went  on  alone  togeth- 
er until  they  arrived  at  certain  cross-ways  where 
they  would  be  likely  to  fall  in  with  any  one  com- 
ing, at  about  the  same  time,  from  Clerkenwell  to 
the  Bower.  Here  they  stopped,  and  Mr.  Boffin 
consulted  his  watch. 

"It  wants  five  minutes,  good,  to  Venus's  ap- 
pointment," said  he.     "I'm  rather  early.'' 

But  Venus  was  a  punctual  man,  and,  even  as 
Mr.  Boffin  replaced  his  watch  in  its  pocket,  was 
to  be  descried  coming  toward  him.  He  quick- 
ened his  pace  on  seeing  Mr.  Boffin  already  at 
the  place  of  meeting,  and  was  soon  at  his  side. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


283 


"  Thank'ee,  Venus,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "  Thank- 
'ee, thank'ee,  thank'ee!" 

It  would  not  have  heen  very  evident  why  he 
thanked  the  anatomist,  but  for  his  furnishing 
the  explanation  in  what  he  went  on  to  say. 

"All  right,  Venus,  all  right.  Now  that 
you've  been  to  see  me,  and  have  consented  to 
keep  up  the  appearance  before  Wegg  of  re- 
maining in  it  for  a  time,  I  have  got  a  sort  of  a 
backer.  All  right,  Venus.  Thank'ee,  Venus. 
Thank'ee,  thank'ee,  thank'ee !" 

Mr.  Venus  shook  the  proffered  hand  with  a 
modest  air,  and  they  pursued  the  direction  of 
the  Bower. 

"Do  you  think  Wegg  is  likely  to  drop  down 
upon  me  to-night,  Venus  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Boffin, 
wistfully,  as  they  went  along. 
"I  think  he  is,  Sir." 

"  Have  you  any  particular  reason  for  thinking 
so,  Venus?" 

"Well,  Sir,"  returned  that  personage,  "the 
fact  is,  he  has  given  me  another  look-in  to  make 
sure  of  what  he  calls  our  stock-in-trade  being 
correct,  and  he  has  mentioned  his  intention  that 
he  was  not  to  be  put  off  beginning  with  you  the 
very  next  time  you  should  come.  And  this," 
hinted  Mr.  Venus,  delicately,  "being  the  very 
next  time,  you  know,  Sir — " 

— "Why,  therefore  you  suppose  heTl  turn  to 
at  the  grindstone,  eh,  Wegg?"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 
"Just  so,  Sir." 

Mr.  Boffin  took  his  nose  in  his  hand,  as  if  it 
were  already  excoriated,  and  the  sparks  were 
beginning  to  fly  out  of  that  feature.  "  He's  a 
terrible  fellow,  Venus;  he's  an  awful  fellow. 
I  don't  know  how  ever  I  shall  go  through  with 
it.  You  must  stand  by  me,  Venus,  like  a  good 
man  and  true.  You'll  do  all  you  can  to  stand 
by  me,  Venus  ;  won't  you?" 

Mr.  Venus  replied  with  the  assurance  that  he 
would ;  and  Mr.  Boffin,  looking  anxious  and 
dispirited,  pursued  the  way  in  silence  until  they 
rang  at  the  Bower  gate.  The  stumping  approach 
of  Wegg  was  soon  heard  behind  it,  and  as  it 
turned  upon  its  hinges  he  became  visible  with 
his  hand  on  the  lock. 

"Mr.  Boffin,  Sir?"  he  remarked.  "You're 
quite  a  stranger ! " 

"  Yes.     I've  been  otherwise  occupied,  Wegg." 

"  Have  you  indeed,  Sir?"  returned  the  literary 

gentleman,  with  a  threatening  sneer.     "  Hah ! 

I've  been  looking  for  you,  Sir,  rather  what  I 

may  call  specially." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Wegg  ?" 
"Yes,  I  do  say  so,  Sir.     And  if  you  hadn't 
come  round  to  me  to-night,  dash  my  wig  if  I 
wouldn't  have  come  round  to  you  to-morrow. 
Now  !  I  tell  you !" 

"Nothing  wrong,  I  hope,  Wegg?" 
"Oh  no,  Mr.  Boffin,"  was  the  ironical  an- 
swer.      "  Nothing   wrong  !      What   should*  be 
wrong  in  Boffinses  Bower !     Step  in,  Sir. 

"'If  you'll  come  to  the  Bower  I've  shaded  for  you, 
Your  bed  sha'n't  he  roses  all  spangled  with  doo: 
"Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you  come  to  the 

Bower  ? 
Oh,  won't  you,  won't  you,  won't  you,  won't  you  come 

to  the  Bower?'" 

An  unholy  glare  of  contradiction  and  offense 
shone  in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Wegg  as  he  turned 
the  key  on  his  patron,  after  ushering  him  into 
the  yard  with  this  vocal  quotation.     Mr,  Boffin's 


air  was  crest-fallen  and  submissive.  Whispered 
Wegg  to  Venus,  as  they  crossed  the  yard  be- 
hind him:  "Look  at  the  worm  and  minion; 
he's  down  in  the  mouth  already."  Whispered 
Venus  to  Wegg:  "That's  because  I've  told 
him.     I've  prepared  the  way  for  you." 

Mr.  Boffin,  entering  the  usual  chamber,  laid 
his  stick  upon  the  settle  usually  reserved  for 
him,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and,  with 
his  shoulders  raised  and  his  hat  drooping  back 
upon  them,  looked  disconsolately  at  Wegg. 
"  My  friend  and  partner  Mr.  Venus  gives  me 
to  understand,"  remarked  that  man  of  might, 
addressing  him,  "that  you  are  aware  of  our 
power  over  you.  Now,  when  you  have  took  your 
hat  off,  we'll  go  into  that  pint." 

Mr.  Boffin  shook  it  off  with  one  shake,  so  that 
it  dropped  on  the  floor  behind  him,  and  remain- 
ed in  his  former  attitude  with  his  former  rueful 
look  upon  him. 

"First  of  all,  I'm  a-going  to  call  you  Boffin, 
for  short,"  said  Wegg.  "If  you  don't  like  it, 
it's  open  to  you  to  lump  it." 

"  I  don't  mind  it,  Wegg,"  Mr.  Boffin  replied. 
"That's  lucky  for  you,  Boffin.     Now,  do  you 
want  to  be  read  to  ?" 

"I  don't  particularly  care  about  it  to-night, 
Wegg." 

"Because  if  you  did  want  to,"  pursued  Mr. 
Wegg,  the  brilliancy  of  whose  point  was  dimmed 
by  his  having  been  unexpectedly  answered,  "you 
wouldn't  be.  I've  been  your  slave  long  enough. 
I'm  not  to  be  trampled  underfoot  by  a  dustman 
any  more.  With  the  single  exception  of  the 
salary,  I  renounce  the  whole  and  total  sitiwa- 
tion." 

"Since  you  say  it  is  to  be  so,  Wegg,"  returned 
Mr.  Boffin,  with  folded  hands,  "I  suppose  it 
must  be." 

"7  suppose  it  must  be,"  Wegg  retorted. 
"Next  (to  clear  the  ground  before  coming  to 
business),  you've  placed  in  this  yard  a  skulking, 
a  sneaking,  and  a  sniffing  menial." 

"He  hadn't  a  cold  in  his  head  when  I  sent 
him  here,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"Boffin!"  retorted  Wegg,  "I  warn  you  not 
to  attempt  a  joke  with  me !" 

Here  Mr.  Venus  interposed,  and  remarked 
that  he  conceived  Mr.  Boffin  to  have  taken  the 
description  literally;  the  rather,  forasmuch  as 
he,  Mr.  Venus,  had  himself  supposed  the  menial 
to  have  contracted  an  affliction  or  a  habit  of  the 
nose,  involving  a  serious  drawback  on  the  pleas- 
ures of  social  intercourse,  until  he  had  discov- 
ered that  Mr.  Wegg's  description  of  him  was  to 
be  accepted  as  merely  figurative. 

"Any  how,  and  every  how,"  said  Wegg,  "he 
has  been  planted  here,  and  he  is  here.  Now,  I 
won't  have  him  here.  So  I  call  upon  Boffin, 
before  I  say  another  word,  to  fetch  him  in  and 
send  him  packing  to  the  right-about." 

The  unsuspecting  Sloppy  was  at  that  moment 
airing  his  many  buttons  within  view  of  the  win- 
dow. Mr.  Boffin,  after  a  short  interval  of  im- 
passive discomfiture,  opened  the  window  and 
beckoned  him  to  come  in. 

"I  call  upon  Boffin,"  said  Wegg,  with  one 
arm  a-kimbo  and  his  head  on  one  side,  like  a 
bullying  counsel  pausing  for  an  answer  from  a 
witness,  "  to  inform  that  menial  that  I  am  Mas- 
ter here !" 
In  humble  obedience,  when  the  button-gleam- 


284 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


ing  Sloppy  entered  Mr.  Boffin  said  to  him: 
"  Sloppy,  my  fine  fellow,  Mr.  Wegg  is  Master 
here.  He  doesn't  want  you,  and  you  are  to  go 
from  here." 

"For  good !"  Mr.  Wegg  severely  stipulated. 

"For  good,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

Sloppy  stared,  with  both  his  eyes  and  all  his 
buttons,  and  his  mouth  wide  open ;  but  was  with- 
out loss  of  time  escorted  forth  by  Silas  Wegg, 
pushed  out  at  the  yard  gate  by  the  shoulders, 
and  locked  out. 

"The  atomspear,"  said  Wegg,  stumping  back 
into  the  room  again,  a  little  reddened  by  his  late 
exertion,  "is  now  freer  for  the  purposes  of  res- 
piration. Mr.  Venus,  Sir,  take  a  chair.  Bof- 
fin, you  may  sit  down." 

Mr.  Boffin,  still  with  his  hands  ruefully  stuck 
in  his  pockets,  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  settle, 
shrunk  into  a  small  compass,  and  eyed  the  potent 
Silas  with  conciliatory  looks. 

"This  gentleman,"  said  Silas  Wegg,  pointing 
out  Venus,  "  this  gentleman,  Boffin,  is  more 
milk  and  watery  with  you  than  I'll  be.  But  he 
hasn't  borne  the  Roman  yoke  as  I  have,  nor  yet 
he  hasn't  been  required  to  pander  to  your  de- 
praved appetite  for  miserly  characters." 

"  I  never  meant,  my  dear  Wegg — "  Mr.  Boffin 
was  beginning,  when  Silas  stopped  him. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Boffin!  Answer  when 
you're  called  upon  to  answer.  You'll  find  you've 
got  quite  enough  to  do.  Now,  you're  aware — 
are  you — that  you're  in  possession  of  property  to 
which  vou've  no  right  at  all?  Are  you  aware 
of  that?" 

"Venus  tells  me  so,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  glan- 
cing toward  him  for  any  support  he  could  give. 

"/tell  you  so,"  returned  Silas.  "  Now,  here's 
my  hat,  Boffin,  and  here's  my  walking-stick. 
Trifle  with  me,  and  instead  of  making  a  bargain 
with  you,  I'll  put  on  my  hat  and  take  up  my 
walking-stick,  and  go  out  and  make  a  bargain 
with  the  rightful  owner.    Now,  what  do  you  say  ?" 

"  I  say, "  returned  Mr.  Boffin,  leaning  forward 
in  alarmed  appeal,  with  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
"that  I  am  sure  I  don't  want  to  trifle,  Wegg. 
I  have  said  so  to  Venus." 

"You  certainly  have,  Sir,"  said  Venus. 

"You're  too  milk  and  watery  with  our  friend, 
you  are  indeed,"  remonstrajted  Silas,  with  a  dis- 
approving shake  of  his  wooden  head.  "Then 
at  once  you  confess  yourself  desirous  to  come  to 
terms,  do  you,  Boffin?  Before  you  answer, 
keep  this  hat  well  in  your  mind,  and  also  this 
walking-stick." 

"I  am  willing,  Wegg,  to  come  to  terms." 

"Willing  won't  do,  Boffin.  I  won't  take  will- 
ing. Are  you  desirous  to  come  to  terms  ?  Do 
you  ask  to  be  allowed  as  a  favor  to  come  to 
terms  ?"  Mr.  Wegg  again  planted  his  arm,  and 
put  his  head  on  one  side. 

"Yes." 

"Yes  what?"  said  the  inexorable  Wegg:  "I 
won't  take  yes.  I'll  have  it  out  of  you  in  full, 
Boffin." 

"Dear  me!"  cried  that  unfortunate  gentle- 
man. "I  am  so  worrited!  I  ask  to  be  allowed 
to  come  to  terms,  supposing  your  document  is 
all  correct." 

"Don't  you  be  afraid  of  that,"  said  Silas, 
poking  his  head  at  him.  "  You  shall  be  satisfied 
by  seeing  it.  Mr.  Venus  will  show  it  you,  and 
I'll  hold  you  the  while.     Then  you  want  to  know 


what  the  terms  are.  Is  that  about  the  sum  and 
substance  of  it  ?  Will  you  or  won't  you  answer, 
Boffin?"    For  he  had  paused  a  moment. 

"Dear  me !"  cried  that  unfortunate  gentleman 
again,  "I  am  worrited  to  that  degree  that  I'm 
almost  off  my  head.  You  hurry  me  so.  Be  so 
good  as  name  the  terms,  Wegg." 

"Now,  mark,  Boffin, "returned  Silas :  "  Mark 
'em  well,  because  they're  the  lowest  terms  and 
the  only  terms.  You'll  throw  your  Mound  (the 
little  Mound  as  comes  to  you  any  way)  into  the 
general  estate,  and  then  you'll  divide' the  whole 
property  into  three  parts,  and  you'll  keep  one 
and  hand  over  the  others." 

Mr.  Venus's  mouth  screwed  itself  up  as  Mr. 
Boffin's  face  lengthened  itself;  Mr.  Venus  not 
having  been  prepared  for  such  a  rapacious  de- 
mand. 

"Now,  wait  a  bit,  Boffin,"  Wegg  proceeded, 
"  there's  something  more.  You've  been  a  squan- 
dering this  property — laying  some  of  it  out  on 
yourself.  That  won't  do.  You've  bought  a 
house.     You'll  be  charged  for  it." 

"  I  shall  be  ruined,  Wegg !"  Mr.  Boffin  faint- 
ly protested. 

"Now,  wait  a  bit,  Boffin;  there's  something 
more.  You'll  leave  me  in  sole  custody  of  these 
Mounds  till  they're  all  laid  low.  If  any  walu- 
ables  should  be  found  in  'em,  I'll  take  care  of 
such  waluables.  You'll  produce  your  contract 
for  the  sale  of  the  Mounds,  that  we  may  know 
to  a  penny  what  they're  worth,  and  you'll  make 
out  likewise  an  exact  list  of  all  the  other  prop- 
erty. When  the  Mounds  is  cleared  away  to 
the  last  shovelful,  the  final  diwision  will  come 
off." 

"  Dreadful,  dreadful,  dreadful !  I  shall  die 
in  a  work-house!"  cried  the  Golden  Dustman, 
with  his  hands  to  his  head. 

"Now,  wait  a  bit,  Boffin;  there's  something 
more.  You've  been  unlawfully  ferreting  about 
this  yard.  You've  been  seen  in  the  act  of  ferret- 
ing about  this  yard.  Two  pair  of  eyes  at  the 
present  moment  brought  to  bear  upon  you,  have 
seen  you  dig  up  a  Dutch  bottle." 

"It  was  mine,  Wegg,"  protested  Mr.  Boffin. 
"I  put  it  there  myself." 

"What  was  in  it,  Boffin?"  inquired  Silas. 

"Not  gold,  not  silver,  not  bank-notes,  not 
jewels,  nothing  that  you  could  turn  into  money, 
Wegg ;  upon  my  soul !" 

"Prepared,  Mr.  Venus,"  said  Wegg,  turning 
to  his  partner  with  a  knowing  and  superior  air, 
"  for  an  ewasive  answer  on  the  part  of  our  dusty 
friend  here,  I  have  hit  out  a  little  idea  which  I 
think  will  meet  your  views.  We  charge  that 
bottle  against  our  dusty  friend  at  a  thousand 
pound." 

Mr.  Boffin  drew  a  deep  groan. 

"Now,  wait  a  bit,  Boffin;  there's  something 
more.  In  your  employment  is  an  underhanded 
sneak,  named  Rokesmith.  It  won't  answer  to 
have  him  about  while  this  business  of  ours  is 
about.     He  must  be  discharged." 

"  Rokesmith  is  already  discharged,"  said  Mr. 
Boffin,  speaking  in  a  muffled  voice,  with  his 
hands  before  his  face,  as  he  rocked  himself  on 
the  settle. 

"  Already  discharged,  is  he?"  returned  Wegg, 
surprised.  "  Oh !  Then,  Boffin,  I  believe  there's 
nothing  more  at  present." 

The  unlucky  gentleman  continuing  to  rock 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


285 


himself  to  and  fro,  and  to  utter  an  occasional 
moan,  Mr.  Venus  besought  him  to  bear  up 
against  his  reverses,  and  to  take  time  to  accus- 
tom himself  to  the  thought  of  his  new  position. 
But  his  taking  time  was  exactly  the  thing  of  all 
others  that  Silas  Wegg  could  not  be  induced  to 
hear  of.  "Yes  or  no,  and  no  half  measures!" 
was  the  motto  which  that  obdurate  person  many 
times  repeated ;  shaking  his  fist  at  Mr.  Boffin, 
and  pegging  his  motto  into  the  floor  with  his 
wooden  leg,  in  a  threatening  and  alarming  man- 
ner. 

At  length  Mr.  Boffin  entreated  to  be  allowed 
a  quarter  of  an  hour's  grace,  and  a  cooling  walk 
of  that  duration  in  the  yard.  With  some  diffi- 
culty Mr.  Wegg  granted  this  great  favor,  but 
only  on  condition  that  he  accompanied  Mr. 
Boffin  in  his  walk,  as  not  knowing  what  he 
might  fraudulently  unearth  if  he  were  left  to 
himself.  A  more  absurd  sight  than  Mr.  Boffin 
in  his  mental  irritation  trotting  very  nimbly,  and 
Mr.  Wegg  hopping  after  him  with  great  exertion, 
eager  to  watch  the  slightest  turn  of  an  eyelash, 
lest  it  should  indicate  a  spot  rich  with  some  se- 
cret, assuredly  had  never  been  seen  in  the  shad- 
ow of  the  Mounds.  Mr.  Wegg  was  much  dis- 
tressed when  the  quarter  of  an  hour  expired, 
and  came  hopping  in,  a  very  bad  second. 

"I  can't  help  myself!"  cried  Mr.  Boffin, 
flouncing  on  the  settle  in  a  forlorn  manner, 
with  his  hands  deep  in .  his  pockets,  as  if  his 
pockets  had  sunk.  "What's  the  good  of  my 
pretending  to  stand  out,  when  I  can't  help  my- 
self? I  must  give  in  to  the  terms.  But  I 
should  like  to  see  the  document." 

Wegg,  who  was  all  for  clenching  the  nail  he 
had  so  strongly  driven  home,  announced  that 
Boffin  should  see  it  without  an  hour's  delay. 
Taking  him  into  custody  for  that  purpose,  or 
overshadowing  him  as  if  he  really  were  his  Evil 
Genius  in  visible  form,  Mr.  Wegg  clapped  Mr. 
Boffin's  hat  upon  the  back  of  his  head,  and 
walked  him  out  by  the  arm,  asserting  a  pro- 
prietorship over  his  soul  and  body  that  was  at 
once  more  grim  and  more  ridiculous  than  any 
thing  in  Mr.  Venus's  rare  collection.  That 
light-haired  gentleman  followed  close  upon  their 
heels,  at  least  backing  up  Mr.  Boffin  in  a  literal 
sense,  if  he  had  not  had  recent  opportunities  of 
doing  so  spiritually;  while  Mr.  Boffin,  trotting 
on  as  hard  as  he  could  trot,  involved  Silas  Wegg 
in  frequent  collisions  with  the  public,  much  as  a 
preoccupied  blind  man's  dog  may  be  seen  to 
involve  his  master. 

Thus  they  reached  Mr.  Venus's  establishment, 
somewhat  heated  by  the  nature  of  their  progress 
thither.  Mr.  Wegg,  especially,  was  in  a  flam- 
ing glow,  and  stood  in  the  little  shop,  panting 
and  mopping  his  head  with  his  pocket-handker- 
chief, speechless  for  several  minutes. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Venus,  who  had  left  the  du- 
eling frogs  to  fight  it  out  in  his  absence  by 
candle-light  for  the  public  delectation,  put  the 
shutters  up.  When  all  was  snug,  and  the  shop- 
door  fastened,  he  said  to  the  perspiring  Silas : 
"I  suppose,  Mr.  Wegg,  we  may  now  produce 
the  paper  ?" 

"Hold  on  a  minute,  Sir,"  replied  that  dis- 
creet character ;  "  hold  on  a  minute.  Will  you 
obligingly  shove  that  box — which  you  mentioned 
on  a  former  occasion  as  containing  miscellanies 
— toward  me  in  the  midst  of  the  shop  here?'' 
T 


Mr.  Venus  did  as  he  was  asked. 

"Very  good,"  said  Silas,  looking  about; 
"ve — ry  good.  Will  you  hand  me  that  chair, 
Sir,  to  pufa-top  of  it?" 

Venus  handed  him  the  chair. 

"Now,  Boffin,"  said  Wegg,  "mount  up  here 
and  take  your  seat,  will  you  ?" 

Mr.  Boffin,  as  if  he  were  about  to  have  his 
portrait  painted,  or  to  be  electrified,  or  to  be 
made  a  Freemason,  or  to  be  placed  at  any  other 
solitary  disadvantage,  ascended  the  rostrum  pre- 
pared for  him. 

"Now,  Mr.  Venus,"  said  Silas,  taking  off  his 
coat,  "when  I  catches  our  friend  here  round  the 
arms  and  body,  and  pins  him  tight  to  the  back 
of  the  chair,  you  may  show  him  what  he  wants 
to  see.  If  you'll  open  it  and  hold  it  well  up  in 
one  hand,  Sir,  and  a  candle  in  the  other,  he  can 
read  it  charming." 

Mr.  Boffin  seemed  rather  inclined  to  object  to 
these  precautionary  arrangements,  but,  being  im- 
mediately embraced  by  Wegg,  resigned  himself. 
Venus  then  produced  the  document,  and  Mr. 
Boffin  slowly  spelt  it  out  aloud :  so  very  slowly 
that  Wegg,  who  was  holding  him  in  the  chair 
with  the  grip  of  a  wrestler,  became  again  exceed- 
ingly the  worse  for  his  exertions.  "  Say  when 
you've  put  it  safe  back,  Mr.  Venus,"  he  uttered 
with  difficulty,  "  for  the  strain  of  this  is  terri- 
menjious." 

At  length  the  document  was  restored  to  its 
place ;  and  Wegg,  whose  uncomfortable  attitude 
had  been  that  of  a  very  persevering  man  unsuc- 
cessfully attempting  to  stand  upon  his  head,  took 
a  seat  to  recover  himself.  Mr.  Boffin,  for  his 
part,  made  no  attempt  to  come  down,  but  re- 
mained aloft  disconsolate. 

"Well,  Boffin,"  said  Wegg,  as  soon  as  he  was 
in  a  condition  to  speak.     "  Now,  you  know." 

" Yes, Wegg,"said Mr. Boffin, meekly.  "Now, 
I  know." 

"You  have  no  doubts  about  it,  Boffin." 

"No,  Wegg.  No,  Wegg.  None,"  was  the 
slow  and  sad  reply. 

'lThen,  take  care,  you,"  said  Wegg,  "that 
you  stick  to  your  conditions.  Mr.  Venus,  if  on 
this  auspicious  occasion  you  should  happen  to 
have  a  drop  of  any  thing  not  quite  so  mild  as 
tea  in  the  'ouse,  I  think  I'd  take  the  friendly 
liberty  of  asking  you  for  a  specimen  of  it." 

Mr.  Venus,  reminded  of  the  duties  of  hospital- 
ity, produced  some  rum.  In  answer  to  the  in- 
quiry, "Will  you  mix  it,  Mr.  Wegg  ?"  that  gen- 
tleman pleasantly  rejoined,  "I  think  not,  Sir. 
On  so  auspicious  an  occasion  I  prefer  to  take  it 
in  the  form  of  a  Gum-Tickler." 

Mr.  Boffin,  declining  rum,  being  still  elevated 
on  his  pedestal,  was  in  a  convenient  position  to 
be  addressed.  Wegg  having  eyed  him  with  an 
impudent  air  at  leisure,  addressed  him,  there- 
fore, while  refreshing  himself  with  his  dram. 

"Bof—  fin!" 

"Yes,  Wegg,"  he  answered,  coming  out  of  a 
fit  of  abstraction,  with  a  sigh. 

"I  haven't  mentioned  one  thing,  because  it's 
a  detail  that  comes  of  course.  You  must  be  fol- 
lowed up,  you  know.  You  must  be  kept  under 
inspection." 

"I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"Don't  you?"  sneered  Wegg.  "Where's 
your  wits,  Boffin  ?  Till  the  Mounds  is  down 
and  this  business  completed,  you're  accountable 


286 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


for  all  the  property,  recollect.  Consider  your- 
self accountable  to  me.  Mr.  Venus  here  being 
too  milk  and  watery  with  you,  I  am  the  boy  for 
you." 

"I've  been  a- thinking,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  in  a 
tone  of  despondency,  "that  I  must  keep  the 
knowledge  from  my  old  lady." 

"  The  knowledge  of  the  diwision,  d'ye  mean  ?" 
inquired  Wegg,  helping  himself  to  a  third  Gum- 
Tickler — for  he  had  already  taken  a  second. 

"  Yes.  If  she  was  to  die  first  of  us  two  she 
might  then  think  all  her  life,  poor  thing,  that  I 
had  got  the  rest  of  the  fortune  still,  and  was  sav- 
ing it." 

"  I  suspect,  Boffin,"  returned  Wegg,  shaking 
his  head  sagaciously,  and  bestowing  a  wooden 
wink  upon  him,  "that  you've  found  out  some 
account  of  some  old  chap,  supposed  to  be  a 
Miser,  who  got  himself  the  credit  of  having 
much  more  money  than  he  had.  However,  / 
don't  mind." 

"Don't  you  see,  Wegg?"  Mr.  Boffin  feelingly 
represented  to  him:  "don't  you  see?  My  old 
lady  has  got  so  used  to  the  property.  It  would 
be  such  a  hard  surprise." 

"I  don't  see  it  at  all,"  blustered  Wegg. 
"  You'll  have  as  much  as  I  shall.  And  who  are 
you?'? 

"But  then,  again,"  Mr.  Boffin  gently  repre- 
sented ;  "  my  old  lady  has  very  upright  princi- 
ples." 

"Who's  your  old  lady,"  returned  Wegg,  "to 
set  herself  up  for  having  uprighter  principles 
than  mine  ?" 

Mr.  Boffin  seemed  a  little  less  patient  at  this 
point  than  at  any  other  of  the  negotiations.  But 
he  commanded  himself,  and  said  tamely  enough : 
"  I  think  it  must  be  kept  from  my  old  lady, 
Wegg." 

"Well,"  said  Wegg,  contemptuously,  though, 
perhaps,  perceiving  some  hint  of  danger  other- 
wise, "keep  it  from  your  old  lady.  /  ain't  go- 
ing to  tell  her.  I  can  have  you  under  close  in- 
spection without  that.  I'm  as  good  a  man  as 
you,  and  better.  Ask  me  to  dinner.  Give  me 
the  run  of  your  'ouse.  I  was  good  enough  for 
you  and  your  old  lady  once,  when  I  helped  you 
out  with  your  weal  and  hammers.  Was  there 
no  Miss  Elizabeth,  Master  George,  Aunt  Jane, 
and  Uncle  Parker,  before  you  two  ?" 

"Gently,  Mr.  Wegg,  gently,"  Venus  urged. 

"Milk  and  water-erily,  you  mean,  Sir,"  he 
returned,  with  some  little  thickness  of  speech,  in 
consequence  of  the  Gum-Ticklers  having  tickled 
it.  "  I've  got  him  under  inspection,  and  I'll 
inspect  him. 

"**  'Along  the  line  the  signal  ran 

England  expects  as  this  present  man 
Will  keep  Boffin  to  his  duty.' 

— Boffin,  I'll  see  you  home." 

Mr.  Boffin  descended  with  an  air  of  resigna- 
tion, and  gave  himself  up,  after  taking  friendly 
leave  of  Mr.  Venus.  Once  more  Inspector  and 
Inspected  went  through  the  streets  together,  and 
so  arrived  at  Mr.  Boffin's  door. 

But  even  there,  when  Mr.  Boffin  had  given 
his  keeper  good-night,  and  had  let  himself  in 
with  his  key,  and  had  softly  closed  the  door, 
even  there  and  then,  the  all-powerful  Silas  must 
needs  claim  another  assertion  of  his  newly-as- 
serted power. 

"Bof — fin  !"  he  called  through  the  keyhole. 


"Yes,  Wegg,"  was  the  reply  through  the  same 
channel. 

"Come  out.  Show  yourself  again.  Let's 
have  another  look  at  you !" 

Mr.  Boffin — ah,  how  fallen  from  the  high 
estate  of  his  honest  simplicity ! — opened  the 
door  and  obeyed. 

"Go  in.  You  may  get  to  bed  now,"  said 
Wegg,  with  a  grin. 

The  door  was  hardly  closed  when  he  again 
called  through  the  keyhole: 

"Bof— fin!" 

"Yes,  Wegg." 

This  time  Silas  made  no  reply,  but  labored 
with  a  will  at  turning  an  imaginary  grindstone 
outside  the  keyhole,  while  Mr.  Boffin  stooped  at 
it  within ;  he  then  laughed  silently,  and  stumped 
home. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A     RUNAWAY    MATCH. 

Cherubic  Pa  arose  with  as  little  noise  as  pos- 
sible from  beside  majestic  Ma,  one  morning  early, 
having  a  holiday  before  him.  Pa  and  the  lovely 
woman  had  a  rather  particular  appointment  to 
keep. 

Yet  Pa  and  the  lovely  woman  were  not  going 
out  together.  Bella  was  up  before  four,  but  had 
no  bonnet  on.  She  was  waiting  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs — was  sitting  on  the  bottom  stair,  in 
fact — to  receive  Pa  when  he  came  down,  but  her 
only  object  seemed  to  be  to  get  Pa  well  out  of 
the  house. 

"Your  breakfast  is  ready,  Sir,"  whispered 
Bella,  after  greeting  him  with  a  hug,  "and  all 
you  have  to  do  is  to  eat  it  up  and  drink  it  up, 
and  escape.     How  do  you  feel,  Pa?" 

"To  the  best  of  my  judgment,  like  a  house- 
breaker new  to  the  business,  my  dear,  who  can't 
make  himself  quite  comfortable  till  he  is  off  the 
premises." 

Bella  tucked  her  arm  in  his  with  a  merry, 
noiseless  laugh,  and  they  went  down  to  the 
kitchen  on  tip-toe;  she  stopping  on  every  sep- 
arate stair  to  put  the  tip  of  her  forefinger  on  her 
rosy  lips,  and  then  lay  it  on  his  lips,  according 
to  her  favorite  petting  way  of  kissing  Pa. 

"How  do  you  feel,  my  love?"  asked  R.  W., 
as  she  gave  him  his  breakfast. 

"I  feel  as  if  the  Fortune-teller  was  coming 
true,  dear  Pa,  and  the  fair  little  man  was  turn- 
ing out  as  was  predicted." 

"Ho!  Only  the  fair  little  man?"  said  her 
father. 

Bella  put  another  of  those  finger-seals  upon 
his  lips,  and  then  said,  kneeling  down  by  him  as 
he  sat  at  table:  "Now,  look  here,  Sir.  If  you 
keep  well  up  to  the  mark  this  day,  what  do  you 
think  you  deserve?  What  did  I  promise  you 
should  have,  if  you  were  good,  upon  a  certain 
occasion  ?" 

"Upon  my  word  I  don't  remember,  Precious. 
Yes,  I  do,  though.  Wasn't  it  one  of  those 
beau — tiful  tresses?"  with  his  caressing  hand 
upon  her  hair. 

"  Wasn't  it,  too  !"  returned  Bella,  pretending 
to  pout.  "Upon  my  word  !  Do  you  know,  Sir, 
that  the  Fortune-teller  would  give  five  thousand 
guineas  (if  it  was  quite  convenient  to  him,  which 
it  isn't)  for  the  lovely  piece  I  have  cut  off  for 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


287 


you?  You  can  form  no  idea,  Sir,  of  the  number 
of  times  he  kissed  quite  a  scrubby  little  piece — 
in  comparison — that  I  cut  off  for  him.  And 
he  wears  it,  too,  round  his  neck,  I  can  tell  you ! 
Near  his  heart!"  said  Bella,  nodding.  "Ah! 
very  near  his  heart !  However,  you  have  been  a 
good,  good  boy,  and  you  are  the  best  of  all  the 
dearest  boys  that  ever  were  this  morning,  and 
here's  the  chain  I  have  made  of  it,  Pa,  and  you 
must  let  me  put  it  round  your  neck  with  my  own 
loving  hands." 

As  Pa  bent  his  head  she  cried  over  him  a  lit- 
tle, and  then  said  (after  having  stopped  to  dry 
her  eyes  on  his  white  waistcoat,  the  discovery 
of  which  incongruous  circumstance  made  her 
laugh) :  "Now,  darling  Pa,  give  me  your  hands 
that  I  may  fold  them  together,  and  do  you  say 
after  me  :— My  little  Bella." 

"My  little  Bella,"  repeated  Pa. 

"I  am  very  fond  of  you." 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  you,  my  darling,"  said  Pa. 

"You  mustn't  say  any  thing  not  dictated  to 
you,  Sir.  You  daren't  do  it  in  your  responses 
at  Church,  and  you  mustn't  do  it  in  your  re- 
sponses out  of  Church." 

"I  withdraw  the  darling,"  said  Pa. 

"That's  a  pious  boy!  Now  again: — You 
were  always — " 

"  You  were  always,"  repeated  Pa. 

"  A  vexatious — " 

"No  you  weren't,"  said  Pa. 

"A  vexatious  (do  you  hear,  Sir?),  a  vexa- 
tious, capricious,  thankless,  troublesome  Ani- 
mal; but  I  hope  you'll  do  better  in  the  time  to 
come,  and  I  bless  you  and  forgive  you !"  Here 
she  quite  forgot  that  it  was  Pa's  turn  to  make 
the  responses,  and  clung  to  his  neck.  "Dear 
Pa,  if  you  knew  how  much  I  think  this  morning 
of  what  you  told  me  once,  about  the  first  time 
of  our  seeing  old  Mr.  Harmon,  when  I  stamped 
and  screamed  and  beat  you  with  my  detestable 
little  bonnet !  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  stamping 
and  screaming  and  beating  you  with  my  hateful 
little  bonnet  ever  since  I  was  born,  darling !" 

"Nonsense,  my  love.  And  as  to  your  bon- 
nets, they  have  always  been  nice  bonnets,  for 
they  have  always  become  you — or  you  have  be- 
come them;  perhaps  it  was  that — at  every  age." 

"  Did  I  hurt  you  much,  poor  little  Pa  ?"  asked 
Bella,  laughing  (notwithstanding  her  repent- 
ance), with  fantastic  pleasure  in  the  picture, 
"  when  I  beat  you  with  my  bonnet?" 

"No,  my  child.    Wouldn't  have  hurt  a  fly !" 

"Ay,  but  I  am  afraid  I  shouldn't  have  beat 
you  at  all  unless  I  had  meant  to  hurt  you,"  said 
Bella.      " Did  I  pinch  your  legs,  Pa?" 

"  Not  much,  my  dear ;  but  I  think  it's  almost 
time  I — ?! 

"Oh,  yes!"  cried  Bella.  "If  I  go  on  chat- 
tering, you'll  be  taken  alive.     Fly,  Pa,  fly !" 

So  they  went  softly  up  the  kitchen  stairs  on 
tip-toe,  and  Bella  with  her  light  hand  softly  re- 
moved the  fastenings  of  the  house-door,  and  Pa, 
having  received  a  parting  hug,  made  off.  When 
he  had  gone  a  little  way  he  looked  back.  Upon 
which  Bella  set  another  of  those  finger-seals 
upon  the  air,  and  thrust  out  her  little  foot  ex- 
pressive of  the  mark.  Pa,  in  appropriate  action, 
expressed  fidelity  to  the  mark,  and  made  off  as 
fast  as  he  could  go. 

Bella  walked  thoughtfully  in  the  garden  for 
an  hour  and  more,  and  then,  returning  to  the 


bedroom  where  Lavvy  the  Irrepressible  still 
slumbered,  put  on  a  little  bonnet  of  quiet,  but 
on  the  whole  of  sly  appearance,  which  she  had 
yesterday  made.  "I  am  going  for  a  walk, 
Lavvy,"  she  said,  as  she  stooped  down  and 
kissed  her.  The  Irrepressible,  with  a  bounce  in 
the  bed,  and  a  remark  that  it  wasn't  time  to  get 
up  yet,  relapsed  into  unconsciousness,  if  she  had 
come  out  of  it. 

Behold  Bella  tripping  along  the  streets,  the 
dearest  girl  afoot  under  the  summer  sun  !  Be- 
hold Pa  waiting  for  Bella  behind  a  pump,  at 
least  three  miles  from  the  parental  roof-tree. 
Behold  Bella  and  Pa  aboard  an  early  steamboat 
bound  for  Greenwich. 

Were  they  expected  at  Greenwich?  Proba- 
bly. At  least,  Mr.  John  Rokesmith  was  on  the 
pier  looking  out,  about  a  couple  of  hours  before 
the  coaly  (but  to  him  gold-dusty)  little  steam- 
boat got  her  steam  up  in  London.  Probably. 
At  least,  Mr.  John  Rokesmith  seemed  perfectly 
satisfied  when  he  descried  them  on  board.  Prob- 
ably. At  least,  Bella  no  sooner  stepped  ashore 
than  she  took  Mr.  John  Rokesmith's  arm,  with- 
out evincing  surprise,  and  the  two  walked  away 
together  with  an  ethereal  air  of  happiness  which, 
as  it  were,  wafted  up  from  the  earth  and  drew 
after  them  a  gruff  and  glum  old  pensioner  to  see 
it  out.  Two  wooden  legs  had  this  gruff  and 
glum  old  pensioner,  and,  a  minute  before  Bella 
stepped  out  of  the  boat,  and  drew  that  confiding 
little  arm  of  hers  through  Rokesmith's,  he  had 
had  no  object  in  life  but  tobacco,  and  not  enough 
of  that.  Stranded  was  Gruff  and  Glum  in  a 
harbor  of  everlasting  mud,  when  all  in  an  instant 
Bella  floated  him,  and  away  he  went. 

Say,  cherubic  parent  taking  the  lead,  in  what 
direction  do  we  steer  first?  With  some  such  in- 
quiry in  his  thoughts,  Gruff  and  Glum,  stricken 
by  so  sudden  an  interest  that  he  perked  his  neck 
and  looked  over  the  intervening  people,  as  if  he 
were  trying  to  stand  on  tip-toe  with  his  two 
wooden  legs,  took  an  observation  of  R.  W. 
There  was  no  "first"  in  the  case,  Gruff  and 
Glum  made  out ;  the  cherubic  parent  was  bear- 
ing down  and  crowding  on  direct  for  Greenwich 
church,  to  see  his  relations. 

For  Gruff  and  Glum,  though  most  events 
acted  on  him  simply  as  tobacco-stoppers,  press- 
ing down  and  condensing  the  quids  within  him, 
might  be  imagined  to  trace  a  family  resemblance 
between  the  cherubs  in  the  church  architecture 
and  the  cherub  in  the  white  waistcoat.  Some 
remembrance  of  old  Valentines,  wherein  a  cher- 
ub, less  appropriately  attired  for  a  proverbially 
uncertain  climate,  had  been  seen  conducting 
lovers  to  the  altar,  might  have  been  fancied  to 
inflame  the  ardor  of  his  timber  toes.  Be  it  as  it 
might,  he  gave  his  moorings  the  slip,  and  fol- 
lowed in  chase. 

The  cherub  went  before,  all  beaming  smiles  ; 
Bella  and  John  Rokesmith  followed  ;  Gruff  and 
Glum  stuck  to  them  like  wax.  For  years  the 
wings  of  his  mind  had  gone  to  look  after  the 
legs  of  his  body ;  but  Bella  had  brought  them 
back  for  him  per  steamer,  and  they  were  spread 
again. 

He  was  a  slow  sailer  on  a  wind  of  happiness, 
but  he  took  a  cross-cut  for  the  rendezvous,  and 
pegged  away  as  if  he  were  scoring  furiously  at 
cribbage.  When  the  shadow  of  the  church- 
porch  swallowed  them  up,  victorious  Gruff  and 


288 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Glum  likewise  presented  himself  to  be  swallowed 
up.  And  by  this  time  the  cherubic  parent  was 
so  fearful  of  surprise  that,  but  for  the  two  wooden 
legs  on  which  Gruff  and  Glum  was  reassuringly 
mounted,  his  conscience  might  have  introduced, 
in  the  person  of  that  pensioner,  his  own  stately 
lady  disguised,  arrived  at  Greenwich  in  a  car 
and  griffins,  like  the  spiteful  Fairy  at  the  chris- 
tenings of  the  Princesses,  to  do  something  dread- 
ful to  the  marriage  service.  And  truly  he  had 
a  momentary  reason  to  be  pale  of  face,  and  to 
whisper  to  Bella,  "  You  don't  think  that  can  be 
your  Ma;  do  you,  my  dear?"  on  account  of  a 
mysterious  rustling  and  a  stealthy  movement 
somewhere  in  the  remote  neighborhood  of  the 
organ,  though  it  was  gone  directly,  and  was 
heard  no  more.  Albeit  it  was  heard  of  after- 
ward, as  will  afterward  be  read  in  this  veracious 
register  of  marriage. 

Who  taketh?  I,  John,  and  so  do  I,  Bella. 
Who  giveth?  I,  R.  W.  Forasmuch,  Gruff  and 
Glum,  as  John  and  Bella  have  consented  to- 
gether in  holy  wedlock,  you  may  (in  short)  con- 
sider it  done,  and  withdraw  your  two  wooden 
legs  from  this  temple.  To  the  foregoing  pur- 
port, the  Minister  speaking,  as  directed  by  the 
Rubric,  to  the  People,  selectly  represented  in 
the  present  instance  by  G.  and  G.  above  men- 
tioned. 

And  now,  the  church-porch  having  swallowed 
up  Bella  Wilfer  for  ever  and  ever,  had  it  not  in 
its  power  to  relinquish  that  young  woman,  but 
slid  into  the  happy  sunlight,  Mrs.  John  Roke- 
smith  instead.  And  long  on  the  bright  steps 
stood  Gruff  and  Glum,  looking  after  the  pretty 
bride,  with  a  narcotic  consciousness  of  having 
dreamed  a  dream. 

After  which,  Bella  took  out  from  her  pocket  a 
little  letter,  and  read  it  aloud  to  Pa  and  John; 
this  being  a  true  copy  of  the  same  : 

"Dearest  Ma, — T  hope  you  won't  be  angry,  but  I  am 
most  happily  married  to  Mr.  John  Eokesmitli,  who  loves 
me  bett<  r  than  I  can  ever  deserve,  except  by  loving  him 
with  all  my  heart.  I  thought  it  best  not  to  mention  it  be- 
forehand, in  case  it  should  cause  any  little  difference  at 
home.  Please  tell  darling  Pa.  With  love  to  Lavvy, 
u  Ever  dearest  Ma, 

"•  Your  affectionate  daughter, 
u  Bella 
44  (P.  S Rokesmith)." 

Then  John  Rokesmith  put  the  queen's  coun- 
tenance on  the  letter — when  had  Her  Gracious 
Majesty  looked  so  benign  as  on  that  blessed 
morning ! — and  then  Bella  popped  it  into  the 
post-office,  and  said,  merrily,  "Now,  dearest  Pa, 
you  are  safe,  and  will  never  be  taken  alive ! " 

Pa  was,  at  first,  in  the  stirred  depths  of  his 
conscience,  so  far  from  sure  of  being  safe  yet, 
that  he  made  out  majestic  matrons  lurking  in 
ambush  among  the  harmless  trees  of  Green- 
wich Park,  and  seemed  to  see  a  stately  counte- 
nance tied  up  in  a  well-known  pocket-handker- 
chief glooming  down  at  him  from  a  window  of 
the  Observatory,  where  the  Familiars  of  the  As- 
tronomer Royal  nightly  outwatch  the  winking 
stars.  But  the  minutes  passing  on  and  no  Mrs. 
Wilfer  in  the  flesh  appearing,  he  became  more 
confident,  and  so  repaired  with  good  heart  and 
appetite  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Rokesmith's  cot- 
tage on  Blackheath,  where  breakfast  was  ready. 

A  modest  little  cottage  but  a  bright  and  a 
fresh,  and  on  the  snowy  table-cloth  the  prettiest 
of  little  breakfasts.     In  waiting,  too,  like  an  at- 


tendant summer  breeze,  a  fluttering  young  dam- 
sel, all  pink  and  ribbons,  blushing  as  if  she  had 
been  married  instead  of  Bella,  and  yet  assert- 
ing the  triumph  of  her  sex  over  both  John  and 
Pa  in  an  exulting  and  exalted  flurry :  as  who 
should  say,  "This  is  what  you  must  all  come 
to,  gentlemen,  when  we  choose  to  bring  you  to 
book."  This  same  young  damsel  was  Belhi's 
serving-maid,  and  unto  her  did  deliver  a  bunch 
of  keys,  commanding  treasures  in  the  way  of 
dry-saltery,  groceries,  jams  and  pickles,  the  in- 
vestigation of  which  made  pastime  after  break- 
fast, when  Bella  declared  that  "Pa  must  taste 
every  thing,  John  dear,  or  it  will  never  be 
lucky,"  and  when  Pa  had  all  sorts  of  things 
poked  into  his  mouth,  and  didn't  quite  know 
what  to  do  with  them  when  they  were  put  there. 

Then  they,  all  three,  out  for  a  charming  ride, 
and  for  a  charming  stroll  among  heath  in  bloom, 
and  there  behold  the  identical  Gruff  and  Glum 
with  his  wooden  legs  horizontally  disposed  be- 
fore him,  apparently  sitting  meditating  on  the 
vicissitudes  of  life!  To  whom  said  Bella,  in 
her  light-hearted  surprise :  "  Oh  !  How  do  you 
do  again  ?  What  a  dear  old  pensioner  you  are !" 
To  which  Gruff  and  Glum  responded  that  he  see 
her  married  this  morning,  my  Beauty,  and  that 
if  it  warn't  a  liberty  he  wished  her  ji  and  the 
fairest  of  fair  wind  and  weather ;  further,  in  a 
general  way  requesting  to  know  what  cheer? 
and  scrambling  up  on  his  two  wooden  legs  to 
salute,  hat  in  hand,  ship-shape,  with  the  gal- 
lantry of  a  man-of-warsman  and  a  heart  of  oak. 

It  was  a  pleasant  sight,  in  the  midst  of  the 
golden  bloom,  to  see  this  salt  old  Gruff  and 
Glum  waving  his  shovel  hat  at  Bella,  while  his 
thin  white  hair  flowed  free,  as  if  she  had  once 
more  launched  him  into  blue  water  again.  "You 
are  a  charming  old  pensioner, "said  Bella,  "and 
I  am  so  happy  that  I  wish  I  could  make  you 
happy  too."  Answered  Gruff  and  Glum,  "  Give 
me  leave  to  kiss  your  hand,  my  Lovely,  and  it's 
done !"  So  it  was  done  to  the  general  content- 
ment; and  if  Gruff  and  Glum  didn't  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon  splice  the  main  brace,  it 
was  not  for  want  of  the  means  of  inflicting  that 
outrage  on  the  feelings  of  the  Infant  Bands  of 
Hope. 

But  the  marriage  dinner  was  the  crowning 
success,  for  what  had  bride  and  bridegroom 
plotted  to  do  but  to  have  and  to  hold  that  din- 
ner in  the  very  room  of  the  very  hotel  where  Pa 
and  the  lovely  woman  had  once  dined  together ! 
Bella  sat  between  Pa  and  John,  and  divided  her 
attentions  pretty  equally,  but  felt  it  necessary  (in 
the  waiter's  absence  before  dinner)  to  remind  Pa 
that  she  was  his  lovely  woman  no  longer. 

"I  am  well  aware  of  it,  my  dear,"  returned 
the  cherub,  "  and  I  resign  you  willingly." 

"Willingly,  Sir?  You  ought  to  be  broken- 
hearted." 

"  So  I  should  be,  my  dear,  if  I  thought  that 
I  was  going  to  lose  you." 

"  But  you  know  you  are  not ;  don't  you,  poor 
dear  Pa  ?  You  know  that  you  have  only  made 
a  new  relation  who  will  be  as  fond  of  you  and 
as  thankful  to  you — for  my  sake  and  your  own 
sake  both — as  I  am;  don't  you,  dear  little  Pa? 
Look  here,  Pa!"  Bella  put  her  finger  on  her 
own  lip,  and  then  on  Pa's,  and  then  on  her  own 
lip  again,  and  then  on  her  husband's.  "Now, 
we  are  a  partnership  of  three,  dear  Pa." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


289 


\.c 


The  appearance  of  dinner  here  cut  Bella  short 
in  one  of  her  disappearances :  the  more  effectu- 
ally, because  it  was  put  on  under  the  auspices 
of  a  solemn  gentleman  in  black  clothes  and  a 
white  cravat,  who  looked  much  more  like  a 
clergyman  than  the  clergyman,  and  seemed  to 
have  mounted  a  great  deal  higher  in  the  church : 
not  to  say,  scaled  the  steeple.  This  dignitary, 
conferring  in  secrecy  with  John  Rokesmith  on 
the  subject  of  punch  and  wines,  bent  his  head 
as  though  stooping  to  the  Papistical  practice  of 
receiving'  auricular  confession.  Likewise,  on 
John's  offering  a  suggestion  which  didn't  meet 
his  views,  his  face  became  overcast  and  reproach- 
ful, as  enjoining  penance. 

What  a  dinner !  Specimens  of  all  the  fishes 
that  swim  in  the  sea  surely  had  swum  their  way 
to  it,  and  if  samples  of  the  fishes  of  divers  col- 
ors that  made  a  speech  in  the  Arabian  Nights 
(quite  a  ministerial  explanation  in  respect  of 
cloudiness),  and  then  jumped  out  of  the  frying- 
pan,  were  not  to  be  recognized,  it  was  only  be- 


cause they  had  all  become  of  one  hue  by  being 
cooked  in  batter  among  the  white-bait.  And 
the  dishes  being  seasoned  with  Bliss — an  article 
which  they  are  sometimes  out  of,  at  Greenwich 
— were  of  perfect  flavor,  and  the  golden  drinks 
had  been  bottled  in  the  golden  age  and  hoard- 
ing up  their  sparkles  ever  since. 

The  best  of  it  was,  that  Bella  and  John  and 
the  cherub  had  made  a  covenant  that  they  would 
not  reveal  to  mortal  eyes  any  appearance  what- 
ever of  being  a  wedding-party.  Now,  the  su- 
pervising dignitary,  the  Archbishop  of  Green- 
wich, knew  this  as  well  as  if  he  had  performed 
the  nuptial  ceremony.  And  the  loftiness  with 
which  his  Grace  entered  into  their  confidence 
without  being  invited,  and  insisted  on  a  show 
of  keeping  the  waiters  out  of  it,  was  the  crown- 
ing glory  of  the  entertainment. 

There  was  an  innocent  young  waiter  of  a  slen- 
der form  and  with  weakish  legs,  as  yet  unversed 
in  the  wiles  of  waiterhood,  and  but  too  evidently 
of  a  romantic  temperament,  and  deeply  (it  were 


290 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


not  too  much  to  add  hopelessly)  in  love  with  some 
young  female  not  aware  of  his  merit.  This  guile- 
less youth,  descrying  the  position  of  affairs,  which 
even  his  innocence  could  not  mistake,  limited  his 
waiting  to  languishing  admiringly  against  the 
side-board  when  Bella  didn't  want  any  thing, 
and  swooping  at  her  when  she  did.  Him,  his 
Grace  the  Archbishop  perpetually  obstructed, 
cutting  him  out  with  his  elbow  in  the  moment 
of  success,  dispatching  him  in  degrading  quest 
of  melted  butter,  and,  when  by  any  chance  he 
got  hold  of  any  dish  worth  having,  bereaving 
him  of  it,  and  ordering  him  to  stand  back. 

"Pray  excuse  him,  madam,"  said  the  Arch- 
bishop, in  a  low  stately  voice ;  "  he  is  a  very 
young  man  on  liking,  and  we  don't  like  him." 

This  induced  John  Rokesmith  to  observe — by 
way  of  making  the  thing  more  natural — "  Bella, 
my  love,  this  is  so  much  more  successful  than 
any  of  our  past  anniversaries,  that  I  think  we 
must  keep  our  future  anniversaries  here." 

Whereunto  Bella  replied,  with  probably  the 
least  successful  attempt  at  looking  matronly  that 
ever  was  seen  :  "  Indeed,  I  think  so,  John,  dear." 

Here  the  Archbishop  of  Greenwich  coughed  a 
stately  cough  to  attract  the  attention  of  three  of 
his  ministers  present,  and  staring  at  them,  seem- 
ed to  say:  "I  call  upon  you  by  your  fealty  to 
believe  this!" 

With  his  own  hands  he  afterward  put  on  the 
dessert,  as  remarking  to  the  three  guests,  "The 
period  has  now  arrived  at  which  we  can  dispense 
with  the  assistance  of  those  fellows  who  are  not 
in  our  confidence,"  and  would  have  retired  with 
complete  dignity  but  for  a  daring  action  issuing 
from  the  misguided  brain  of  the  young  man  on 
liking.  He  finding,  by  ill-fortune,  a  piece  of 
orange  flower  somewhere  in  the  lobbies,  now  ap- 
proached undetected  with  the  same  in  a  finger- 
glass,  and  placed  it  on  Bella's  right  hand.  The 
Archbishop  instantly  ejected  and  excommunica- 
ted him  ;  but  the  thing  was  done. 

"I  trust,  madam,"  said  his  Grace,  returning 
alone,  "  that  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  over- 
look it,  in  consideration  of  its  being  the  act  of  a 
very  young  man  who  is  merely  here  on  liking, 
and  who  will  never  answer." 

With  that,  he  solemnly  bowed  and  retired,  and 
they  all  burst  into  laughter,  long  and  merry. 
"Disguise  is  of  no  use,"  said  Bella;  "they  all 
find  me  out ;  I  think  it  must  be,  Pa  and  John 
dear,  because  I  look  so  happy  !" 

Her  husband  feeling  it  necessary  at  this  point 
to  demand  one  of  those  mysterious  disappear- 
ances on  Bella's  part,  she  dutifully  obeyed ;  say- 
ing in  a  softened  voice  from  her  place  of  con- 
cealment : 

"You  remember  how  we  talked  about  the 
ships  that  day,  Pa  ?" 

"Yes,  my  dear." 

"Isn't  it  strange,  now,  to  think  that  there  was 
no  John  in  all  the  ships,  Pa?" 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear." 

"Oh,  Pa!     Not  at  all?" 

"No,  my  dear.  How  can  we  tell  what  com- 
ing people  are  aboard  the  ships  that  may  be  sail- 
ing to  us  now  from  the  unknown  seas!" 

Bella  remaining  invisible  and  silent,  her  fa- 
ther remained  at  his  dessert  and  wine,  until  he 
remembered  it  was  time  for  him  to  get  home  to 
Holloway.  "Though  I  positively  can  not  tear 
myself  away,"   he    cherubically   added,    " — it 


would  be   a   sin — without   drinking   to   many, 
many  happy  returns  of  this  most  happy  day."" 

"Hear!  ten  thousand  times!"  cried  John. 
"I  fill  my  glass  and  my  precious  wife's." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  cherub,  inaudibly  ad- 
dressing, in  his  Anglo-Saxon  tendency  to  throw 
his  feelings  into  the  form  of  a  speech,  the  boys 
down  below,  who  were  bidding  against  each  oth- 
er to  put  their  heads  in  the  mud  for  sixpence : 
"Gentlemen — and  Bella  and  John — you  will 
readily  suppose  that  it  is  not  my  intention  to 
trouble  you  with  many  observations  on  the  pres- 
ent occasion.  You  will  also  at  once  infer  the 
nature  and  even  the  terms  of  the  toast  I  am 
about  to  propose  on  the  present  occasion.  Gen- 
tlemen— and  Bella  and  John — the  present  occa- 
sion is  an  occasion  fraught  with  feelings  that  I 
can  not  trust  myself  to  express.  But  gentlemen 
— and  Bella  and  John — for  the  part  I  have  had 
in  it,  for  the  confidence  you  have  placed  in  me, 
and  for  the  affectionate  good-nature  and  kind- 
ness with  which  you  have  determined  not  to  find 
me  in  the  way,  when  I  am  well  aware  that  I  can 
not  he  otherwise  than  in  it  more  or  less,  I  do 
most  heartily  thank  you.  Gentlemen — and  Bel- 
la and  John — my  love  to  you,  and  may  we  meet, 
as  on  the  present  occasion,  on  many  future  oc- 
casions; that  is  to  say,  gentlemen — and  Bella 
and  John — on  many  happy  returns  of  the  pres- 
ent happy  occasion." 

Having  thus  concluded  his  address,  the  amia- 
ble cherub  embraced  his  daughter,  and  took  his 
flight  to  the  steamboat  which  was  to  convey  him 
to  London,  and  was  then  lying  at  the  floating 
pier,  doing  its  best  to  bump  the  same  to  bits. 
But  the  happy  couple  were  not  going  to  part 
with  him  in  that  way,  and  before  he  had  been 
on  board  two  minutes  there  they  were,  looking 
down  at  him  from  the  wharf  above. 

"Pa,  dear!"  cried  Bella,  beckoning  him  with 
her  parasol  to  approach  the  side,  and  bending 
gracefully  to  whisper. 

"Yes,  my  darling." 

"  Did  I  beat  you  much  with  that  horrid  little 
bonnet,  Pa?" 

"Nothing  to  speak  of,  my  dear." 

"Did  I  pinch  your  legs,  Pa?" 

"  Only  nicely,  my  pet." 

"You  are  sure  you  quite  forgive  me,  Pa? 
Please,  Pa,  please,  forgive  me  quite!"  Half 
laughing  at  him  and  half  crying  to  him,  Bella 
besought  him  in  the  prettiest  manner;  in  a 
manner  so  engaging  and  so  playful  and  so  nat- 
ural, that  her  cherubic  parent  made  a  coaxing 
face  as  if  she  had  never  grown  up,  and  said, 
"  What  a  silly  little  Mouse  it  is !" 

"  But  you  do  forgive  me  that,  and  every  thing 
else;  don't  you,  Pa?" 

"Yes,  my  dearest." 

"  And  you  don't  feel  solitary  or  neglected,  go- 
ing away  by  yourself;  do  you,  Pa?" 

"  Lord  bless  you  !     No,  my  Life !" 

"  Good-by,  dearest  Pa !     Good-by ! " 

"  Good-by,  my  darling !  Take  her  away,  my 
dear  John.     Take  her  home  !" 

So,  she  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  they 
turned  homeward  by  a  rosy  path  which  the  gra- 
cious sun  struck  out  for  them  in  its  setting. 
And  O  there  are  days  in  this  life  worth  life  and 
worth  death.  And  O  what  a  bright  old  song  it 
is,  that  O  'tis  love,  'tis  love,  'tis  love,  that  makes 
the  world  go  round ! 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


291 


CHAPTER  V. 

CONCERNING  THE   MENDICANT'S   BRIDE. 

The  impressive  gloom  with  which  Mrs.  Wil- 
fer  received  her  husband  on  his  return  from  the 
wedding  knocked  so  hard  at  the  door  of  the 
cherubic  conscience,  and  likewise  so  impaired 
the  firmness  of  the  cherubic  legs,  that  the  cul- 
prit's tottering  condition  of  mind  and  body  might 
have  aroused  suspicion  in  less  occupied  persons 
than  the  grimly  heroic  lady,  Miss  Lavinia,  and 
that  esteemed  friend  of  the  family,  Mr.  George 
Sampson.  But  the  attention  of  all  three  being 
fully  possessed  by  the  main  fact  of  the  marriage, 
they  had  happily  none  to  bestow  on  the  guilty 
conspirator ;  to  which  fortunate  circumstance  he 
owed  the  escape  for  which  he  was  in  nowise  in- 
debted to  himself. 

"You  do  not,  R.  W.,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer  from 
her  stately  corner,  "inquire  for  your  daughter 
Bella." 

"To  be  sure,  my  dear,"  he  returned,  with  a 
most  flagrant  assumption  of  unconsciousness,  "  I 
did  omit  it.  How — or  perhaps  I  should  rather 
say  where — is  Bella?" 

"Not  here,"  Mrs.  Wilfer  proclaimed,  with 
folded  arms. 

The  cherub  faintly  muttered  something  to  the 
abortive  effect  of  "Oh,  indeed,  my  dear!" 

"Not  here,"  repeated  Mrs.  Wilfer,  in  a  stern 
sonorous  voice.  "  In  a  word,  R.  W.,  you  have 
no  daughter  Bella." 

"No  daughter  Bella,  my  dear?" 

"No.  Your  daughter  Bella"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
fer, with  the  lofty  air  of  never  having  had  the 
least  copartnership  in  that  young  lady :  of  whom 
she  now  made  reproachful  mention  as  an  article 
of  luxury  which  her  husband  had  set  up  entirely 
on  his  own  account,  and  in  direct  opposition  to 
her  advice:  " — your  daughter  Bella  has  be- 
stowed herself  upon  a  Mendicant." 

"  Good  gracious,  my  dear  !" 

"Show  your  father  his  daughter  Bella's  let- 
ter, Lavinia,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  in  her  monoto- 
nous Act  of  Parliament  tone,  and  waving  her 
hand.  "I  think  your  father  will  admit  it  to  be 
documentary  proof  of  what  I  tell  him.  I  believe 
your  father  is  acquainted  with  his  daughter  Bel- 
la's writing.  But  I  do  not  know.  He  may  tell 
you  he  is  not.     Nothing  will  surprise  me." 

"Posted  at  Greenwich,  and  dated  this  morn- 
ing," said  the  Irrepressible,  flouncing  at  her  fa- 
ther in  handing  him  the  evidence.  "  Hopes  Ma 
won't  be  angry,  but  is  happily  married  to  Mr. 
John  Rokesmith,  and  didn't  mention  it  before- 
hand to  avoid  words,  and  please  tell  darling  you, 
and  love  to  me,  and  I  should  like  to  know  what 
you'd  have  said  if  any  other  unmarried  member 
of  the  family  had  done  it!" 

He  read  the  letter,  and  faintly  exclaimed, 
"Dear  me!" 

"  You  may  well  say  Dear  me  !"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Wilfer,  in  a  deep  tone.  Upon  which  encourage- 
ment he  said  it  again,  though  scarcely  with  the 
success  he  had  expected ;  for  the  scornful  lady 
then  remarked,  with  extreme  bitterness:  "You 
said  that  before." 

"  It's  very  surprising.  But  T  suppose,  my 
dear,"  hinted  the  cherub,  as  he  folded  the  letter 
after  a  disconcerting  silence,  "that  we  must 
make  the  best  of  it  ?  Would  you  object  to  my 
pointing  out,  my  dear,  that  Mr.  John  Rokesmith 


is  not  (so  far  as  I  am  acquainted  with  him), 
strictly  speaking,  a  Mendicant?" 

"Indeed?"  returned  Mrs.  Wilfer,  with  an 
awful  air  of  politeness.  "  Truly  so  ?  I  was  not 
aware  that  Mr.  John  Rokesmith  was  a  gentleman 
of  landed  property.  But  I  am  much  relieved  to 
hear  it." 

"I  doubt  if  you  have  heard  it,  my  dear,"  the 
cherub  submitted  with  hesitation. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer.  "I  make 
false  statements,  it  appears?  So  be  it.  If  my 
daughter  flies  in  my  face,  surely  my  husband 
may.  The  one  thing  is  not  more  unnatural  than 
the  other.  There  seems  a  fitness  in  the  arrange- 
ment. By  all  means !"  Assuming,  with  a 
shiver  of  resignation,  a  deadly  cheerfulness. 

But  here  the  Irrepressible  skirmished  into  the 
conflict,  dragging  the  reluctant  form  of  Mr. 
Sampson  after  her. 

"Ma,"  interposed  the  young  lady,  "I  must 
say  I  think  it  would  be  much  better  if  you  would 
keep  to  the  point,  and  not  hold  forth  about  peo- 
ple's flying  into  people's  faces,  which  is  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  impossible  nonsense." 

"  How  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilfer,  knitting  her 
dark  brows. 

"Just  im-possible  nonsense,  Ma,"  returned 
Lavvy,  "and  George  Sampson  knows  it  is,  as 
well  as  I  do." 

Mrs.  Wilfer  suddenly  becoming  petrified,  fixed 
her  indignant  eyes  upon  the  wretched  George : 
who,  divided  between  the  support  due  from  him 
to  his  love,  and  the  support  due  from  him  to  his 
love's  mamma,  supported  nobody,  not  even  him- 
self. 

"The  true  point  is,"  pursued  Lavinia,  "that, 
Bella  has  behaved  in  a  most  unsisterly  way  to 
me,  and  might  have  severely  compromised  me 
with  George  and  with  George's  family,  by  mak- 
ing off  and  getting  married  in  this  very  low  and 
disreputable  manner — with  some  pew-opener  or 
other,  I  suppose,  for  abridemaid — when  she  ought 
to  have  confided  in  me,  and  ought  to  have  said, 
1  If,  Lavvy,  you  consider  it  due  to  your  engage- 
ment with  George  that  you  should  countenance 
the  occasion  by  being  present,  then,  Lavvy,  I 
beg  you  to  be  present,  keeping  my  secret  from 
Ma  and  Pa.'    As  of  course  I  should  have  done." 

"As  of  course  you  would  have  done?  In- 
grfcte!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilfer.     "Viper!" 

"  I  say !  You  know,  ma'am.  Upon  my  honor 
you  mustn't,"  Mr.  Sampson  remonstrated,  shak- 
ing his  head  seriously.  "With  the  highest  re- 
spect for  you,  ma'am,  upon  my  life  you  mustn't. 
No,  really,  you  know.  When  a  man  with  the 
feelings  of  a  gentleman  finds  himself  engaged  to 
a  young  lady,  and  it  comes  (even  on  the  part  of 
a  member  of  the  family)  to  vipers,  you  know ! — 
I  would  merely  put  it  to  your  own  good  feeling, 
you  know,"  said  Mr.  Sampson,  in  rather  lame 
conclusion. 

Mrs.  Wilfer's  baleful  stare  at  the  young  gen- 
tleman in  acknowledgment  of  his  obliging  inter- 
ference was  of  such  a  nature  that  Miss  Lavinia 
burst  into  tears,  and  caught  him  round  the  neck 
for  his  protection. 

"  My  own  unnatural  mother,"  screamed  the 
young  lady,  "wants  to  annihilate  George!  But 
you  sha'n't  be  annihilated,  George.  I'll  die 
first!" 

Mr.  Sampson,  in  the  arms  of  his  mistress,  still 
struggled  to  shake  his  head  at  Mrs.  Wilfer,  and 


292 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


to  remark:  "With  every  sentiment  of  respect 
for  you,  you  know,  ma'am — vipers  really  doesn't 
do  you  credit." 

"  You  shall  not  be  annihilated,  George !"  cried 
Miss  Lavinia.  "  Ma  shall  destroy  me  first,  and 
then  she'll  be  contented.  Oh,  oh,  oh!  Have 
I  lured  George  from  his  happy  home  to  expose 
him  to  this!  George,  dear,  be  free!  Leave 
me,  ever  dearest  George,  to  Ma  and  to  my  fate. 
Give  my  love  to  your  aunt,  George  dear,  and  im- 
plore her  not  to  curse  the  viper  that  has  crossed 
your  path  and  blighted  your  existence.  Oh,  oh, 
oh!"  The  young  lady  who,  hysterically  speak- 
ing, was  only  just  come  of  age,  and  had  never 
gone  off  yet,  here  fell  into  a  highly  creditable 
crisis,  which,  regarded  as  a  first  performance, 
was  very  successful ;  Mr.  Sampson,  bending  over 
the  body  meanwhile,  in  a  state  of  distraction 
which  induced  him  to  address  Mrs.  Wilfer  in 
the  inconsistent  expressions:  "Demon  —  with 
the  highest  respect  for  you — behold  your  work  !" 

The  cherub  stood  helplessly  rubbing  his  chin 
and  looking  on,  but  on  the  whole  was  inclined 
to  welcome  this  diversion  as  one  in  which,  by 
reason  of  the  absorbent  properties  of  hysterics, 
the  previous  question  would  become  absorbed. 
And  so,  indeed,  it  proved,  for  the  Irrepressible 
gradually  coming  to  herself,  and  asking  with 
wild  emotion,  "George  dear,  are  you  safe?" 
and  further,  "  George  love,  what  has  happened  ? 
Where  is  Ma?"  Mr.  Sampson,  with  words  of 
comfort,  raised  her  prostrate  form,  and  handed 
her  to  Mrs.  Wilfer  as  if  the  young  lady  were 
something  in  the  nature  of  refreshments.  Mrs. 
Wilfer  with  dignity  partaking  of  the  refresh- 
ments, by  kissing  her  once  on  the  brow  (as  if 
accepting  an  oyster),  Miss  Lavvy,  tottering,  re- 
turned to  the  protection  of  Mr.  Sampson ;  to 
whom  she  said,  ' '  George  dear,  I  am  afraid  I 
have  been  foolish ;  but  I  am  still  a  little  weak 
and  giddy;  don't  let  go  my  hand,  George!" 
And  whom  she  afterward  greatly  agitated  at  in- 
tervals, by  giving  utterance,  when  least  expect- 
ed, to  a  sound  between  a  sob  and  a  bottle  of 
soda-water,  that  seemed  to  rend  the  bosom  of 
her  frock. 

Among  the  most  remarkable  effects  of  this 
crisis  may  be  mentioned  its  having,  when  peace 
was  restored,  an  inexplicable  moral  influence  of 
an  elevating  kind,  on  Miss  Lavinia,  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
and  Mr.  George  Sampson,  from  which  R.  W. 
was  altogether  excluded,  as  an  outsider  and  non,- 
sympathizer.  Miss  Lavinia  assumed  a  modest 
air  of  having  distinguished  herself ;  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
a  serene  air  of  forgiveness  and  resignation  ;  Mr. 
Sampson,  an  air  of  having  been  improved  and 
chastened.  The  influence  pervaded  the  spirit  in 
which  they  returned  to  the  previous  question. 

"  George  dear,"  said  Lavvy,  with  a  melan- 
choly smile,  ' '  after  what  has  passed,  I  am  sure 
Ma  will  tell  Pa  that  he  may  tell  Bella  we  shall 
all  be  glad  to  see  her  and  her  husband." 

Mr.  Sampson  said  he  was  sure  of  it  too  ;  mur- 
muring how  eminently  he  respected  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
and  ever  must,  and  ever  would.  Never  more 
eminently,  he  added,  than  after  what  had  passed. 

"  Far  be  it  from  me,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  mak- 
ing deep  proclamation  from  her  corner,  "to  run 
counter  to  the  feelings  of  a  child  of  mine,  and 
of  a  Youth,"  Mr.  Sampson  hardly  seemed  to  like 
that  word,  "who  is  the  object  of  her  maiden 
preference.    I  may  feel — nay,  know — that  I  have 


been  deluded  and  deceived.  I  may  feel — nay, 
know — that  I  have  been  set  aside  and  passed 
over.  I  may  feel — nay,  know — that  after  having 
so  far  overcome  my  repugnance  toward  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Boffin  as  to  receive  them  under  this  roof, 
and  to  consent  to  your  daughter  Bella's,"  here 
turning  to  her  husband,  "residing  under  theirs, 
it  were  well  if  your  daughter  Bella, "  again  turn- 
ing to  her  husband,  "  had  profited  in  a  worldly 
point  of  view  by  a  connection  so  distasteful,  so 
disreputable.  I  may  feel — nay,  know — that  in 
uniting  herself  to  Mr.  Rokesmith  she  has  united 
herself  to  one  who  is,  in  spite  of  shallow  sophist- 
ry, a  Mendicant.  And  I  may  feel  well  assured 
that  your  daughter  Bella,"  again  turning  to  her 
husband,  "does  not  exalt  her  family  by  becom- 
ing a  Mendicant's  bride.  But  I  suppress  what 
I  feel,  and  say  nothing  of  it." 

Mr.  Sampson  murmured  that  this  was  the  sort 
of  thing  you  might  expect  from  one  who  had 
ever  in  her  own  family  been  an  example  and 
never  an  outrage.  And  ever  more  so  (Mr.  Samp- 
son added,  with  some  degree  of  obscurity),  and 
never  more  so,  than  in  and  through  what  had 
passed.  He  must  take  the  liberty  of  adding, 
that  what  was  true  of  the  mother  was  true  of 
the  youngest  daughter,  and  that  he  could  never 
forget  the  touching  feelings  that  the  conduct  of 
both  had  awakened  within  him.  In  conclusion, 
he  did  hope  that  there  wasn't  a  man  with  a 
beating  heart  who  was  capable  of  something 
that  remained  undescribed,  in  consequence  of 
Miss  Lavinia's  stopping  him  as  he  reeled  in  his 
speech. 

"Therefore,  R.  W.,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  resum- 
ing her  discourse  and  turning  to  her  lord  again, 
"  let  your  daughter  Bella  come  when  she  will, 
and  she  will  be  received.  So,"  after  a  short 
pause,  and  an  air  of  having  taken  medicine  in 
it,  "so  will  her  husband." 

"And  I  beg,  Pa,"  said  Lavinia,  "that  you 
will  not  tell  Bella  what  I  have  undergone.  It 
can  do  no  good,  and  it  might  cause  her  to  re- 
proach herself." 

"My  dearest  girl,"  urged  Mr.  Sampson,  "she 
ought  to  know  it." 

"  No,  George,"  said  Lavinia,  in  a  tone  of  res- 
olute self-denial.  "No,  dearest  George,  let  it 
be  buried  in  oblivion." 

Mr.  Sampson  considered  that  "too  noble." 

"Nothing  is  too  noble,  dearest  George,"  re- 
turned Lavinia.  ' '  And  Pa,  I  hope  you  will  be 
careful  not  to  refer  before  Bella,  if  you  can  help 
it,  to  my  engagement  to  George.  It  might  seem 
like  reminding  her  of  her  having  cast  herself 
away.  And  I  hope,  Pa,  that  you  will  think  it 
equally  right  to  avoid  mentioning  George's  ris- 
ing prospects,  when  Bella  is  present.  It  might 
seem  like  taunting  her  with  her  own  poor  for- 
tunes. Let  me  ever  remember  that  I  am  her 
younger  sister,  and  ever  spare  her  painful  con- 
trasts, which  could  not  but  wound  her  sharply." 

Mr.  Sampson  expressed  his  belief  that  such 
was  the  demeanor  of  Angels.  Miss  Lavvy  re- 
plied with  solemnity,  "No,  dearest  George,  I 
am  but  too  well  aware  that  I  am  merely  hu- 
man." 

Mrs.  Wilfer,  for  her  part,  still  further  im- 
proved the  occasion  by  sitting  with  her  eyes 
fastened  on  her  husband,  like  two  great  black 
notes  of  interrogation,  severely  inquiring,  Are 
you  looking  into  your  breast?    Do  you  deserve 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


293 


your  blessings?  Can  you  lay  your  hand  upon 
your  heart  and  say  that  you  are  worthy  of  so 
hysterical  a  daughter  ?  I  do  not  ask  you  if  you 
are  worthy  of  such  a  wife — put  Me  out  of  the 
question — but  are  you  sufficiently  conscious  of, 
and  thankful  for,  the  pervading  moral  grandeur 
of  the  family  spectacle  on  which  you  are  gazing  ? 
These  inquiries  proved  very  harassing  to  R.  W., 
who,  besides  being  a  little  disturbed  by  wine, 
was  in  perpetual  terror  of  committing  himself 
by  the  utterance  of  stray  words  that  would  be- 
tray his  guilty  foreknowledge.  However,  the 
scene  being  over,  and — all  things  considered — 
well  over,  he  sought  refuge  in  a  doze;  which 
gave  his  lady  immense  offense. 

"  Can  you  think  of  your  daughter  Bella,  and 
sleep  ?"  she  disdainfully  inquired. 

To  which  he  mildly  answered,  "Yes,  I  think 
I  can,  my  dear." 

"Then,"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  with  solemn  in- 
dignation, "I  would  recommend  you,  if  you 
have  a  human  feeling,  to  retire  to  bed." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  he  replied ;  "I  think 
it  is  the  best  place  for  me."  And  with  these  un- 
sympathetic words  very  gladly  withdrew. 

Within  a  few  weeks  afterward  the  Mendi- 
cant's bride  (arm  in  arm  with  the  Mendicant) 
came  to  tea,  in  fulfillment  of  an  engagement 
made  through  her  father.  And  the  way  in 
which  the  Mendicant's  bride  dashed  at  the  un- 
assailable position  so  considerately  to  be  held 
by  Miss  Lavvy,  and  scattered  the  whole  of  the 
works  in  all  directions  in  a  moment,  was  tri- 
umphant. 

"Dearest  Ma,"  cried  Bella,  running  into  the 
room  with  a  radiant  face,  "how  do  you  do, 
dearest  Ma  ?"  And  then  embraced  her,  joyous- 
ly. "And  Lavvy  darling,  how  do  you  do,  and 
how's  George  Sampson,  and  how  is  he  getting 
on,  and  when  are  you  going  to  be  married,  and 
how  rich  are  you  going  to  grow?  You  must  tell 
me  all  about  it,  Lavvy  dear,  immediately.  John, 
love,  kiss  Ma  and  Lavvy,  and  then  we  shall  all 
be  at  home  and  comfortable." 

Mrs.  Wilfer  stared,  but  was  helpless.  Miss 
Lavinia  stared,  but  was  helpless.  Apparently 
with  no  compunction,  and  assuredly  with  no 
ceremony,  Bella  tossed  her  bonnet  away,  and 
sat  down  to  make  the  tea. 

"Dearest  Ma  and  Lawy,  you  both  take  sugar, 
I  know.  And  Pa  (you  good  little  Pa),  you  don't 
take  milk.  John  does.  I  didn't  before  I  was 
married ;  but  I  do  now,  because  John  does. 
John  dear,  did  you  kiss  Ma  and  Lavvy?  Oh, 
you  did!  Quite  correct,  John  dear;  but  I 
didn't  see  you  do  it,  so  I  asked.  Cut  some 
bread  and  butter,  John ;  that's  a  love.  Ma 
likes  it  doubled.  And  now  you  must  tell  me, 
dearest  Ma  and  Lavvy,  upon  your  words  and 
honors !  Didn't  you  for  a  moment — just  a  mo- 
ment— think  I  was  a  dreadful  little  wretch  when 
I  wrote  to  say  I  had  run  away  ?" 

Before  Mrs.  Wilfer  could  wave  her  gloves, 
the  Mendicant's  bride  in  her  merriest  affection- 
ate manner  went  on  again. 

"  I  think  it  must  have  made  you  rather  cross, 
dear  Ma  and  Lavvy,  and  I  know  I  deserved  that 
you  should  be  very  cross.  But  you  see  I  had 
been  such  a  heedless,  heartless  creature,  and  had 
led  you  so  to  expect  that  I  should  marry  for 
money,  and  so  to  make  sure  that  I  was  incapa- 
ble of  marrying  for  love,  that  I  thought  you 


couldn't  believe  me.  Because,  you  see,  you 
didn't  know  how  much  of  Good,  Good,  Good,  I 
had  learned  from  John.  Well!  So  I  was  sly 
about  it,  and  ashamed  of  what  you  supposed  me 
to  be,  and  fearful  that  we  couldn't  understand 
one  another  and  might  come  to  words,  which  we 
should  all  be  sorry  for  afterward,  and  so  I  said 
to  John  that  if  he  liked  to  take  me  without  any 
fuss  he  might.  And  as  he  did  like,  I  let  him. 
And  we  were  married  at  Greenwich  church  in 
the  presence  of  nobody — except  an  unknown  in- 
dividual who  dropped  in,"  here  her  eyes  sparkled 
more  brightly,  "and  half  a  pensioner.  And 
now,  isn't  it  nice,  dearest  Ma  and  Lavvy,  to 
know  that  no  words  have  been  said  which  any 
of  us  can  be  sorry  for,  and  that  we  are  all  the 
best  of  friends  at  the  pleasantest  of  teas !" 

Having  got  up  and  kissed  them  again,  she 
slipped  back  to  her  chair  (after  a  loop  on  the 
road  to  squeeze  her  husband  round  the  neck) 
and  again  went  on. 

"And  now  you  will  naturally  want  to  know, 
dearest  Ma  and  Lavvy,  how  we  live,  and  what 
we  have  got  to  live  upon.  Well !  And  so  we 
live  on  Blackheath,  in  the  charm — ingest^of 
dolls'  houses,  de — lightfully  furnished,  and  we 
have  a  clever  little  servant  who  is  de — cidedly 
pretty,  and  we  are  economical  and  orderly,  and 
do  every  thing  by  clock-work,  and  we  have  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  we  have  all 
we  want,  and  more.  And  lastly,  if  you  would 
like  to  know  in  confidence,  as  perhaps  you  may, 
what  is  my  opinion  of  my  husband,  my  opinion 
is — that  I  almost  love  him !" 

"And  if  you  would  like  to  know  in  confidence, 
as  perhaps  you  may,"  said  her  husband,  smiling, 
as  he  stood  by  her  side,  without  her  having  de- 
tected his  approach,  ' '  my  opinion  of  my  wife, 
my  opinion  is — "  But  Bella  started  up,  and 
put  her  hand  upon  his  lips. 

"Stop,  Sir!  No,  John,  dear!  Seriously! 
Please  not  yet  a  while  !  I  want  to  be  something 
so  much  worthier  than  the  doll  in  the  doll's 
house." 

" My  darling,  are  you  not?" 

"Not  half,  not  a  quarter,  so  much  worthier 
as  I  hope  you  may  some  day  find  me  !  Try  me 
through  some  reverse,  John — try  me  through 
some  trial — and  tell  them  after  that,  what  you 
think  of  me." 

"I  will,  my  Life,"  said  John.  "I  promise 
it." 

' '  That's  my  dear  John.  And  you  won't  speak 
a  word  now ;  will  you  ?" 

"And  I  won't,"  said  John,  with  a  very  ex- 
pressive look  of  admiration  around  him,  ' '  speak 
a  word  now !" 

She  laid  her  laughing  cheek  upon  his  breast  to 
thank  him,  and  said,  looking  at  the  rest  of  them 
sideways  out  of  her  bright  eyes :  "  Til  go  further, 
Pa  and  Ma  and  Lavvy.  John  don't  suspect  it 
— he  has  no  idea  of  it — but  I  quite  love  him !" 

Even  Mrs.  Wilfer  relaxed  under  the  influence 
of  her  married  daughter,  and  seemed  in  a  ma- 
jestic manner  to  imply  remotely  that  if  R.  W. 
had  been  a  more  deserving  object,  she  too  might 
have  condescended  to  come  down  from  her  ped- 
estal for  his  beguilement.  Miss  Lavinia,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  strong  doubts  of  the  policy  of 
the  course  of  treatment,  and  whether  it  might 
not  spoil  Mr.  Sampson,  if  experimented  on  in 
the  case  of  that  young  gentleman.     R.  W.  him- 


294 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


self  was  for  his  part  convinced  that  he  was  father 
of  one  of  the  most  charming  of  girls,  and  that 
Rokesmith  was  the  most  favored  of  men ;  which 
opinion,  if  propounded  to  him,  Rokesmith  would 
probably  not  have  contested. 

The  newly-married  pair  left  early  so  that  they 
might  walk  at  leisure  to  their  starting-place  from 
London  for  Greenwich.  At  first  they  were  very 
cheerful  and  talked  much;  but  after  a  while 
Bella  fancied  that  her  husband  was  turning 
somewhat  thoughtful.     So  she  asked  him : 

"John  dear,  what's  the  matter?" 

"Matter,  my  love?" 

"Won't  you  tell  me,"  said  Bella,  looking  up 
into  his  face,  "what  you  are  thinking  of?" 

' '  There's  not  much  in  the  thought,  my  soul. 
I  was  thinking  whether  you  wouldn't  like  me  to 
be  rich  ?" 

"You  rich,  John?"  repeated  Bella,  shrinking 
a  little. 

"I  mean,  really  rich.  Say  as  rich  as  Mr. 
Boffin.     You  would  like  that?" 

"  I  should  be  almost  afraid  to  try,  John  dear, 
Was  he  much  the  better  for  his  wealth  ?  Was  I 
much  the  better  for  the  little  part  I  once  had  in 
it?" 

"But  all  people  are  not  the  worse  for  riches, 
my  own." 

"Most  people?"  Bella  musingly  suggested 
with  raised  eyebrows. 

"Nor  even  most  people,  it  may  be  hoped. 
If  you  were  rich,  for  instance,  you  would  have 
a  great  power  of  doing  good  to  others." 

"Yes,  Sir,  for  instance,"  Bella  playfully  re- 
joined;  "but  should  I  exercise  the  power,  for 
instance  ?  And  again,  Sir,  for  instance  ;  should 
I,  at  the  same  time,  have  a  great  power  of  doing 
harm  to  myself?" 

Laughing  and  pressing  her  arm,  he  retorted  : 
"But  still,  again  for  instance  ;  would  you  exer- 
cise that  power  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Bella,  thoughtfully  shak- 
ing her  head.  "I  hope  not.  I  think  not.  But 
it's  so  easy  to  hope  not  and  think  not,  without 
the  riches." 

"Why  don't  you  say,  my  darling — instead  of 
that  phrase — being  poor?"  he  asked,  looking 
earnestly  at  her. 

"Why  don't  I  say,  being  poor?  Because  I 
am  not  poor.  Dear  John,  it's  not  possible  that 
you  suppose  I  think  we  are  poor  ?" 

"I  do,  my  love." 

"Oh,  John!" 

"Understand  me,  sweet-heart.  I  know  that  I 
am  rich  beyond  all  wealth  in  having  you ;  but  I 
think  of  you  and  think  for  you.  In  such  a 
dress  as  you  are  wearing  now  you  first  charmed 
me,  and  in  no  dress  could  you  ever  look,  to  my 
thinking,  more  graceful  or  more  beautiful.  But 
you  have  admired  many  finer  dresses  this  very 
day ;  and  is  it  not  natural  that  I  wish  I  could 
give  them  to  you?" 

"It's  very  nice  that  you  should  wish  it,  John. 
It  brings  these  tears  of  grateful  pleasure  into  my 
eyes  to  hear  you  say  so  with  such  tenderness. 
But  I  don't  want  them." 

"Again,"  he  pursued,  "we  are  now  walking 
through  the  muddy  streets.  I  love  those  pretty 
feet  so  dearly  that  I  feel  as  if  I  could  not  bear 
the  dii't  to  soil  the  sole  of  your  shoe.  Is  it  not 
natural  that  I  wish  you  could  ride  in  a  car- 
riage?" 


"It's  very  nice,"  said  Bella,  glancing  down- 
ward at  the  feet  in  question,  "  to  know  that  you 
admire  them  so  much,  John  dear,  and  since  you 
do,  I  am  sorry  that  these  shoes  are  a  full  size 
too  large.  But  I  don't  want  a  carriage,  believe 
me." 

"You  would  like  one  if  you  could  have  one, 
Bella?" 

"I  shouldn't  like  it  for  its  own  sake  half  so 
well  as  such  a  wish  for  it.  Dear  John,  your 
wishes  are  as  real  to  me  as  the  wishes  in  the 
Fairy  story  that  were  all  fulfilled  as  soon  as 
spoken.  Wish  me  every  thing  that  you  can  wish 
for  the  woman  you  dearly  love,  and  I  have  as 
good  as  got  it,  John.  I  have  better  than  got  it, 
John!" 

They  were  not  the  less  happy  for  such  talk, 
and  home  was  not  the  less  home  for  coming  after 
it.  Bella  was  fast  developing  a  perfect  genius 
for  home.  All  the  loves  and  graces  seemed  (her 
husband  thought)  to  have  taken  domestic  service 
with  her,  and  to  help  her  to  make  home  engaging. 

Her  married  life  glided  happily  on.  She  was 
alone  all  day,  for,  after  an  early  breakfast,  her 
husband  repaired  every  morning  to  the  City, 
and  did  not  return  until  their  late  dinner  hour. 
He  was  "in  a  China  house,"  he  explained  to 
Bella :  which  she  found  quite  satisfactory  with- 
out pursuing  the  China  house  into  minuter  de- 
tails than  a  wholesale  vision  of  tea,  rice,  odd- 
smelling  silks,  carved  boxes,  and  tight-eyed  peo- 
ple in  more  than  double-soled  shoes,  with  their 
pigtails  pulling  their  heads  of  hair  off,  painted 
on  transparent  porcelain.  She  always  walked 
with  her  husband  to  the  railroad,  and  was  al- 
ways there  again  to  meet  him ;  her  old  coquet- 
tish ways  a  little  sobered  down  (but  not  much), 
and  her  dress  as  daintily  managed  as  if  she  man- 
aged nothing  else.  But  John  gone  to  business 
and  Bella  returned  .home,  the  dress  would  be 
laid  aside,  trim  little  wrappers  and  aprons  would 
be  substituted,  and  Bella,  putting  back  her  hair 
with  both  hands,  as  if  she  were  making  the  most 
business-like  arrangements  for  going  dramatic- 
ally distracted,  would  enter  on  the  household 
affairs  of  the  day.  Such  weighing  and  mixing 
and  chopping  and  grating,  such  dusting  and 
washing  and  polishing,  such  snipping  and  weed- 
ing and  troweling  and  other  small  gardening, 
such  making  and  mending  and  folding  and  air- 
ing, such  diverse  arrangements,  and  above  all 
such  severe  study!  For  Mrs.  J.  R.,  who  had 
never  been  wont  to  do  too  much  at  home  as 
Miss  B.  W.,  was  under  the  constant  necessity 
of  referring  for  advice  and  support  to  a  sage 
volume  entitled  The  Complete  British  Family 
Housewife,  which  she  would  sit  consulting,  with 
her  elbows  on  the  table  and  her  temples  on  her 
hands,  like  some  perplexed  enchantress  poring 
over  the  Black  Art.  This,  principally  because 
the  Complete  British  Housewife,  however  sound 
a  Briton  at  heart,  was  by  no  means  an  expert 
Briton  at  expressing  herself  with  clearness  in 
the  British  tongue,  and  sometimes  might  have 
issued  her  directions  to  equal  purpose  in  the 
Kamskatchan  language.  In  any  crisis  of  this 
nature  Bella  would  suddenly  exclaim  aloud, 
"Oh  you  ridiculous  old  thing,  what  do  you 
mean  by  that?  You  must  have  been  drinking!" 
And  having  made  this  marginal  note,  would 
try  the  Housewife  again,  with  all  her  dimples 
screwed  into  an  expression  of  profound  research. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


295 


There  was  likewise  a  coolness  on  the  part  of 
the  British  Housewife,  which  Mrs.  John  Roke- 
sraith  found  highly  exasperating.  She  would 
say,  "Take  a  salamander,"  as  if  a  general  should 
command  a  private  to  catch  a  Tartar.  Or  she 
would  casually  issue  the  order,  "Throw  in  a 
handful — "  of  something  entirely  unattainable. 
In  these,  the  Housewife's  most  glaring  moments 
of  unreason,  Bella  would  shut  her  up  and  knock 
aer  on  the  table,  apostrophizing  her  with  the 
compliment,  "O  you  are  a  stupid  old  Donkey  ! 
Where  am  I  to  get  it,  do  you  think?" 

Another  branch  of  study  claimed  the  atten- 
tion of  Mrs.  John  Rokesmith  for  a  regular  pe- 
riod every  day.  This  was  the  mastering  of  the 
newspaper,  so  that  she  might  be  close  up  with 
John  on  general  topics  when  John  came  home. 
In  her  desire  to  be  in  all  things  his  companion 
she  would  have  set  herself  with  equal  zeal  to 
master  Algebra,  or  Euclid,  if  he  had  divided 
his  soul  between  her  and  either.  Wonderful 
was  the  way  in  which  she  would  store  up  the 
City  Intelligence,  and  beamingly  shed  it  upon 
John  in  the  course  of  the  evening ;  incidentally 
mentioning  the  commodities  that  were  looking 
up  in  the  markets,  and  how  much  gold  had  been 
taken  to  the  Bank,  and  trying  to  look  wise  and 
serious  over  it  until  she  would  laugh  at  herself 
most  charmingly  and  would  say,  kissing  him : 
"It  all  comes  of  my  love,  John  dear." 

For  a  City  man  John  certainly  did  appear  to 
care  as  little  as  might  be  for  the  looking  up  or 
looking  down  of  things,  as  well  as  for  the  gold 
that  got  taken  to  the  Bank.  But  he  cared,  be- 
yond all  expression,  for  his  wife,  as  a  most  pre- 
cious and  sweet  commodity  that  was  always 
looking  up,  and  that  never  was  worth  less  than 
all  the  gold  in  the  world.  And  she,  being  in- 
spired by  her  affection,  and  having  a  quick  wit 
and  a  fine  ready  instincfc,  made  amazing  pro- 
gress in  her  domestic  efficiency,  though,  as  an 
endearing  creature,  she  made  no  progress  at  all. 
This  was  her  husband's  verdict,  and  he  justified 
it  by  telling  her  that  she  had  begun  her  married 
life  as  the  most  endearing  creature  that  could 
possibly  be. 

"And  you  have  such  a  cheerful  spirit!"  he 
said,  fondly.  "You  are  like  a  bright  light  in 
the  house." 

"Ami  truly,  John?" 

"Are  you  truly?  Yes,  indeed.  Only  much 
more,  and  much  better." 

"Do  you  know,  John  dear,"  said  Bella,  tak- 
ing him  by  a  button  of  his  coat,  "that  I  some- 
times, at  odd  moments  —  don't  laugh,  John, 
please." 

Nothing  should  induce  John  to  do  it,  when 
she  asked  him  not  to  do  it. 

" — That  I  sometimes  think,  John,  I  feel  a 
little  serious." 

"Are  you  too  much  alone,  my  darling?" 

"  O  dear,  no,  John  !  The  time  is  so  short  that 
I  have  not  a  moment  too  much  in  the  week." 

"Why  serious,  my  life,  then?  When  seri- 
ous?" 

"When  I  laugh,  I  think,"  said  Bella,  laugh- 
ing as  she  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 
"You  wouldn't  believe,  Sir,  that  I  feel  serious 
now?  But  I  do."  And  she  laughed  again,  and 
something  glistened  in  her  eyes. 

"Would  you  like  to  be  rich,  pet?"  he  asked 
her,  coaxingly. 


"  Rich,  John !  How  can  you  ask  such  goose's 
questions?" 

" Do  you  regret  any  thing,  my  love?" 

"Regret  any  thing?  No!"  Bella  confidently 
answered.  But  then,  suddenly  changing,  she 
said,  between  laughing  and  glistening:  "Oh 
yes,  I  do  though.     I  regret  Mrs.  Boffin." 

"I,  too,  regret  that  separation  very  much. 
But  perhaps  it  is  only  temporary.  Perhaps 
things  may  so  fall  out  as  that  you  may  some- 
times see  her  again — as  that  we  may  sometimes 
see  her  again."  Bella  might  be  very  anxious 
on  the  subject,  but  she  scarcely  seemed  so  at  the 
moment.  With  an  absent  air  she  was  investi- 
gating that  button  on  her  husband's  coat  when 
Pa  came  in  to  spend  the  evening. 

Pa  had  his  special  chair  and  his  special  cor- 
ner reserved  for  him  on  all  occasions,  and — 
without  disparagement  of  his  domestic  joys — 
was  far  happier  there  than  any  where.  It  was 
always  pleasantly  droll  to  see  Pa  and  Bella  to- 
gether; but  on  this  present  evening  her  hus- 
band thought  her  more  than  usually  fantastic 
with  him. 

"You  are  a  very  good  little  boy,"  said  Bella, 
"to  come  unexpectedly,  as  soon  as  you  could 
get  out  of  school.  And  how  have  they  used 
you  at  school  to-day,  you  dear?" 

"Well,  my  pet,"  replied  the  cherub,  smiling 
and  rubbing  his  hands  as  she  sat  him  down  in 
his  chair,  "  I  attend  two  schools.  There's  the 
Mincing  Lane  establishment,  and  there's  your 
mother's  Academy.  Which  might  you  mean, 
my  dear?" 

"Both,"  said  Bella. 

"  Both,  eh  ?  Why,  to  say  the  truth,  both  have 
taken  a  little  out  of  me  to-day,  my  dear,  but  that 
was  to  be  expected.  There's  no  royal  road  to 
learning  ;  and  what  is  life  but  learning !" 

"And  what  do  you  do  with  yourself  when 
you  have  got  your  learning  by  heart,  you  sillv 
child  ?" 

"Why  then,  my  dear,"  said  the  cherub,  after 
a  little  consideration,  "I  suppose  I  die." 

"You  are  a  very  bad  boy,"  retorted  Bella, 
"to  talk  about  dismal  things  and  be  out  of 
spirits." 

"My  Bella,"  rejoined  her  father,  "I  am  not 
out  of  spirits.  I  am  as  gay  as  a  lark."  Which 
his  face  confirmed. 

"Then  if  you  are  sure  and  certain  it's  not 
you,  I  suppose  it  must  be  I,"  said  Bella ;  "  so  I 
won't  do  so  any  more.  John  dear,  we  must  give 
this  little  fellow  his  supper,  you  know." 

"  Of  course  we  must,  my  darling." 

"He  has  been  grubbing  and  grubbing  at 
school,"  said  Bella,  looking  at  her  father's  hand 
and  lightly  slapping  it,  "till  he's  not  fit  to  be 
seen.     O  what  a  grubby  child  !" 

"Indeed,  my  dear,"  said  her  father,  "I  was 
going  to  ask  to  be  allowed  to  wash  my  hands, 
only  you  find  me  out  so  soon." 

"Come  here,  Sir!"  cried  Bella,  taking  him 
by  the  front  of  his  coat,  "come  here  and  be 
washed  directly.  You  are  not  to  be  trusted  to 
do  it  for  yourself.     Come  here,  Sir!" 

The  cherub,  to  his  genial  amusement,  was  ac- 
cordingly conducted  to  a  little  washing-room, 
where  Bella  soaped  his  face  and  rubbed  his  face, 
and  soaped  his  hands  and  rubbed  his  hands,  and 
splashed  him  and  rinsed  him  and  toweled  him, 
until  he  was  as  red  as  beet-root,  even  to  his  very 


296 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


ears  :  "  Now  you  must  be  brushed  and  combed, 
Sir,"  said  Bella,  busily.  "  Hold  the  light,  John. 
Shut  your  eyes,  Sir,  and  let  me  take  hold  of 
your  chin.  Be  good  directly,  and  do  as  you 
are  told!" 

Her  father  being  more  than  willing  to  obey, 
she  dressed  his  hair  in  her  most  elaborate  man- 
ner, brushing  it  out  straight,  parting  it,  winding 
it  over  her  fingers,  sticking  it  up  on  end,  and 
constantly  falling  back  on  John  to  get.  a  good 
look  at  the  effect  of  it.  Who  always  received 
her  on  his  disengaged  arm,  and  detained  her, 
while  the  patient  cherub  stood  waiting  to  be 
finished. 

"There!"  said  Bella,  when  she  had  at  last 
completed  the  final  touches.  "Now,  you  are 
something  like  a  genteel  boy !  Put  your  jacket 
on,  and  come  and  have  your  supper." 

The  cherub  investing  himself  with  his  coat 
was  led  back  to  his  corner — where,  but  for  hav- 
ing no  egotism  in  his  pleasant  nature,  he  would 
have  answered  well  enough  for  that  radiant 
though  self-sufficient  boy,  Jack  Horner — Bella 
with  her  own  hands  laid  a  cloth  for  him,  and 
brought  him  his  supper  on  a  tray.  "  Stop  a  mo- 
ment," said  she,  "we  must  keep  his  little  clothes 
clean;"  and  tied  a  napkin  under  his  chin,  in  a 
very  methodical  manner. 

While  he  took  his  supper  Bella  sat  by  him, 
sometimes  admonishing  him  to  hold  his  fork  by 
the  handle,  like  a  polite  child,  and  at  other  times 
carving  for  him,  or  pouring  out  his  drink.  Fan- 
tastic as  it  all  was,  and  accustomed  as  she  ever 
had  been  to  make  a  plaything  of  her  good  father, 
ever  delighted  that  she  should  put  him  to  that 
account,  still  there  was  an  occasional  something 
on  Bella's  part  that  was  new.  It  could  not  be 
said  that  she  was  less  playful,  whimsical,  or  nat- 
ural than  she  always  had  been ;  but  it  seemed, 
her  husband  thought,  as  if  there  were  some  rather 
graver  reason  than  he  had  supposed  for  what 
she  had  so  lately  said,  and  as  if,  throughout  all 
this,  there  were  glimpses  of  an  underlying  seri- 
ousness. 

It  was  a  circumstance  in  support  of  this  view 
of  the  case,  that  when  she  had  lighted  her  father's 
pipe,  and  mixed  him  his  glass  of  grog,  she  sat 
down  on  a  stool  between  her  father  and  her  hus- 
band, leaning  her  arm  upon  the  latter,  and  was 
very  quiet.  So  quiet  that,  when  her  father  rose 
to  take  his  leave,  she  looked  round  with  a  start, 
as  if  she  had  forgotten  his  being  there. 

"  You  go  a  little  way  with  Pa,  John?" 

"Yes,  my  dear.     Do  you  ?" 

"I  have  not  written  to  Lizzie  Hexam  since  I 
wrote  and  told  her  that  I  really  had  a  lover — a 
whole  one.  I  have  often  thought  I  would  like 
to  tell  her  how  right  she  was  when  she  pretended 
to  read  in  the  live  coals  that  I  would  go  through 
fire  and  water  for  him.  I  am  in  the  humor  to 
tell  her  so  to-night,  John,  and  I'll  stay  at  home 
and  do  it." 

"You  are  tired." 

"Not  at  all  tired,  John  dear,  but  in  the  hu- 
mor to  write  to  Lizzie.  Good-night,  dear  Pa. 
Good-night,  you  dear,  good,  gentle  Pa !" 

Left  to  herself,  she  sat  down  to  write,  and 
wrote  Lizzie  a  long  letter.  She  had  but  com- 
pleted it  and  read  it  over,  when  her  husband 
came  back.  "You  are  just  in  time,  Sir,"  said 
Bella;  "  I  am  going  to  give  you  your  first  cur- 
tain lecture.    It  shall  be  a  parlor-curtain  lecture. 


You  shall  take  this  chair  of  mine  when  I  have 
folded  my  letter,  and  I  will  take  the  stool  (though 
you  ought  to  take  it,  I  can  tell  you,  Sir,  if  it's 
the  stool  of  repentance),  and  you'll  soon  find 
yourself  taken  to  task  soundly." 

Her  letter  folded,  sealed,* and  directed,  and 
her  pen  wiped,  and  her  middle  finger  wiped,  and 
her  desk  locked  up  and  put  away,  and  these 
transactions  performed  with  an  air  of  severe  bus- 
iness sedateness,  which  the  Complete  British 
Housewife  might  have  assumed,  and  certainly 
would  not  have  rounded  off  and  broken  down 
in  with  a  musical  laugh,  as  Bella  did :  she  placed 
her  husband  in  his  chair,  and  placed  herself  upon 
her  stool. 

"Now,  Sir!  To  begin  at  the  beginning. 
What  is  your  name?" 

A  question  more  decidedly  rushing  at  the  se- 
cret he  was  keeping  from  her  could  not  have 
astounded  him.  But  he  kept  his  countenance 
and  his  secret,  and  answered,  "John  Rokesmith, 
my  dear." 

"  Good  boy  !     Who  gave  you  that  name  ?" 

With  a  returning  suspicion  that  something 
might  have  betrayed  him  to  her,  he  answered, 
interrogatively,  "  My  godfathers  and  my  god- 
mothers, dear  love  ?" 

"Pretty  good!"  said  Bella.  V Not  goodest 
good,  because  you  hesitate  about  it.  However, 
as  you  know  your  Catechism  fairly,  so  far,  I'll 
let  you  off  the  rest.  Now,  I  am  going  to  exam- 
ine you  out  of  my  own  head.  John  dear,  why 
did  you  go  back,  this  evening,  to  the  question 
you  once  asked  me  before — would  I  like  to  be 
rich?" 

Again,  his  secret !  He  looked  down  at  her  as 
she  looked  up  at  him,  with  her  hands  folded  on 
his  knee,  and  it  was  as  nearly  told  as  ever  secret 
was. 

Having  no  reply  ready,  he  could  do  no  better 
than  embrace  her. 

"In  short,  dear  John,"  said  Bella,  "this  is 
the  topic  of  my  lecture  :  I  want  nothing  on  earth, 
and  I  want  you  to  believe  it." 

"If  that's  all,  the  lecture  may  be  considered 
over,  for  I  do." 

"It's  not  all,  John  dear,"  Bella  hesitated. 
"  It's  only  Firstly.  There's  a  dreadful  Second- 
ly, and  a  dreadful  Thirdly  to  come — as  I  used  to 
say  to  myself  in  sermon-time  when  I  was  a  very 
small-sized  sinner  at  church." 

"Let  them  come,  my  dearest." 

"Are  you  sure,  John  dear;  are  you  ab- 
solutely certain  in  your  innermost  heart  of 
hearts — ?" 

"  Which  is  not  in  my  keeping,"  he  rejoined. 

"  No,  John,  but  the  key  is. — Are  you  abso- 
lutely certain  that  down  at  the  bottom  of  that 
heart  of  hearts,  which  you  have  given  to  me  as  I 
have  given  mine  to  you,  there  is  no  remembrance 
that  I  was  once  very  mercenary  ?" 

"Why,  if  there  were  no  remembrance  in  me 
of  the  time  you  speak  of,"  he  softly  asked  her 
with  his  lips  to  hers^  "could  I  love  you  quite  as 
well  as  I  do ;  could  I  have  in  the  Calendar  of 
my  life  the  brightest  of  its  days  ;  could  I,  when- 
ever I  look  at  your  dear  face,  or  hear  your  dear 
voice,  see  and  hear  my  noble  champion  ?  It 
can  never  have  been  that  which  made  you  seri- 
ous, darling?" 

"No,  John,  it  wasn't  that,  and  still  less  was 
it  Mrs.  Boffin,  though  I  love  her.     Wait  a  mo- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


2(J7 


merit  and#I'll  go  on  with  the  lecture.  Give  me 
a  moment,  because  I  like  to  cry  for  joy.  It's  so 
delicious,  John  dear,  to  cry  for  joy." 

She  did  so  on  his  neck,  and,  still  clinging 
there,  laughed  a  little  when  she  said,  "I  think 
I  am  ready  now  for  Thirdly,  John." 

"/  am  ready  for  Thirdly,"  said  John,  "  what- 
ever it  is." 

"I  believe,  John,"  pursued  Bella,  "that  you 
believe  that  I  believe — " 

"My  dear  child,"  cried  her  husband  gayly, 
"  what  a  quantity  of  believing !" 

"  Isn't  there  ?"  said  Bella,  with  another  laugh. 
"I  never  knew  such  a  quantity !  It's  like  verbs 
in  an  exercise.  But  I  can't  get  on  with  less  be- 
lieving. I'll  try  again.  I  believe,  dear  John, 
that  you  believe  that  I  believe  that  we  have  as 
much  money  as  we  require,  and  that  we  want 
for  nothing." 

"  It  is  strictly  true,  Bella." 
"But  if  our  money  should  by  any  means  be 
rendered  not  so  much — if  we  had  to  stint  our- 
selves a  little  in  purchases  that  we  can  af- 
ford to  make  now  —  would  you  still  have  the 
same  confidence  in  my  being  quite  contented, 
John?" 

"Precisely  the  same  confidence,  my  soul." 
"Thank  you,  John  dear,  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  times.  And  I  may  take  it  for 
granted,  no  doubt,"  with  a  little  faltering,  "that 
you  would  be  quite  as  contented  yourself,  John  ? 
But,  yes,  I  know  I  may.  For,  knowing  that  I 
should  be  so,  how  surely  I  may  know  that  you 
would  be  so ;  you  who  are  so  much  stronger,  and 
firmer,  and  more  reasonable  and  more  generous, 
than  I  am." 

" Hush !"  said  her  husband,  "I  must  not  hear 
that.  You  are  all  wrong  there,  though  other- 
wise as  right  as  can  be.  And  now  I  am  brought 
to  a  little  piece  of  news,  my  dearest,  that  I  might 
have  told  you  earlier  in  the  evening.  1  have 
strong  reason  for  confidently  believing  that  we 
shall  never  be  in  the  receipt  of  a  smaller  income 
than  our  present  income." 

She  might  have  shown  herself  more  interested 
in  the  intelligence ;  but  she  had  returned  to  the 
investigation  of  the  coat-button  that  had  engaged 
her  attention  a  few  hours  before,  and  scarcely 
seemed  to  heed  what  he  said. 

"And  now  we  have  got  to  the  bottom  of  it  at 
last,"  cried  her  husband,  rallying  her,  "and  this 
is  the  thing  that  made  you  serious?" 

"No,  dear,"  said  Bella,  twisting  the  button 
and  shaking  her  head,  "it  wasn't  this." 

"Why  then,  Lord  bless  this  little  wife  of 
mine,  there's  a  Fourthly!"  exclaimed  John. 

"This  worried  me  a  little,  and  so  did  Second- 
ly," said  Bella,  occupied  with  the  button,  "but 
it  was  quite  another  sort  of  seriousness — a  much 
deeper  and  quieter  sort  of  seriousness — that  I 
spoke  of,  John  dear." 

As  he  bent  his  face  to  hers,  she  raised  hers  to 
meet  it,  and  laid  her  little  right  hand  on  his 
eyes  and  kept  it  there. 

"Do  you  remember,  John,  on  the  day  we 
were  married,  Pa's  speaking  of  the  ships  that 
might  be  sailing  toward  us  from  the  unknown 
seas  ?" 

"Perfectly,  my  darling!" 

"I  think among  them there  is  a  ship 

upon  the  ocean bringing to  you  and  me 

a  little  babv,  John." 


CHAPTER  VI. 


A   CRY    FOR    HELP. 

The  Paper  Mill  had  stopped  work  for  the 
night,  and  the  paths  and  roads  in  its  neighbor- 
hood were  sprinkled  with  clusters  of  people  going 
home  from  their  day's  labor  in  it.  There  were 
men,  women,  and  children  in  the  groups,  and 
there  was  no  want  of  lively  color  to  flutter  in 
the  gentle  evening  wind.  The  mingling  of 
various  voices  and  the  sound  of  laughter  made 
a  cheerful  impression  upon  the  ear,  analogous 
to  that  of  the  fluttering  colors  upon  the  eye. 
Into  the  sheet  of  water  reflecting  the  flushed  sky 
in  the  fore-ground  of  the  living  picture,  a  knot 
of  urchins  were  casting  stones,  and  watching  the 
expansion  of  the  rippling  circles.  So,  in  the 
rosy  evening,  one  might  watch  the  ever-widen- 
ing beauty  of  the  landscape — beyond  the  newly- 
released  workers  wending  home  —  beyond  the 
silver  river — beyond  the  deep  green  fields  of 
corn,  so  prospering,  that  the  loiterers  in  their 
narrow  threads  of  pathway  seemed  to  float  im- 
mersed breast-high — beyond  the  hedge-rows  and 
the  clumps  of  trees— beyond  the  wind-mills  on 
the  ridge — away  to  where  the  sky  appeared  to 
meet  the  earth,  as  if  there  were  no  immensity 
of  space  between  mankind  and  Heaven. 

It  was  a  Saturday  evening,  and  at  such  a  time 
the  village  dogs,  always  much  more  interested 
in  the  doings  of  humanity  than  in  the  affairs  of 
their  own  species,  were  particularly  active.  At 
the  general  shop,  at  the  butcher's  and  at  the 
public  house,  they  evinced  an  inquiring  spirit 
never  to  be  satiated  Their  especial  interest  m 
the  public  house  would  seem  to  imply  some  la- 
tent rakishness  in  the  canine  character  ;  for  lit- 
tle was  eaten  there,  and  they,  having  no  taste 
for  beer  or  tobacco  (Mrs.  Hubbard's  dog  is  said 
to  have  smoked,  but  proof  is  wanting),  could 
only  have  been  attracted  by  sympathy  with  loose 
convivial  habits.  Moreover,  a  most  wretched 
fiddle  played  within  ;  a  fiddle  so  unutterably 
vile,  that  one  lean  long-bodied  cur,  with  a  better 
ear  than  the  rest,  found  himself  under  compul- 
sion at  intervals  to  go  round  the  corner  and 
howl.  Yet  even  he  returned  to  the  public 
house  on  each  occasion  with  the  tenacity  of  a 
confirmed  drunkard. 

Fearful  to  relate,  there  was  even  a  sort  of  lit- 
tle Fair  in  the  village.  Some  despairing  ginger- 
bread that  had  been  vainly  trying  to  dispose  of 
itself  all  over  the  country,  and  had  cast  a  quan- 
tity of  dust  upon  its  head  in  its  mortification, 
again  appealed  to  the  public  from  an  infirm 
booth.  So  did  a  heap  of  nuts,  long,  long  exiled 
from  Barcelona,  and  yet  speaking  English  so  in- 
differently as  to  call  fourteen  of  themselves  a 
pint.  A  Peep-show  which  had  originally  start- 
ed with  the  Battle  of  Waterloo,  and  had  since 
made  it  every  other  battle  of  later  date  by  alter- 
ing the  Duke  of  Wellington's  nose,  tempted  the 
student  of  illustrated  history.  A  Fat  Lady,  per- 
haps in  part  sustained  upon  postponed  pork,  her 
professional  associate  being  a  Learned  Pig,  dis- 
played her  life-size  picture  in  a  low  dress  as  she 
appeared  when  presented  at  Court,  several  yards 
round.  All  this  was  vicious  spectacle  as  any 
poor  idea  of  amusement  on  the  part  of  the  rough- 
er hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water  in  this 
land  of  England  ever  is  and  shall  be.  They 
must  not  vary  the  rheumatism  with  amusement. 


298 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


They  may  vary  it  with  fever  and  ague,  or  with 
as  many  rheumatic  variations  as  they  have 
joints ;  but  positively  not  with  entertainment 
after  their  own  manner. 

The  various  sounds  arising  from  this  scene  of 
depravity,  and  floating  away  into  the  still  even- 
ing air,  made  the  evening,  at  any  point  which 
they  just  reached  fitfully,  mellowed  by  the  dis- 
tance, more  still  by  contrast.  Such  was  the 
stillness  of  the  evening  to  Eugene  Wrayburn,  as 
he  walked  by  the  river  with  his  hands  behind  him. 

He  walked  slowly,  and  with  the  measured  step 
and  preoccupied  air  of  one  who  was  waiting. 
He  walked  between  the  two  points,  an  osier-bed 
at  this  end  and  some  floating  lilies  at  that,  and 
at  each  point  stopped  and  looked  expectantly  in 
one  direction. 

"It  is  very  quiet,"  said  he. 

It  was  very  quiet.  Some  sheep  were  grazing 
on  the  grass  by  the  river-side,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had  never  before  heard  the  crisp 
tearing  sound  with  which  they  cropped  it.  He 
stopped  idly,  and  looked  at  them. 

"You  are  stupid  enough,  I  suppose.  But  if 
you  are  clever  enough  to  get  through  life  toler- 
ably to  your  satisfaction,  you  have  got  the  better 
of  me,  Man  as  I  am,  and  Mutton  as  you  are  !" 

A  rustle  in  a  fi*ld  beyond  the  hedge  attracted 
his  attention.  "What's  here  to  do?"  he  asked 
himself,  leisurely  going  toward  the  gate  and  look- 
ing over.  "No  jealous  paper-miller?  No  pleas- 
ures of  the  chase  in  this  part  of  the  country? 
Mostly  fishing  hereabouts!" 

The  field  had  been  newly  mown,  and  there 
were  yet  the  marks  of  the  scythe  on  the  yellow- 
green  ground,  and  the  track  of  wheels  where  the 
hay  had  been  carried.  Following  the  tracks 
with  his  eyes,  the  view  closed  with  the  new  hay- 
rick in  a  corner. 

Now,  if  he  had  gone  on  to  the  hayrick,  and 
gone  round  it  ?  But,  say  that  the  event  was  to 
be,  as  the  event  fell  out,  and  how  idle  are  such 
suppositions  !  Besides,  if  he  had  gone ;  what  is 
there  of  warning  in  a  Bargeman  lying  on  his 
face? 

"A  bird  flying  to  the  hedge,"  was  all  he 
thought  about  it ;  and  came  back,  and  resumed 
his  walk. 

"  If  I  had  not  a  reliance  on  her  being  truth- 
ful," said  Eugene,  after  taking  some  half  dozen 
turns,  "I  should  begin  to  think  she  had  given 
me  the  slip  for  the  second  time.  But  she  prom- 
ised, and  she  is  a  girl  of  her  word." 

Turning  again  at  the  water-lilies,  he  saw  her 
coming,  and  advanced  to  meet  her. 

"I  was  saying  to  myself,  Lizzie,  that  you 
were  sure  to  come,  though  you  were  late." 

"I  had  to  linger  through  the  village  as  if  I 
had  no  object  before  me,  and  I  had  to  speak  to 
several  people  in  passing  along,  Mr.  Wray- 
burn." 

"Are  the  lads  of  the  village — and  the  ladies 
— such  scandal-mongers?"  he  asked,  as  he  took 
her  hand  and  drew  it  through  his  arm. 

She  submitted  to  walk  slowly  on,  with  down- 
cast eyes.  He  put  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  she 
quietly  drew  it  away. 

"Will  you  walk  beside  me,  Mr.  Wrayburn, 
and  not  touch  me?"  For  his  arm  was  already 
stealing  round  her  waist. 

She  stopped  again,  and  gave  him  an  earnest, 
supplicating  look.     "Well,  Lizzie,  well!"  said 


he,  in  an  easy  way  though  ill  at  ease  with  him- 
self, "don't  be  unhappy,  don't  be  reproachful." 

"I  can  not  help  being  unhappy,  but  I  do  not 
mean  to  be  reproachful.  Mr.  Wrayburn,  I  im- 
plore you  to  go  away  from  this  neighborhood 
to-morrow  morning." 

"Lizzie,  Lizzie,  Lizzie!"  he  remonstrated. 
' '  As  well  be  reproachful  as  wholly  unreasonable. 
I  can't  go  away." 

"Why  not?" 

"Faith!"  said  Eugene,  in  his  airily  candid 
manner.  "Because  you  won't  let  me.  Mind ! 
I  don't  mean  to  be  reproachful  either.  I  don't 
complain  that  you  design  to  keep  me  here.  But 
you  do  it,  you  do  it." 

"Will  you  walk  beside  me,  and  not  touch 
me,"  for  his  arm  was  coming  about  her  again; 
"while  I  speak  to  you  very  seriously,  Mr.  Wray- 
burn ?" 

"I  will  do  any  thing  within  the  limits  of  pos- 
sibility for  you,  Lizzie,"  he  answered  with  pleas- 
ant gayety  as  he  folded  his  arms.  "See  here! 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  at  St.  Helena." 

"When  you  spoke  to  me  as  I  came  from  the 
Mill  the  night  before  last,"  said  Lizzie,  fixing 
her  eyes  upon  him  with  the  look  of  supplication 
which  troubled  his  better  nature,  "you  told  me 
that  you  were  much  surprised  to  see  me,  and 
that  you  were  on  a  solitary  fishing  excursion. 
Was  it  true  ?" 

"It  was  not,"  replied  Eugene,  composedly, 
"in  the  least  true.  I  came  here  because  I  had 
information  that  I  should  find  you  here." 

"Can  you  imagine  why  I  left  London,  Mr. 
Wrayburn?" 

"I  am  afraid,  Lizzie,"  he  openly  answered, 
"  that  you  left  London  to  get  rid  of  me.  It  is 
not  flattering  to  my  self-love,  but  I  am  afraid 
you  did." 

"I  did." 

"  How  could  you  be  so  cruel  ?" 

"O  Mr.  Wrayburn,"  she  answered,  suddenly 
breaking  into  tears,  "is  the  cruelty  on  my  side! 
O  Mr.  Wrayburn,  Mr.  Wrayburn,  is  there  no 
cruelty  in  your  being  here  to-night !" 

"In  the  name  of  all  that's  good — and  that  is 
not  conjuring  you  in  my  own  name,  for  Heaven 
knows  I  am  not  good" — said  Eugene,  don't  be 
distressed !" 

"What  else  can  I  be,  when  I  know  the  dis- 
tance and  the  difference  between  us  ?  What 
else  can  I  be,  when  to  tell  me  why  you  came 
here  is  to  put  me  to  shame!"  said  Lizzie,  cov- 
ering her  face. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  real  sentiment  of  re- 
morseful tenderness  and  pity.  It  was  not  strong 
enough  to  impel  him  to  sacrifice  himself  and 
spare  her,  but  it  was  a  strong  emotion. 

"Lizzie!  I  never  thought  before  that  there 
was  a  woman  in  the  world  who  could  affect  me 
so  much  by  saying  so  little.  But  don't  be  hard 
in  your  construction  of  me.  You  don't  know 
what  my  state  of  mind  toward  you  is.  You 
don't  know  how  you  haunt  me  and  bewilder  me. 
You  don't  know  how  the  cursed  carelessness  that 
is  over-officious  in  helping  me  at  every  other 
turning  of  my  life,  won't  help  me  here.  You 
have,  struck  it  dead,  I  think,  and  I  sometimes  al- 
most wish  you  had  struck  me  dead  along  with  jt." 

She  had  not  been  prepared  for  such  passion- 
ate expressions,  and  they  awakened  some  nat- 
ural sparks  of  feminine  pride  and  joy  in  her 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


299 


breast.  To  consider,  wrong  as  he  was,  that  he 
could  care  so  much  for  her,  and  that  she  had 
the  power  to  move  him  so  ! 

"  It  grieves  you  to  see  me  distressed,  Mr. 
Wrayburn  ;  it  grieves  me  to  see  you  distressed. 
I  don't  reproach  you.  Indeed  I  don't  reproach 
you.  You  have  not  felt  this  as  I  feel  it,  being 
so  different  from  me,  and  beginning  from  an- 
other point  of  view.  You  have  not  thought.  But 
I  entreat  you  to  think  now,  think  now  !" 

"What  am  I  to  think  of?"  asked  Eugene, 
bitterly. 

"Think  of  me." 

' '  Tell  me  how  not  to  think  of  you,  Lizzie,  and 
you'll  change  me  altogether." 

"I  don't  mean  in  that  way.  Think  of  me  as 
belonging  to  another  station,  and  quite  cut  off 
from  you  in  honor.  Remember  that  I  have  no 
protector  near  me,  unless  I  have  one  in  your 
noble  heart.  Respect  my  good  name.  If  you 
feel  toward  me,  in  one  particular,  as  you  might 
if  I  was  a  lady,  give  me  the  full  claims  of  a  lady 
upon  your  generous  behavior.  I  am  removed 
from  you  and  your  family  by  being  a  working 
girl.  How  true  a  gentleman  to  be  as  consid- 
erate of  me  as  if  I  was  removed  by  being  a 
Queen  !" 

He  would  have  been  base  indeed  to  have  stood 
untouched  by  her  appeal.  His  face  expressed 
contrition  and  indecision  as  he  asked : 

"Have  I  injured  you  so  much,  Lizzie?" 

"No,  no.  You  may  set  me  quite  right.  I 
don't  speak  of  the  past,  Mr.  Wrayburn,  but  of 
the  present  and  the  future.  Are  we  not  here 
now,  because  through  two  days  you  have  fol- 
lowed me  so  closely  where  there  are  so  many 
eyes  to  see  you,  that  I  consented  to  this  appoint- 
ment as  an  escape  ?" 

"Again,  not  very  flattering  to  my  self-love," 
said  Eugene,  moodily  ;   "but  yes.    Yes.    Yes." 

"Then  I  beseech  you,  Mr.  Wrayburn,  I  beg 
and  pray  you,  leave  this  neighborhood.  If  you 
do  not,  consider  to  what  you  will  drive  me." 

He  did  consider  within  himself  for  a  moment 
or  two,  and  then  retorted,  "Drive  you?  To 
what  shall  I  drive  you,  Lizzie  ?" 

"You  will  drive  me  away.  I  live  here  peace- 
fully and  respected,  and  I  am  well  employed 
here.  You  will  force  me  to  quit  this  place  as  I 
quitted  London,  and — by  following  me  again — 
will  force  me  to  quit  the  next  place  in  which  I 
may  find  refuge,  as  I  quitted  this." 

"Are  you  so  determined,  Lizzie — forgive  the 
word  I  am  going  to  use,  for  its  literal  truth — to 
fly  from  a  lover  ?" 

"I  am  so  determined,"  she  answered  reso- 
lutely, though  trembling,  "to  fly  from  such  a 
lover.  There  was  a  poor  woman  died  here  but  a 
little  while  ago,  scores  of  years  older  than  I 
am,  whom  I  found  by  chance,  lying  on  the  wet  I 
earth.  You  may  have  heard  some  account  of 
her?" 

"I  think  I  have,"  he  answered,  "  if  her  name 
was  Higden." 

"  Her  name  was  Higden.  Though  she  was  so 
weak  and  old,  she  kept  true  to  one  purpose  to 
the  very  last.  Even  at  the  very  last,  she  made 
me  promise  that  her  purpose  should  be  kept  to, 
after  she  was  dead,  so  settled  was  her  determin- 
ation. What  she  did,  I  can  do.  Mr.  Wray- 
burn, if  I  believed — but  I  do  not  believe — that  \ 
you  could  be  so  cruel  to  me  as  to  drive  me  from  ! 


place  to  place  to  wear  me  out,  you  should  drive 
me  to  death  and  not  do  it." 

He  looked  full  at  her  handsome  face,  and  in 
his  own  handsome  face  there  was  a  light  of  blend- 
ed admiration,  anger,  and  reproach,  which  she 
— who  loved  him  so  in  secret — whose  heart  had 
long  been  so  full,  and  he  the  cause  of  its  over- 
flowing— drooped  before.  She  tried  hard  to  re- 
tain her  firmness,  but  he  saw  it  melting  away 
under  his  eyes.  In  the  moment  of  its  dissolu- 
tion, and  of  his  first  full  knowledge  of  his  influ- 
ence upon  her,  she  dropped,  and  he  caught  her 
on  his  arm. 

"  Lizzie  !  Rest  so  a  moment.  Answer  what 
I  ask  you.  If  I  had  not  been  what  you  call  re- 
moved from  you  and  cut  off  from  you,  would 
you  have  made  this  appeal  to  me  to  leave  you  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  I  don't  know.  Don't  ask  me, 
Mr.  Wrayburn.     Let  me  go  back." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Lizzie,  you  shall  go  direct- 
ly. I  swear  to  you,  you  shall  go  alone.  I'll  not 
accompany  you,  I'll  not  follow  you,  if  you  will 
reply." 

"How  can  I,  Mr.  Wrayburn?  How  can  I 
tell  you  what  I  should  have  done  if  you  had  not 
been  what  you  are  ?" 

"  If  I  had  not  been  what  you  make  me  out  to 
be,"  he  struck  in,  skillfully  changing  the  form 
of  words,  "would  you  still  have  hated  me?" 

"  O  Mr.  Wrayburn,"  she  replied  appealingly, 
and  weeping,  "you  know  me  better  than  to  think 
I  do  !" 

"  If  I  had  not  been  what  you  make  me  out  to 
be,  Lizzie,  would  you  still  have  been  indifferent 
to  me?" 

"O  Mr.  Wrayburn,"  she  answered  as  before, 
"you  know  me  better  than  that  too !" 

There  was  something  in  the  altitude  of  her 
whole  figure  as  he  supported  it,  and  she  hung 
her  head,  which  besought  him  to  be  merciful 
and  not  force  her  to  disclose  her  heart.  He  was 
not  merciful  with  her,  and  he  made  her  do  it. 

"  If  I  know  you  better  than  quite  to  believe 
(unfortunate  dog  that  I  am  !)  that  you  hate  me, 
or  even  that  you  are  wholly  indifferent  to  me, 
Lizzie,  let  me  know  so  much  more  from  your- 
self before  we  separate.  Let  me  know  how  you 
would  have  dealt  with  me  if  you  had  regarded 
me  as  being  what  you  would  have  considered 
on  equal  terms  with  you." 

"It  is  impossible,  Mr.  Wrayburn.  How  can 
I  think  of  you  as  being  on  equal  terms  with  me  ? 
If  my  mind  could  put  you  on  equal  terms  with 
me,  you  could  not  be  yourself.  How  could  I 
remember,  then,  the  night  when  I  first  saw  you, 
and  when  I  went  out  of  the  room  because  you 
looked  at  me  so  attentively  ?  Or,  the  night  that 
passed  into  the  morning  when  you  broke  to  me 
that  my  father  was  dead  ?  Or,  the  nights  when 
you  used  to  come  to  see  me  at  my  next  home  ? 
Or,  your  having  known  how  uninstructed  I  was, 
and  having  caused  me  to  be  taught  better?  Or, 
my  having  so  looked  up  to  you  and  wondered  at 
you,  and  at  first  thought  you  so  good  to  be  at 
all  mindful  of  me  ?" 

"Only  'at  first'  thought  me  so  good,  Lizzie? 
What  did  you  think  me  after  '  at  first  ?'   So  bad  ?" 

"I  don't  say  that.  I  don't  mean  that.  But 
after  the  first  wonder  and  pleasure  of  being  no- 
ticed by  one  so  different  from  any  one  who  had 
ever  spoken  to  me,  I  began  to  feel  that  it  might 
have  been  better  if  I  had  never  seen  you." 


300 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Why?" 

"Because  you  were  so  different,''  she  answered 
in  a  lower  voice.  "Because  it  was  so  endless, 
so  hopeless.     Spare  me  !" 

"Did  you  think  for  me  at  all,  Lizzie?"  he 
asked,  as  if  he  were  a  little  stung. 

"Not  much,  Mr.  Wrayburn.  Not  much  un- 
til to-night." 

"Will  you  tell  me  why?" 

"I  never  supposed  until  to-night  that  you 
needed  to  be  thought  for.  But  if  you  do  need 
to  be  ;  if  you  do  truly  feel  at  heart  that  you  have 
indeed  been  toward  me  what  you  have  called 
yourself  to-night,  and  that  there  is  nothing  for 


us  in  this  life  but  separation ;  then  Heaven  help 
you,  and  Heaven  bless  you !" 

The  purity  with  which  in  these  words  she  ex- 
pressed something  of  her  own  love  and  her  own 
suffering,  made  a  deep  impression  on  him  for 
the  passing  time.  He  held  her,  almost  as  if  she 
were  sanctified  to  him  by  death,  and  kissed  her, 
once,  almost  as  he  might  have  kissed  the  dead. 

"I  promised  that  I  would  not  accompany  you, 
nor  follow  you.  Shall  I  keep  you  in  view  ?  You 
have  been  agitated,  and  it's  growing  dark." 

"I  am  used  to  be  oUt  alone  at  this  hour,,  and 
I  entreat  you  not  to  do  so." 

"I  promise.     I  can  bring  myself  to  promise 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


301 


nothing  more  to-night,  Lizzie,  except  that  I  will 
try  what  I  can  do  " 

"There  is  but  one  means,  Mr.  Wrayburn,  of 
sparing  yourself  and  of  sparing  me,  every  way. 
Leave  this  neighborhood  to-morrow  morning." 

"I  will  try." 

As  he  spoke  the  words  in  a  grave  voice,  she 
put  her  hand  in  his,  removed  it,  and  went  away 
by  the  river-side. 

"Now,  could  Mortimer  believe  this?"  mur- 
mured Eugene,  still  remaining,  after  a  while, 
where  she  had  left  him.  "Can  1  even  believe 
it  myself?" 

He  referred  to  the  circumstance  that  there 
were  tears  upon  his  hand,  as  he  stood  covering 
his  eyes.  "A  most  ridiculous  position  this  to 
be  found  out  in!"  was  his  next  thought.  And 
his  next  struck  its  root  in  a  little  rising  resent- 
ment against  the  cause  of  the  tears. 

"Yet  I  have  gained  a  wonderful  power  over 
her,  too,  let  her  be  as  much  in  earnest  as-  she 
will!" 

The  reflection  brought  back  the  yielding  of 
her  face  and  form  as  she  had  drooped  under 
his  gaze.  Contemplating  the  reproduction,  he 
seemed  to  see,  for  the  second  time,  in  the  ap- 
peal and  in  the  confession  of  weakness,  a  little 
fear. 

"And  she  loves  me.  And  so  earnest  a  char- 
acter must  be  very  earnest  in  that  passion.  She 
can  not  choose  for  herself  to  be  strong  in  this 
fancy,  wavering  in  that,  and  weak  in  the  other. 
She  must  go  through  with  her  nature,  as  I  must 
go  through  with  mine.  If  mine  exacts  its  pains 
and  penalties  all  round,  so  must  hers,  I  sup- 
pose." 

Pursuing  the  inquiry  into  his  own  nature,  he 
thought,  "  Now,  if  I  married  her.  If,  outfacing 
the  absurdity  of  the  situation  in  correspondence 
with  M.  R.  F.,  I  astonished  M.  R.  F.  to  the  ut- 
most extent  of  his  respected  powers,  by  inform- 
ing him  that  I  had  married  her,  how  would  M. 
R.  F.  reason  with  the  legal  mind  ?  *  You  wouldn't 
marry  for  some  money  and  some  station,  because 
you  were  frightfully  likely  to  become  bored.  Are 
you  less  frightfully  likely  to  become  bored,  mar- 
rying for  no  money  and  no  station?  Are  you 
sure  of  yourself?'  Legal  mind,  in  spite  of  fo- 
rensic protestations,  must  secretly  admit,  •  Good 
reasoning  on  the  part  of  M.  R.  F.  Not  sure  of 
myself.' " 

In  the  very  act  of  calling  this  tone  of  levity  to 
his  aid  he  felt  it  to  be  profligate  and  worthless, 
and  asserted  her  against  it. 

"And  yet,"  said  Eugene,  "  I  should  like  to 
see  the  fellow  (Mortimer  excepted)  who  would 
undertake  to  tell  me  that  this  was  not  a  real 
sentiment  on  my  part,  won  out  of  me  by  her 
beauty  and  her  worth,  in  spite  of  myself,  and 
that  I  would  not  be  true  to  her.  I  should  par- 
ticularly like  to  see  the  fellow  to-night  who  would 
tell  me  so,  or  who  would  tell  me  any  thing  that 
could  be  construed  to  her  disadvantage;  for  I 
am  wearily  out  of  sorts  with  one  Wrayburn  who 
cuts  a  sorry  figure,  and  I  would  far  rather  be 
out  of  sorts  with  somebody  else.  '  Eugene,  Eu- 
gene, Eugene,  this  is  a  bad  business.'  Ah!  So 
go  the  Mortimer  Lightwood  bells,  and  they  sound 
melancholy  to-night." 

Strolling  on,  he  thought  of  something  else  to 
take  himself  to  task  for.     "Where  is  the  anato- 1 
gy,  Brute  Beast,"  he  said  impatiently,  "  between  I 
U 


a  woman  whom  your  father  coolly  finds  out  for 
you  and  a  woman  whom  you  have  found  out  for 
yourself,  and  have  ever  drifted  after  with  more 
and  more  of  constancy  since  you  first  set  eyes 
upon  her?  Ass!  Can  you  reason  no  better 
than  that?" 

But  again  he  subsided  into  a  reminiscence  of 
his  first  full  knowledge  of  his  power  just  now, 
and  of  her  disclosure  of  her  heart.  To  try  no 
more  to  go  away,  and  to  try  her  again,  was  the 
reckless  conclusion  it  turned  uppermost.  And 
yet  again,  "Eugene,  Eugene,  Eugene,  this  is  a 
bad  business!"  And,  "I  wish  I  could  stop  the 
Lightwood  peal,  for  it  sounds  like  a  knell." 

Looking  above,  he  found  that  the  young  moon 
was  up,  and  that  the  stars  were  beginning  to 
shine  in  the  sky  from  which  the  tones  of  red  and 
yellow  were  flickering  out,  in  favor  of  the  calm 
blue  of  a  summer  night.  He  was  still  by  the 
river-side.  Turning  suddenly,  he  met  a  man  so 
close  upon  him  that  Eugene,  surprised,  stepped 
back  to  avoid  a  collision.  The  man  carried 
something  over  his  shoulder  which  might  have 
been  a  broken  oar,  or  spar,  or  bar,  and  took  no 
notice  of  him,  but  passed  on. 

"Halloa,  friend!"  said  Eugene,  calling  after 
him,  "are  you  blind?" 

The  man  made  no  reply,  but  went  his  way. 

Eugene  Wrayburn  went  the  opposite  way,  with 
his  hands  behind  him  and  his  purpose  in  his 
thoughts.  He  passed  the  sheep,  and  passed  the 
gate,  and  came  within  hearing  of  the  village 
sounds,  and  came  to  the  bridge.  The  inn  where 
he  staid,  like  the  village  and  the  Mill,  was  not 
across  the  river,  but  on  that  side  of  the  stream 
on  which  he  walked.  However,  knowing  the 
rushy  bank  and  the  back-water  on  the  other 
side  to  be  a  retired  place,  and  feeling  out  of  hu- 
mor for  noise  or  company,  he  crossed  the  bridge 
and  sauntered  on :  looking  up  at  the  stars  as 
they  seemed  one  by  one  to  be  kindled  in  the 
sky,  and  looking  down  at  the  river  as  the  same 
stars  seemed  to  be  kindled  deep  in  the  water. 
A  landing-place  overshadowed  by  a  willow,  and 
a  pleasure-boat  lying  moored  there  among  some 
stakes,  caught  his  eye  as  he  passed  along.  The 
spot  was  in  such  dark  shadow  that  he  paused  to 
make  out  what  was  there,  and  then  passed  on 
again 

The  rippling  of  the  river  seemed  to  cause  a 
correspondent  stir  in  his  uneasy  reflections.  He 
would  have  laid  them  asleep  if  he  could,  but 
they  were  in  movement,  like  the  stream,  and  all 
tending  one  way  with  a  strong  current.  As  the 
ripple  under  the  moon  broke  unexpectedly  now 
and  then,  and  palely  flashed  in  a  new  shape  and 
with  a  new  sound,  so  part  of  his  thoughts  start- 
ed, unbidden,  from  the  rest,  and  revealed  their 
wickedness.  "Out  of  the  question  to  marry 
her,"  said  Eugene,  "and  out  of  the  quest krtl  to 
leave  her.     The  crisis  !" 

He  had  sauntered  far  enough.  "Before  turn- 
ing to  retrace  his  steps  he  stopped  upon  the 
margin  to  look  down  at  the  reflected  night.  In 
an  instant,  with  a  drea««lil  crash,  the  reflected 
night  turned  crooked  flames  shot  jaggedly  across 
the  air,  and  the  moon  and  stars  came  bursting 
from  the  skr- 

Was  fle  struck  by  lightning?  With  some  in- 
coherent, half-formed  thought  to  that  effect,  he 
turned  under  the  blows  that  were  blinding  him 
and  mashing  his  life,  and  closed  with  a  murdc- 


302 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


er,  whom  he  caught  by  a  red  neckerchief — un- 
less the  raining  down  of  his  own  blood  gave  it 
that  hue. 

Eugene  was  light,  active,  and  expert ;  but  his 
arms  were  broken,  or  he  was  paralyzed,  and 
could  do  no  more  than  hang  on  to  the  man,  with 
his  head  swung  back,  so  that  he  could  see  no- 
thing but  the  heaving  sky.  After  dragging  at 
the  assailant,  he  fell  on  the  bank  with  him,  and 
then  there  was  another  great  crash,  and  then  a 
splash,  and  all  was  done. 

Lizzie  Hexam,  too,  had  avoided  the  noise,  and 
the  Saturday  movement  of  people  in  the  strag- 
gling street,  and  chose  to  walk  alone  by  the  wa- 
ter until  her  tears  should  be  dry,  and  she  could 
so  compose  herself  as  to  escape  remark  upon  her 
looking  ill  or  unhappy  on  going  home.  The 
peaceful  serenity  of  the  hour  and  place,  having 
no  reproaches  or  evil  intentions  within  her  breast 
to  contend  against,  sank  healingly  into  its  depths. 
She  had  meditated  and  taken  comfort.  She, 
too,  was  turning  homeward  when  she  heard  a 
strange  sound. 

It  startled  her,  for  it  was  like  a  sound  of 
blows.  She  stood  still  and  listened.  It  sick- 
ened her,  for  blows  fell  heavily  and  cruelly  on 
the  quiet  of  the  night.  As  she  listened,  unde- 
cided, all  was  silent.  As  she  yet  listened,  she 
heard  a  faint  groan  and  a  fall  into  the  river. 

Her  old  bold  life  and  habit  instantly  inspired 
her.  Without  vain  waste  of  breath  in  crying 
for  help  where  there  were  none  to  hear,  she  ran 
toward  the  spot  from  which  the  sounds  had 
come.  It  lay  between  her  and  the  bridge,  but 
it  was  more  removed  from  her  than  she  had 
thought;  the  night  being  so  very  quiet,  and 
sound  traveling  far  with  the  help  of  water. 

At  length  she  reached  a  part  of  the  green 
bank  much  and  newly  trodden,  where  there  lay 
some  broken  splintered  pieces  of  wood  and  some 
torn  fragments  of  clothes.  Stooping,  she  saw 
that  the  grass  was  bloody.  Following  the  drops 
and  smears,  she  saw  that  the  watery  margin  of 
the  bank  was  bloody.  Following  the  current 
with  her  eyes,  she  saw  a  bloody  face  turned  up 
toward  the  moon  and  drifting  away. 

Now  merciful  Heaven  be  thanked  for  that  old 
time,  and  grant,  O  Blessed  Lord,  that  through 
thy  wonderful  workings  it  may  turn  to  good  at 
last !  To  whomsoever  the  drifting  face  belongs, 
be  it  man's  or  woman's,  help  ray  humble  hands, 
Lord  God,  to  raise  it  from  death  and  restore  it 
to  some  one  to  whom  it  must  be  dear ! 

It  was  thought,  fervently  thought,  but  not  for 
a  moment  did  the  prayer  check  her.  She  was 
away  before  it  welled  up  in  her  mind,  away, 
swift  and  true,  yet  steady  above  all — for  without 
steadiness  it  could  never  be  done — to  the  land- 
ins-place  under  the  willow-tree,  where  she  also 
had  sp.en  the  boat  lying  moored  among  the 
stakes. 

A  sure  tou<«h  of  her  old  practiced  hand,  a  sure 
step  of  her  old  practiced  foot,  a  sure  light  bal- 
ance of  her  body,  at*\  she  was  in  the  boat.  A 
quick  glance  of  her  priced  eve  showed  her, 
even  through  the  deep  dark  shadow,  the  sculls 
in  a  rack  against  the  red-brio-  garden-wall. 
Another  moment  and  she  had  cast  ^fl*  (taking 
the  line  with  her),  and  the  boat  had  sYwat  out 
into  the  moonlight,  and  she  was  rowing  down 
the  stream  as  never  other  woman  rowed  on  En- 
&\sh  water. 


Intently  over  her  shoulder,  without  slackening 
speed,  she  looked  ahead  for  the  driving  face. 
She  passed  the  scene  of  the  struggle — yonder  it 
was,  on  her  left,  well  over  the  boat's  stern — she 
passed  on  her  right  the  end  of  the  village  street, 
a  hilly  street  that  almost  dipped  into  the  river ; 
its  sounds  were  growing  faint  again,  and  she 
slackened ;  looking  as  the  boat  drove  every 
where,  every  where  for  the  floating  face. 

She  merely  kept  the  boat  before  the  stream 
now,  and  rested  on  her  oars,  knowing  well  that 
if  the  face  were  not  soon  visible  it  had  gone 
down,  and  she  would  overshoot  it.  An  un- 
trained sight  would  never  have  seen  by  the  moon- 
light what  she  saw  at  the  length  of  a  few  strokes 
astern.  She  saw  the  drowning  figure  rise  to  the 
surface,  slightly  struggle,  and  as  if  by  instinct 
turn  over  on  its  back  to  float.  Just  so  had  she 
first  dimly  seen  the  face  which  she  now  dimly 
saw  again. 

Firm  of  look  and  firm  of  purpose,  she  intent- 
ly watched  its  coming  on,  until  it  was  very  near ; 
then,  with  a  touch,  unshipped  her  sculls,  and 
crept  aft  in  the  boat,  between  kneeling  and 
crouching.  Once,  she  let  the  body  evade  her, 
not  being  sure  of  her  grasp.  Twice,  and  she 
had  seized  it  by  its  bloody  hair. 

It  was  insensible,  if  not  virtually  dead  ;  it  was 
mutilated,  and  streaked  the  water  all  about  it 
with  dark  red  streaks.  As  it  could  not  help  it- 
self, it  was  impossible  for  her  to  get  it  on  board. 
She  bent  over  the  stern  to  secure  it  with  the 
line,  and  then  the  river  and  its  shores  rang  to 
the  terrible  cry  she  uttered. 

But,  as  if  possessed  by  supernatural  spirit  and 
strength,  she  lashed  it  safe,  resumed  her  seat, 
and  rowed  in,  desperately,  for  the  nearest  shal- 
low wrater  where  she  might  run  the  boat  aground. 
Desperately,  but  not  wildly,  for  she  knew  that 
if  she  lost  distinctness  of  intention  all  was  lost 
and  gone. 

She  ran  the  boat  ashore,  went  into  the  water, 
released  him  from  the  line,  and  by  main  strength 
lifted  him  in  her  arms  and  laid  him  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  boat.  He  had  fearful  wounds  upon 
him,  and  she  bound  them  up  with  her  dress  torn 
into  strips.  Else,  supposing  him  to  be  still  alive, 
she  foresaw  that  he  must  bleed  to  death  before 
he  could  be  landed  at  his  inn,  which  was  the 
nearest  place  for  succor. 

This  done  very  rapidly,  she  kissed  his  disfig- 
ured forehead,  looked  up  in  anguish  to  the  stars, 
and  blessed  him  and  forgave  him,  "if  she  had 
any  thing  to  forgive."  It  was  only  in  that  in- 
stant that  she  thought  of  herself,  and  then  she 
thought  of  herself  only  for  him. 

Now,  merciful  Heaven  be  thanked  for  that 
old  time,  enabling  me,  without  a  wasted  mo- 
ment, to  have  got  the  boat  afloat  again,  and  to 
row  back  against  the  stream!  And  grant,  O 
Blessed  Lord  God,  that  through  poor  me  he  may 
be  raised  from  death,  and  preserved  to  some  one 
else  to  whom  he  may  be  dear  one  day,  though 
never  dearer  than  to  me ! 

She  rowed  hard — rowed  desperately,  but  never 
wildly — and  seldom  removed  her  eyes  from  him 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  She  had  so  laid  him 
there,  as  that  she  might  see  his  disfigured  face ; 
it  was  so  much  disfigured  that  his  mother  might 
have  covered  it,  but  it  was  above  and  beyond 
disfigurement  in  her  eyes. 

Tho  boat  touched  the  edge  of  the  patch  of  inn 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


lawn,  sloping  gently  to  the  water.  There  were 
lights  in  the  windows,  but  there  chanced  to  be 
no  one  out  of  doors.  She  made  the  boat  fast, 
and  again  by  main  strength  took  him  up,  and 
never  laid  him  down  until  she  laid  him  down  in 
the  house. 

Surgeons  were  sent  for,  and  she  sat  support- 
ing his  head.  She  had  oftentimes  heard  in  days 
that  were  gone  how  doctors  would  lift  the  hand 
of  an  insensible  wounded  person,  and  would 
drop  it  if  the  person  were  dead.  She  waited 
for  the  awful  moment  when  the  doctors  might 
lift  this  hand,  all  broken  and  bruised,  and  let  it 
fall. 

The  first  of  the  surgeons  came,  and  asked, 
before  proceeding  to  his  examination,  "Who 
brought  him  in  ?" 

"I  brought  him  in,  Sir,"  answered  Lizzie,  at 
whom  all  present  looked. 

"You,  my  dear?  You  could  not  lift,  far  less 
carry,  this  weight." 

"I  think  I  could  not,  at  another  time,  Sir; 
but  I  am  sure  I  did." 

The  surgeon  looked  at  her  with  gi*eat  atten- 
tion, and  with  some  compassion.  Having  with 
a  grave  face  touched  the  wounds  upon  the  head, 
and  the  broken  arms,  he  took  the  hand. 

O !  would  he  let  it  drop  ? 

He  appeared  irresolute.  He  did  not  retain 
it,  but  laid  it  gently  down,  took  a  candle,  looked 
more  closely  at  the  injuries  on  the  head,  and  at 
the  pupils  of  the  eyes.  That  done,  he  replaced 
the  candle  and  took  the  hand  again.  Another 
surgeon  then  coming  in,  the  two  exchanged  a 
whisper,  and  the  second  took  the  hand.  Nei- 
ther did  he  let  it  fall  at  once,  but  kept  it  for  a 
while  and  laid  it  gently  down. 

"Attend  to  the  poor  girl,"  said  the  first  sur- 
geon then.  "She  is  quite  unconscious.  She 
sees  nothing  and  hears  nothing.  All  the  better 
for  her !  Don't  rouse  her,  if  you  can  help  it ; 
only  move  her.  Poor  girl,  poor  girl !  She  must 
be  amazingly  strong  of  heart,  but  it  is  much  to 
be  feared  that  she  has  set  her  heart  upon  the 
dead.    Be  gentle  with  her." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BETTER   TO  BE   ABEL  THAN   CAIN. 

Day  was  breaking  at  Plashwater  Weir  Mill 
Lock.  Stars  were  yet  visible,  but  there  was  dull 
light  in  the  east  that  was  not  the  light  of  night. 
The  moon  had  gone  down,  and  a  mist  crept 
along  the  banks  of  the  river,  seen  through  which 
the  trees  were  the  ghosts  of  trees,  and  the  water 
was  the  ghost  of  water.  This  earth  looked 
spectral,  and  so  did  the  pale  stars :  while  the 
cold  eastern  glare,  expressionless  as  to  heat  or 
color,  with  the  eye  of  the  firmament  quenched, 
might  have  been  likened  to  the  stare  of  the 
dead. 

Perhaps  it  was  so  likened  by  the  lonely  Barge- 
man, standing  on  the  brink  of  the  lock.  For 
certain,  Bradley  Headstone  looked  that  way, 
when  a  chill  air  came  up,  and  when  it  passed 
on  murmuring,  as  if  it  whispered  something  that 
made  the  phantom  trees  and  water  tremble — or 
threaten — for  fancy  might  have  made  it  either. 

He  turned  away,  and  tried  the  Lock-house 
door.     It  was  fastened  on  the  inside. 


"  Is  he  afraid  of  me  ?"  he  muttered,  knocking. 

Rogue  Riderhood  was  soon  roused,  and  soon 
undrew  the  bolt  and  let  him  in. 

"Why,  T'otherest,  I  thought  you  had  been 
and  got  lost !  Two  nights  away !  I  a'most  be- 
lieved as  you'd  giv'  me  the  slip,  and  I  had  as 
good  as  half  a  mind  for  to  advertise  you  in  the 
newspapers  to  come  for'ard." 

Bradley's  face  turned  so  dark  on  this  hint  that 
Riderhood  deemed  it  expedient  to  soften  it  into 
a  compliment. 

"But  not  you,  governor,  not  you,"  he  went 
on,  stolidly  shaking  his  head.  "For  what  did 
I  say  to  myself  arter  having  amused  myself  with 
that  there  stretch  of  a  comic  idea,  as  a  sort  of  a 
playful  game  ?  Why,  I  says  to  myself,  '  He's  a 
man  o'  honor.'  That's  what  /  says  to  myself. 
'  He's  a  man  o'  double  honor.'  " 

Very  remarkably,  Riderhood  put  no  question 
to  him.  He  had  looked  at  him  on  opening  the 
door,  and  he  now  looked  at  him  again  (stealthily 
this  time),  and  the  result  of  his  looking  was,  that 
he  asked  him  no  question. 

"You'll  be  for  another  forty  on  'em,  governor, 
as  I  judges,  afore  you  turns  your  mind  to  break- 
fast," said  Riderhood,  when  his  visitor  sat  down, 
resting  his  chin  on  his  hand,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
ground.  And  very  remarkably  again :  Rider- 
hood feigned  to  set  the  scanty  furniture  in  or- 
der, while  he  spoke,  to  have  a  show  of  reason  for 
not  looking  at  him. 

"Yes.  I  had  better  sleep,  I  think,"  said 
Bradley,  without  changing  his  position. 

"I  myself  should  recommend  it,  governor," 
assented  Riderhood.  "Might  you  be  anyways 
dry?" 

"Yes.  I  should  like  a  drink,"  said  Bradley; 
but  without  appearing  to  attend  much. 

Mr.  Riderhood  got  out  his  bottle,  and  fetched 
his  jugful  of  water,  and  administered  a  pota- 
tion. Then  he  shook  the  coverlet  of  his  bed  and 
spread  it  smooth,  and  Bradley  stretched  himself 
upon  it  in  the  clothes  he  wore.  Mr.  Riderhood 
poetically  remarking  that  he  would  pick  the 
bones  of  his  night's  rest,  in  his  wooden  chair,  sat 
in  the  window  as  before ;  but,  as  before,  watched 
the  sleeper  narrowly  until  he  was  very  sound 
asleep.  Then  he  rose  and  looked  at  him  close, 
in  the  bright  daylight,  on  every  side,  with  great 
minuteness.  He  went  out  to  his  Lock  to  sum 
up  what  he  had  seen. 

"One  of  his  sleeves  is  tore  right  away  below 
the  elber,  and  the  t'other's  had  a  good  rip  at  the 
shoulder.  He's  been  hung  on  to,  pretty  tight, 
for  his  shirt's  all  tore  out  of  the  neck  gathers. 
He's  been  in  the  grass,  and  he's  been  in  the  wa- 
ter. And  he's  spotted,  and  I  know  with  what, 
and  with  whose.     Hooroar  !" 

Bradley  slept  long.  Early  in  the  afternoon  a 
barge  came  down.  Other  barges  had  passed 
through,  both  ways,  before  it;  but  the  Lock- 
keeper  hailed  only  this  particular  barge  for 
news,  as  if  he  had  made  a  time  calculation  with 
some  nicety.  The  men  on  board  told  him  a 
piece  of  news,  and  there  was  a  lingering  on 
their  part  to  enlarge  upon  it. 

Twelve  hours  had  intervened  since  Bradley's 
lying  down,  when  he  got  up.  "  Not  that  I  swal- 
ler  it,"  said  Riderhood,  squinting  at  his  Lock, 
when  he  saw  Bradley  coming  out  of  the  house, 
"as  you've  been  a  sleeping  all  the  time,  old 
bov!" 


304 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Bradley  came  to  him,  sitting  on  his  wooden 
lever,  and  asked  what  o'clock  it  was?  Rider- 
hood  told  him  it  was  between  two  and  three. 

"When  are  you  relieved  ?"  asked  Bradley. 

"Day  arter  to-morrow,  governor." 

"  Not  sooner  ?" 

"  Not  a  inch  sooner,  governor." 

On  both  sides  importance  seemed  attached  to 
this  question  of  relief.  Riderhood  quite  petted 
his  reply  ;  saying  a  second  time,  and  prolonging 
a  negative  roll  of  his  head,  "  n — n — not  a  inch 
sooner,  governor." 

"Did  I  tell  you  I  was  going  on  to-night?" 
asked  Bradley. 

"No,  governor,"  returned  Riderhood,  in  a 
cheerful,  affable,  and  conversational  manner, 
"you  did  not  tell  me  so.  But  most  like  you 
meant  to  it  and  forgot  to  it.  How,  otherways, 
could  a  doubt  have  come  into  your  head  about 
it,  governor?" 

"As  the  sun  goes  down  I  intend  to  go  on," 
said  Bradley. 

"So  much  the  more  necessairy  is  a  Peck," 
returned  Riderhood.  "Come  in  and  have  it, 
T'otherest." 

The  formality  of  spreading  a  tablecloth  not 
being  observed  in  Mr.  Riderhood's  establishment, 
the  serving  of  the  "peck"  was  the  affair  of  a 
moment ;  it  merely  consisting  in  the  handing 
down  of  a  capacious  baking  dish  with  three- 
fourths  of  an  immense  meat  pie  in  it,  and  the 
production  of  two  pocket-knives,  an  earthenware 
mug,  and  a  large  brown  bottle  of  beer. 

Both  ate  and  drank,  but  Riderhood  much  the 
more  abundantly.  In  lieu  of  plates,  that  honest 
man  cut  two  triangular  pieces  from  the  thick 
crust  of  the  pie,  and  laid  them,  inside  upper- 
most, upon  the  table :  the  one  before  himself,' 
and  the  other  before  his  guest.  Upon  these 
platters  he  placed  two  goodly  portions  of  the 
contents  of  the  pie,  thus  imparting  the  unusual 
interest  to  the  entertainment  that  each  partaker 
scooped  out  the  inside  of  his  plate,  and  consumed 
it  with  his  other  fare,  besides  having  the  sport 
of  pursuing  the  clots  of  congealed  gravy  over  the 
plain  of  the  table,  and  successfully  taking  them 
into  his  mouth  at  last  from  the  blade  of  his 
knife,  in  case  of  their  not  first  sliding  off  it. 

Bradley  Headstone  was  so  remarkably  awk- 
ward at  these  exercises  that  the  Rogue  observed 
it. 

"Look  out,  T'otherest!"  he  cried,  "you'll 
cut  your  hand !" 

But  the  caution  came  too  late,  for  Bradley 
gashed  it  at  the  instant.  And,  what  was  more 
unlucky,  in  asking  Riderhood  to  tie  it  up,  and 
in  standing  close  to  him  for  the  purpose,  he 
shook  his  hand  under  the  smart  of  the  wound, 
and  shook  blood  over  Riderhood's  dress. 

When  dinner  was  done,  and  when  what  re- 
mained of  the  platters,  and  what  remained  of 
the  congealed  gravy  had  been  put  back  into 
what  remained  of  the  pie,  which  served  as  an 
economical  investment  for  all  miscellaneous  sav- 
ings, Riderhood  filled  the  mug  with  beer  and 
took  a  long  drink.  And  now  he  did  look  at 
Bradley,  and  with  an  evil  eye. 

"T'otherest!"  he  said,  hoarsely,  as  he  bent 
across  the  table  to  touch  his  arm.  "The  news 
has  gone  down  the  river  afore  you." 

"  What  news  ?" 

"Who  do  you  think,"  said  Riderhood,  with 


a  hitch  of  his  head,  as  if  he  disdainfully  jerked 
the  feint  away,  "picked  up  the  body?     Guess." 

"I  am  not  good  at  guessing  any  thing." 

"  She  did.  Hooroar  !  You  had  him  there 
agin.     She  did." 

The  convulsive  twitching  of  Bradley  Head- 
stone's face,  and  the  sudden  hot  humor  that 
broke  out  upon  it,  showed  how  grimly  the  intel- 
ligence touched  him.  But  he  said  not  a  single 
word,  good  or  bad.  He  only  smiled  in  a  lower- 
ing manner,  and  got  up  and  stood  leaning  at  the 
window,  looking  through  it.  Riderhood  follow- 
ed him  with  his  eyes.  Riderhood  cast  down  his 
eyes  on  his  own  besprinkled  clothes.  Riderhood 
began  to  have  an  air  of  being  better  at  a  guess 
than  Bradley  owned  to  being. 

"I  have  been  so  long  in  want  of  rest,"  said 
the  schoolmaster,  "  that  with  your  leave  I'll  lie 
down  again." 

"And  welcome,  T'otherest !"  was  the  hospita- 
ble answer  of  his  host.  He  had  laid  himself 
down  without  waiting  for  it,  and  he  remained 
upon  the  bed  until  the  sun  was  low.  When  he 
arose  and  came  out  to  resume  his  journey  he 
found  his  host  waiting  for  him  on  the  grass  by 
the  towing-path  outside  the  door. 

"Whenever  it  may  be  necessary  that  you  and 
I  should  have  any  further  communication  to- 
gether," said  Bradley,  "I  will  come  back.  Good- 
night !" 

"Well,  since  no  bettor  can  be,"  said  Rider- 
hood, turning  on  his  heel,  "Good-night!"  But 
he  turned  again  as  the  other  set  forth,  and  added 
under  his  breath,  looking  after  him  with  a  leer  : 
"You  wouldn't  be  let  to  go  like  that  if  my  Re- 
lief warn't  as  good  as  come.  I'll  catch  you  up 
in  a  mile." 

In  a  word,  his  real  time  of  relief  being  that 
evening  at  sunset,  his  mate  came  lounging  in 
within  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Not  staying  to  fill 
up  the  utmost  margin  of  his  time,  but  borrowing 
an  hour  or  so,  to  be  repaid  again  when  he  should 
relieve  his  reliever,  Riderhood  straightway  fol- 
lowed on  the  track  of  Bradley  Headstone. 

He  was  a  better  follower  than  Bradley.  It 
had  been  the  calling  of  his  life  to  slink  and  skulk 
and  dog  and  waylay,  and  he  knew  his  calling 
well.  He  effected  such  a  forced  march  on  leav- 
ing the  Lock  House  that  he  was  close  up  with 
him — that  is  to  say,  as  close  up  with  him  as  he 
deemed  it  convenient  to  be — before  another  Lock 
was  passed.  His  man  looked  back  pretty  often 
as  he  went,  but  got  no  hint  of  him.  He  knew 
how  to  take  advantage  of  the  ground,  and  where 
to  put  the  hedge  between  them,  and  where  the 
wall,  and  when  to  duck,  and  when  to  drop,  and 
had  a  thousand  arts  beyond  the  doomed  Brad- 
ley's slow  conception. 

But  all  his  arts  were  brought  to  a  stand-still, 
like  himself,  when  Bradley,  turning  into  a  green 
lane  or  riding  by  the  river-side — a  solitary  spot 
run  wild  in  nettles,  briers,  and  brambles,  and 
encumbered  with  the  scathed  trunks  of  a  Avhole 
hedgerow  of  felled  trees,  on  the  outskirts  of  a 
little  wood — began  stepping  on  these  trunks  and 
dropping  down  among  them  and  stepping  on 
them  again,  apparently  as  a  school-boy  might 
have  done,  but  assuredly  with  no  school-boy  pur- 
pose, or  want  of  purpose. 

"What  are  you  up  to?"  muttered  Riderhood, 
down  in  the  ditch,  and  holding  the  hedge  a  lit- 
tle open  with  both  hands.     And  soon  his  actions 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


305 


made  a  most  extraordinary  reply.  "  By  George 
and  the  Draggin  !"  cried  Riderhood,  "  if  he  ain't 
a-going  to  bathe  !" 

He  had  passed  back,  on  and  among  the  trunks 
of  trees  again,  and  had  passed  on  to  the  water- 
side and  had  begun  undressing  on  the  grass. 
For  a  moment  it  had  a  suspicious  look  of  suicide, 
arranged  to  counterfeit  accident.  "  But  you 
wouldn't  have  fetched  a  bundle  under  your  arm, 
from  among  that  timber,  if  such  was  your 
game !"  said  Riderhood.  Nevertheless  it  was  a 
relief  to  him  when  the  bather  after  a  plunge  and 
a  few  strokes  came  out.  "  For  I  shouldn't,"  he 
said  in  a  feeling  manner,  "have  liked  to  lose 
3rou  till  I  had  made  more  money  out  of  you 
neither." 

Prone  in  another  ditch  (he  had  changed  his 
ditch  as  his  man  had  changed  his  position),  and 
holding  apart  so  small  a  patch  of  the  hedge  that 
the  sharpest  eyes  could  not  have  detected  him, 
Rogue  Riderhood  watched  the  bather  dressing. 
And  now  gradually  came  the  wonder  that  he 
stood  up,  completely  clothed,  another  man,  and 
not  the  Bargeman. 

"  Aha !"  said  Riderhood.  "  Much  as  you  was 
dressed  that  night.  I  see.  You're  a  taking  me 
with  you,  now.  You're  deep.  But  I  knows  a 
deeper. " 

When  the  bather  had  finished  dressing  he 
kneeled  on  the  grass,  doing  something  with  his 
hands,  and  again  stood  up  with  his  bundle  un- 
der his  arm.  Looking  all  around  him  with  great 
attention,  he  then  went  to  the  river's  edge,  and 
flung  it  in  as  far,  and  yet  as  lightly  as  he  could. 
It  was  not  until  he  was  so  decidedly  upon  his 
way  again  as  to  be  beyond  a  bend  of  the  river, 
and  for  the  time  out  of  view,  that  Riderhood 
scrambled  from  the  ditch. 

"Now,"  was  his  debate  with  himself,  "shall 
I  foller  you  on,  or  shall  I  let  you  loose  for  this 
once,  and  go  a  fishing?"  The  debate  continu- 
ing, he  followed,  as  a  precautionary  measure  in 
any  case,  and  got  him  again  in  sight.  "  If  I 
was  to  let  you  loose  this  once,"  said  Riderhood 
then,  still  following,  "  I  could  make  you  come 
to  me  agin,  or  I  could  find  you  out  in  one  way 
or  another.  If  I  wasn't  to  go  a  fishing  others 
might.  I'll  let  you  loose  this  once  and  go  a 
fishing !"  With  that,  he  suddenly  dropped  the 
pursuit  and  turned. 

The  miserable  man  whom  he  had  released  for 
the  time,  but  not  for  long,  went  on  toward  Lon- 
don. Bradley  was  suspicious  of  every  sound  he 
heard,  and  of  every  face  he  saw,  but  was  under 
a  spell  which  very  commonly  falls  upon  the  shed- 
der  of  blood,  and  had  no  suspicion  of  the  real 
danger  that  lurked  in  his  life,  and  would  have 
it  yet.  Riderhood  was  much  in  his  thoughts — 
had  never  been  out  of  his  thoughts  since  the 
night-adventure  of  their  first  meeting;  but  Ri- 
derhood occupied  a  very  different  place  there  from 
the  place  of  pursuer;  and  Bradley  had  been  at 
the  pains  of  devising  so  many  means  of  fitting 
that  place  to  him,  and  of  wedging  him  into  it, 
that  his  mind  could  not  compass  the  possibility 
of  his  occupying  any  other.  And  this  is  another 
spell  against  which  the  shedder  of  blood  forever 
strives  in  vain.  There  are  fifty  doors  by  which 
discovery  may  enter.  With  infinite  pains  and 
cunning  he  double  locks  and  bars  forty-nine  of 
them,  and  can  not  see  the  fiftieth  standing  wide 
open. 


Now,  too,  was  he  cursed  with  a  state  of  mind 
more  wearing  and  more  wearisome  than  remorse. 
He  had  no  remorse ;  but  the  evil-doer  who  can 
hold  that  avenger  at  bay  can  not  escape  the  slow- 
er torture  of  incessantly  doing  the  evil  deed  again 
and  doing  it  more  efficiently.  In  the  defensive 
declarations  and  pretended  confessions  of  mur- 
derers, the  pursuing  shadow  of  this  torture  may 
be  traced  through  every  lie  they  tell.  If  I  had 
done  it  as  alleged,  is  it  conceivable  that  I  would 
havemade  this  and  this  mistake?  If  I  had  done 
it  as  alleged,  should  I  have  left  that  unguarded 
place  which  tkat  false  and  wicked  witness  against 
me  so  infamously  deposed  to  ?  The  state  of  that 
wretch  who  continually  finds  the  weak  spots  in 
his  own  crime,  and  strives  to  strengthen  them 
when  it  is  unchangeable,  is  a  state  that  aggra- 
vates the  offense  by  doing  the  deed  a  thousand 
times  instead  of  once ;  but  it  is  a  state,  too,  that 
tauntingly  visits  the  offense  upon  a  sullen  unre- 
pentant nature  with  its  heaviest  punishment  ev- 
ery time. 

Bradley  toiled  on,  chained  heavily  to  the  idea 
of  his  hatred  and  his  vengeanee,  and  thinking 
how  he  might  have  satiated  both  in  many  better 
ways  than  the  way  he  had  taken.  The  instru- 
ment might  have  been  better,  the  spot,  and  the 
hour  might  have  been  better  chosen.  To  batter 
a  man  down  from  behind  in  the  dark,  on  the 
brink  of  a  river,  was  well  enough,  but  he  ought 
to  have  been  instantly  disabled,  whereas  he  had 
turned  and  seized  his  assailant ;  and  so,  to  end 
it  before  chance-help  came,  and  to  be  rid  of  him, 
he  had  been  hurriedly  thrown  backward  into  the 
river  before  the  life  was  fully  beaten  out  of  him. 
Now  if  it  could  be  done  again,  it  must  not  be  so^ 
done.  Supposing  his  head  had  been  held  down" 
under  water  for  a  while.  Supposing  the  first 
blow  had  been  truer.  Supposing  he  had  been 
shot.  Supposing  he  had  been  strangled.  Sup- 
pose this  way,  that  way,  the  other  way.  Sup- 
pose any  thing  but  getting  unchained  from  the 
one  idea,  for  that  was  inexorably  impossible. 

The  school  reopened  next  day.  The  scholars 
saw  little  or  no  change  in  their  master's  face,  for 
it  always  wore  its  slowly  laboring  expression. 
But  as  he  heard  his  classes  he  was  always  do- 
ing the  deed  and  doing  it  better.  As  he  paused 
with  his  piece  of  chalk  at  the  blackboard  before 
writing  on  it  he  was  thinking  of  the  spot,  and 
whether  the  water  was  not  deeper  and  the  fall 
straighter,  a  little  higher  up,  or  a  little  lower 
down.  He  had  half  a  mind  to  draw  a  line  or 
two  upon  the  board,  and  show  himself  what  he 
meant.  He  was  doing  it  again  and  improving 
on  the  manner,  at  prayers,  in  his  mental  arith- 
metic, all  through  his  questioning,  all  through 
the  day. 

Charley  Hexam  was  a  master  now,  in  another 
school,  under  another  head.  It  was  evening, 
and  Bradley  was  walking  in  his  garden,  observed 
from  behind  a  blind  by  gentle  little  Miss  Peech- 
er,  who  contemplated  offering  him  a  loan  of  her 
smelling-salts  for  headache,  when  Mary  Anne, 
in  faithful  attendance,  held  up  her  arm. 

"Yes,  Mary  Anne?" 

"Young  Mr.  Hexam,  if  you  please,  ma'am, 
coming  to  see  Mr.  Headstone." 

"  Very  good,  Mary  Anne." 

Asrain  Mary  Anne  held  up  her  arm. 

"You  may  speak,  Mary  Anne?" 

"Mr.  Headstone  has  beckoned  young  Mr. 


306 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Hexam  into  his  house,  ma'am,  and  he  has  gone 
in  himself  without  waiting  for  young  Mr.  Hex- 
am  to  come  up,  and  now  he  has  gone  in  too, 
ma'am,  and  has  shut  the  door." 

"With  all  my  heart,  Mary  Anne." 

And  Mary  Anne's  telegraphic  arm  worked. 

"  What  more,  Mary  Anne  ?" 

"They  must  find  it  rather  dull  and  dark,  Miss 
Peecher,  for  the  parlor  blind's  down,  and  neither 
of  them  pulls  it  up." 

"There  is  no  accounting,"  said  good  Miss 
Peecher,  with  a  little  sad  sigh  which  she  re- 
pressed by  laying  her  hand  on  her  neat  method- 
ical bodice,  "there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes, 
Mary  Anne." 

Charley,  entering  the  dark  room,  stopped  short 
when  he  saw  his  old  friend  in  its  yellow  shade. 

"Come  in,  Hexam,  come  in." 

Charley  advanced  to  take  the  hand  that  was 
held  out  to  him  ;  but  stopped  again,  short  of  it. 
The  heavy,  bloodshot  eyes  of  the  schoolmaster, 
rising  to  his  face  with  an  effort,  met  his  look  of 
scrutiny." 

" Mr.  Headstone,  what's  the  matter?" 

"Matter?     Where?" 

"Mr.  Headstone,  have  you  heard  the  news? 
This  news  about  the  fellow,  Mr.  Eugene  Wray- 
burn  ?     That  he  is  killed  ?" 

"  He  is  dead,  then  !"  exclaimed  Bradley. 

Young  Hexam  standing  looking  at  him,  he 
moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue,  looked  about 
the  room,  glanced  at  his  former  pupil,  and  looked 
down.  "  I  heard  of  the  outrage,"  said  Bradley, 
trying  to  constrain  his  working  mouth,  "but  I 
had  not  heard  the  end  of  it." 

"Where  were  you,"  said  the  boy,  advancing 
a  step  as  he  lowered  his  voice,  "when  it  was 
done?  Stop!  I  don't  ask  that.  Don't  tell  me. 
If  you  force  your  confidence  upon  me,  Mr.  Head- 
stone, I'll  give  up  every  word  of  it.  Mind ! 
Take  notice.  I'll  give  up  it,  and  I'll  give  up 
you.     I  will!" 

The  wretched  creature  seemed  to  suffer  acute- 
ly under  this  renunciation.  A  desolate  air  of 
utter  and  complete  loneliness  fell  upon  him,  like 
a  visible  shade. 

"  It's  for  me  to  speak,  not  you,"  said  the  boy. 
"  If  you  do,  you'll  do  it  at  your  peril.  I  am  go- 
ing to  put  your  selfishness  before  you,  Mr.  Head- 
stone— your  passionate,  violent,  and  ungovern- 
able selfishness — to  show  you  why  I  can,  and 
why  I  will,  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you." 

He  looked  at  young  Hexam  as  if  he  were 
waiting  for  a  scholar  to  go  on  with  a  lesson  that 
he  knew  by  heart  and  was  deadly  tired  of.  But 
he  had  said  his  last  word  to  him. 

"  If  you  had  any  part — I  don't  say  what — in 
this  attack,"  pursued  the  boy  ;  "  or  if  you  know 
any  thing  about  it — I  don't- say  how  much — or 
if  you  know  who  did  it — I  go  no  closer — you  did 
an  injury  to  me  that's  never  to  be  forgiven. 
You  know  that  I  took  yon  with  me  to  his  cham- 
bers in  the  Temple  when  I  told  him  my  opin- 
ion of  him,  and  made  myself  responsible  for  my 
opinion  of  you.  You  know  that  I  took  you  with 
me  when  I  was  watching  him  with  a  view  to 
recovering  my  sister  and  bringing  her  to  her 
senses-  you  know  that  I  have  allowed  myself  to 
be  mixed  up  with  you,  all  through  this  business, 
in  favoring  your  desire  to  marry  my  sister.  And 
how  do  you  know  that,  pursuing  the  ends  of 
your  own  violent  temper,  you  have  not  laid  me 


open  to  suspicion  ?  Is  that  your  gratitude  to 
me,  Mr.  Headstone  ?" 

Bradley  sat  looking  steadily  before  him  at  the 
vacant  air.  As  often  as  young  Hexam  stopped 
he  turned  his  eyes  toward  him,  as  if  he  were 
waiting  for  him  to  go  on  with  the  lesson,  and 
get  it  done.  As  often  as  the  boy  resumed 
Bradley  resumed  his  fixed  face. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  plain  with  you,  Mr.  Head- 
stone," said  young  Hexam,  shaking  his  head  in 
a  half-threatening  manner,  "because  this  is  no 
time  for  affecting  not  to  know  things*  that  I  do 
know — except  certain  things  at  which  it  might 
not  be  very  safe  for  you  to  hint  again.  What  I 
mean  is  this  :  if  you  were  a  good  master,  I  was 
a  good  pupil.  I  have  done  you  plenty  of  credit, 
and  in  improving  my  own  reputation  I  have  im- 
proved yours  quite  as  much.  Very  well  then. 
Starting  on  equal  terms,  I  want  to  put  before 
you  how  you  have  shown  your  gratitude  to  me 
for  doing  all  I  could  to  further  your  wishes  with 
reference  to  my  sister.  You  have  compromised 
me  by  being  seen  about  with  me,  endeavoring.to 
counteract  this  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn.  That's 
the  first  thing  you  have  done.  If  my  character, 
and  my  now  dropping  you,  help  me  out  of  that, 
Mr.  Headstone,  the  deliverance  is  to  be  attribu- 
ted to  me  and  not  to  you.  No  thanks  to  you 
for  it !" 

The  boy  stopping  again,  he  moved  his  eyes 
again. 

' '  I  am  going  on,  Mr.  Headstone,  don't  you 
be  afraid.  I  am  going  on  to  the  end,  and  I 
have  told  you  beforehand  what  the  end  is. 
Now,  you  know  my  story.  You  are  as  well 
aware  as  I  am,  that  I  have  had  many  disad- 
vantages to  leave  behind  me  in  life.  You  have 
heard  me  mention  my  father,  and  you  are  suffi- 
ciently acquainted  with  the  fact  that  the  home 
from  which  I,  as  I  may  say,  escaped,  might 
have  been  a  more  creditable  one  than  it  was. 
My  father  died,  and  then  it  might  have  been 
supposed  that  my  way  to  respectability  was 
pretty  clear.  No.  For  then  my  sister  be- 
gins." 

He  spoke  as  confidently,  and  with  as  entire 
an  absence  of  any  tell-tale  color  in  his  cheek, 
as  if  there  were  no  softening  old  time  behind 
him.  Not  wonderful,  for  there  was  none  in  his 
hollow  empty  heart.  What  is  there  but  self, 
for  selfishness  to  see  behind  it? 

"  When  I  speak  of  my  sister  I  devoutly  wish 
that  you  had  never  seen  her,  Mr.  Headstone. 
However,  you  did  see  her,  and  that's  useless 
now.  I  confided  in  you  about  her.  I  explained 
her  character  to  you,  and  how  she  interposed 
some  ridiculous  fanciful  notions  in  the  way  of 
our  being  as  respectable  as  I  tried  for.  You  fill 
in  love  with  her,  and  I  favored  you  with  all  my 
might.  She  could  not  be  induced  to  favor  you, 
and  so  we  came  into  collision  with  this  Mr.  Eu- 
gene Wrayburn.  Now,  what  have  you  done? 
Why,  you  have  justified  my  sister  in  being  firm- 
ly set  against  you  from  first  to  last,  and  you 
have  put  me  in  the  wrong  again  !  And  why 
have  you  done  it?  Because,  Mr.  Headstone, 
you  are  in  all  your  passions  so  selfish,  and  so 
concentrated  upon  yourself,  that  you  have  not 
bestowed  one  proper  thought  on  me." 

The  cool  conviction  with  which  the  boy  tool; 
up  and  held  his  position  could  have  been  derived 
from  no  other  vice  in  human  nature. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


307 


BETTER   TO   BE   ABEL   THAN   CAIN. 


"It  is,"  he  went  on,  actually  with  tears,  "an 
extraordinary  circumstance  attendant  on  my 
life,  that  every  effort  I  make  toward  perfect  re- 
spectability, is  impeded  by  somebody  else  through 
no  fault  of  mine !  Not  content  with  doing  what 
I  have  put  before  you,  you  will  drag  my  name 
into  notoriety  through  dragging  my  sister's — 
which  you  are  pretty  sure  to  do,  if  my  suspicions 
have  any  foundation  at  all — and  the  worse  you 
prove  to  be,  the  harder  it  will  be  for  me  to  de- 
tach myself  from  being  associated  with  you  in 
people's  minds." 

When  he  had  dried  his  eyes  and  heaved  a  sob 
over  his  injuries,  he  began  moving  toward  the 
door. 

"However,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  I 
will  become  respectable  in  the  scale  of  society, 
and  that  I  will  not  be  dragged  down  by  others. 
I  have  done  with  my  sister  as  well  as  with  you. 


Since  she  cares  so  little  for  me  as  to  care  no- 
thing for  undermining  my  respectability,  she 
shall  go  her  way  and  I  will  go  mine.  My  pros- 
pects are  very  good,  and  I  mean  to  follow  them 
alone.  Mr.  Headstone,  I  don't  say  what  you 
have  got  upon  your  conscience,  for  I  don't 
know.  Whatever  lies  upon  it,  I  hope  you  will 
see  the  justice  of  keeping  wide  and  clear  of  me. 
and  will  find  a  consolation  in  completely  exon- 
erating all  but  yourself.  I  hope,  before  many 
years  are  out,  to  succeed  the  master  in  my  pres- 
ent school,  and  the  mistress  being  a  single  wo- 
man, though  some  years  older  than  I  am,  I 
might  even  marry  her.  If  it  is  any  comfort  to 
you  to  know  what  plans  I  may  work  out  by 
keeping  myself  strictly  respectable  in  the  scale 
of  society,  these  are  the  plans  at  present  occur- 
ring to  me.  In  conclusion,  if  you  feel  a  sense 
of  having  injured  me,  and  a  desire  to  make  some 


308 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


small  reparation,  I  hope  you  will  think  how  re- 
spectable you  might  have  been  yourself,  and 
will  contemplate  your  blighted  existence." 

Was  it  strange  that  the  wretched  man  should 
take  this  heavily  to  heart?  Perhaps  he  had 
taken  the  boy  to  heart,  first,  through  some  long 
laborious  years ;  perhaps  through  the  same  years 
he  had  found  his  drudgery  lightened  by  commu- 
nication with  a  brighter  and  more  apprehensive 
spirit  than  his  own ;  perhaps  a  family  resem- 
blance of  face  and  voice  between  the  boy  and  his 
sister,  smote  him  hard  in  the  gloom  of  his  fallen 
state.  For  whichsoever  reason,  or  for  all,  he 
drooped  his  devoted  head  when  the  boy  was 
gone,  and  shrank  together  on  the  floor,  and 
groveled  there,  with  the  palms  of  his  hands 
tight-clasping  his  hot  temples,  in  unutterable 
misery,  and  unrelieved  by  a  single  tear. 

Rogue  Riderhood  had  been  busy  with  the 
river  that  day.  He  had  fished  with  assiduity  on 
the  previous  evening,  but  the  light  was  short, 
and  he  had  fished  unsuccessfully.  He  had 
fished  again  that  day  with  better  luck,  and  had 
carried  his  fish  home  to  Plashwater  Weir  Mill 
Lock-house  in  a  bundle. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A   FEW    GRAINS    OF   PEPPER. 

The  dolls'  dress-maker  went  no  more  to  the 
business-premises  of  Pubsey  and  Co.  in  St.  Mary 
Axe,  after  chance  had  disclosed  to  her  (as  she 
supposed)  the  flinty  and  hypocritical  charac- 
ter of  Mr.  Riah.  She  often  moralized  over  her 
work  on  the  tricks  and  the  manners  of  that  ven- 
erable cheat,  but  made  her  little  purchases  else- 
where, and  lived  a  secluded  life.  After  much 
consultation  with  herself,  she  decided  not  to  put 
Lizzie  Hexam  on  her  guard  against  the  old  man, 
arguing  that  the  disappointment  of  finding  him 
out  would  come  upon  her  quite  soon  enough. 
Therefore,  in  her  communication  with  her  friend 
by  letter,  she  was  silent  on  this  theme,  and  prin- 
cipally dilated  on  the  backslidings  of  her  bad 
child,  who  every  day  grew  worse  and  worse. 

"You  wicked  old  boy,"  Miss  Wren  would  say 
to  him,  with  a  menacing  forefinger,  "you'll 
force  me  to  run  away  from  you,  after  all,  you 
will ;  and  then  you'll  shake  to  bits,  and  there'll 
be  nobody  to  pick  up  the  pieces !" 

At  this  foreshadowing  of  a  desolate  decease 
the  wicked  old  boy  would  whine  and  whimper, 
and  would  sit  shaking  himself  into  the  lowest  of 
low  spirits,  until  such  time  as  he  could  shake 
himself  out  of  the  house  and  shake  another 
threepennyworth  into  himself.  But  dead  drunk 
or  dead  sober  (he  had  come  to  such  a  pass  that 
he  was  least  alive  in  the  latter  state),  it  was  al- 
ways on  the  conscience  of  the  paralytic  scare- 
crow that  he  had  betrayed  his  sharp  parent  for 
sixty  threepennyworths  of  rum,  which  were  all 
gone,  and  that  her  sharpness  would  infallibly 
detect  his  having  done  it,  sooner  or  later.  All 
things  considered  therefore,  and  addition  made 
of  the  state  of  his  body  to  the  state  of  his  mind, 
the  bed  on  which  Mr.  Dolls  reposed  was  a  bed 
of  roses  from  which  the  flowers  and  leaves  had 
entirely  faded,  leaving  him  to  lie  upon  the  thorns 
and  stalks. 


On  a  certain  day  Miss  Wren  was  alone  at  her 
work,  with  the  house-door  set  open  for  coolness, 
and  was  trolling  in  a  small  sweet  voice  a  mourn- 
ful little  song  which  might  have  been  the  song 
of  the  doll  she  was  dressing,  bemoaning  the 
brittleness  and  meltability  of  wax,  when  whom 
should  she  descry  standing  on  the  pavement, 
looking  in  at  her,  but  Mr.  Fledgeby. 

"I  thought  it  was  you?"  said  Fledgeby,  com- 
ing up  the  two  steps. 

"Did  you?"  Miss  Wren  retorted.  "And  I 
thought  it  was  you,  young  man.  Quite  a  coin- 
cidence. You're  not  mistaken,  and  I'm  not 
mistaken.     How  clever  we  are !" 

"Well,  and  how  are  you?"  said  Fledgeby. 

"I  am  pretty  much  as  usual,  Sir,"  replied 
Miss  Wren.  "A  very  unfortunate  parent,  wor- 
ried out  of  my  life  and  senses  by  a  very  bad 
child." 

Fledgeby's  small  eyes  opened  so  wide  that  they 
might  have  passed  for  ordinary-sized  eyes,  as  he 
stared  about  him  for  the  very  young  person  whom 
he  supposed  to  be  in  question. 

"But  you're  not  a  parent,"  said  Miss  Wren, 
"and  consequently  it's  of  no  use  talking  to  you 
upon  a  family  subject. — To  what  am  I  to  attrib- 
ute the  honor  and  favor?" 

"To  a  wish  to  improve  your  acquaintance," 
Mr.  Fledgeby  replied. 

Miss  Wren,  stopping  to  bite  her  thread,  looked 
at  him  very  knowingly. 

"We  never  meet  now,"  said  Fledgeby;  "do 
we  ?" 

"No,"  said  Miss  Wren,  chopping  off  the 
word. 

"So  I  had  a  mind,"  pursued  Fledgeby,  "to 
come  and  have  a  talk  with  you  about  our  dodg- 
ing friend,  the  child  of  Israel." 

"  So  he  gave  you  my  address ;  did  he  ?"  asked 
Miss  Wren. 

"I  got  it  out  of  him,"  said  Fledgeby,  with  a 
stammer. 

"You  seem  to  see  a  good  deal  of  him,"  re- 
marked Miss  Wren,  with  sln'ewd  distrust.  "A 
good  deal  of  him  you  seem  to  see,  considering." 

' '  Yes,  I  do, "  said  Fledgeby.     ' '  Considering. " 

"Haven't  you,"  inquired  the  dress-maker, 
bending  over  the  doll  on  which  her  art  was  be- 
ing exercised,  ' '  done  interceding  with  him  yet  ?" 

"No,"  said  Fledgeby,  shaking  his  head. 

"La!  Been  interceding  with  him  all  this 
time,  and  sticking  to  him  still?"  said  Miss 
Wren,  busy  with  her  work. 

"Sticking  to  him  is  the  word,"  said  Fledgeby. 

Miss  Wren  pursued  her  occupation  with  a 
concentrated  air,  and  asked,  after  an  interval  of 
silent  industry : 

"  Are  you  in  the  army  ?" 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Fledgeby,  rather  flattered 
by  the  question. 

"Navy?"  asked  Miss  Wren. 

' '  N — no, "  said  Fledgeby.  He  qualified  these 
two  negatives  as  if  he  were  not  absolutely  in 
either  service,  but  was  almost  in  both. 

"  What  are  you  then  ?"  demanded  Miss  Wren. 

"I  am  a  gentleman,  I  am,"  said  Fledgeby. 

"Oh!"  assented  Jenny,  screwing  up  her 
mouth  with  an  appearance  of  conviction.  "Yes, 
to  be  sure !  That  accounts  for  your  having  so 
much  time  to  give  to  interceding.  But  only  to 
think  how  kind  and  friendly  a  gentleman  you 
must  be  !" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


309 


Mr.  Fledgeby  found  that  he  was  skating  round 
a  board  marked  Dangerous,  and  had  better  cut 
out  a  fresh  track.  "  Let's  get  back  to  the  dodg- 
erest  of  the  dodgers,"  said  he.  "What's  he  up 
to  in  the  case  of  your  friend  the  handsome  gal? 
He  must  have  some  object.    What's  his  object  ?" 

"  Can  not  undertake  to  say,  Sir,  I  am  sure !" 
returned  Miss  Wren,  composedly. 

"He  won't  acknowledge  where  she's  gone," 
said  Fledgeby;  "and  I  have  a  fancy  that  I 
should  like  to  have  another  look  at  her.  Now 
I  know  he  knows  where  she  is  gone." 

"  Can  not  undertake  to  say,  Sir,  I  am  sure !" 
Miss  Wren  again  rejoined. 

"And  you  kno\y  where  she  is  gone,"  hazard- 
ed Fledgeby. 

"Can  not  undertake  to  say,  Sir,  really,"  re- 
plied Miss  Wren. 

The  quaint  little  chin  met  Mr.  Fledgeby's  gaze 
with  such  a  baffling  hitch  that  that  agreeable 
gentleman  was  for  some  time  at  a  loss  how  to 
resume  his  fascinating  part  in  the  dialogue.  At 
length  he  said : 

"Miss  Jenny! — That's  your  name,  if  I  don't 
mistake  ?" 

"Probably  you  don't  mistake,  Sir,"  was  Miss 
Wren's  cool  answer ;  "because  you  had  it  on  the 
best  authority.     Mine,  you  know." 

"Miss  Jenny!  Instead  of  coming  up  and 
being  dead,  let's  come  out  and  look  alive.  It'll 
pay  better,  I  assure  you,"  said  Fledgeby,  be- 
stowing an  inveigling  twinkle  or  two  upon  the 
dress-maker.     "You'll  find  it  pay  better." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Miss  Jenny,  holding  out  her 
doll  at  arm's-length,  and  critically  contemplat- 
ing the  effect  of  her  art  with  her  scissors  on  her 
lips  and  her  head  thrown  back,  as  if  her  interest 
lay  there,  and  not  in  the  conversation;  "per- 
haps you'll  explain  your  meaning,  young  man, 
which  is  Greek  to  me. — You  must  have  another 
touch  of  blue  in  your  trimming,  my  dear."  Hav- 
ing addressed  the  last  remark  to  her  fair  client, 
Miss  Wren  proceeded  to  snip  at  some  blue  frag- 
ments that  lay  before  her  among  fragments  of 
all  colors,  and  to  thread  a  needle  from  a  skein 
of  blue  silk. 

"Look  here,"  said  Fledgeby. — "Are  you  at- 
tending?" 

"I  am  attending,  Sir,"  replied  Miss  Wren, 
without  the  slightest  appearance  of  so  doing. 
"Another  touch  of  blue  in  your  trimming,  my 
dear." 

"Well,  look  here,"  said  Fledgeby,  rather  dis- 
couraged by  the  circumstances  under  which  he 
found  himself  pursuing  the  conversation.  "If 
you're  attending — " 

("Light  blue,  my  sweet  young  lady,"  remark- 
ed Miss  Wren,  in  a  sprightly  tone,  "being  best 
suited  to  your  fair  complexion  and  your  flaxen 
curls.") 

' '  I  say,  if  you're  attending, "  proceeded  Fledge- 
by, "it'll  pay  better  in  this  way.  It'll  lead  in  a 
roundabout  manner  to  your  buying  damage  and 
waste  of  Pubsey  and  Co.  at  a  nominal  price,  or 
even  getting  it  for  nothing." 

"  Aha !"  thought  the  dress-maker.  "But  you 
are  not  so  roundabout,  Little  Eyes,  that  I  don't 
notice  your  answering  for  Pubsey  and  Co.  after 
all !  Little  Eyes,  Little  Eyes,  you're  too  cun- 
ning by  half." 

"And  I  take  it  for  granted,"  pursued  Fledge- 
by, "  that  to  get  the  most  of  your  materials  for 


nothing  would  be  well  worth  vour  while,  Miss 
Jenny  ?" 

"You  may  take  it  for  granted,"  returned  the 
dress-maker  with  many  knowing  nods,  "that  it's 
always  well  worth  my  while  to  make  money." 

"Now,"  said  Fledgeby,  approvingly,  "you're 
answering  to  a  sensible  purpose.  Now,  you're 
coming  out  and  looking  alive !  So  I  make  so 
free,  Miss  Jenny,  as  to  offer  the  remark,  that 
you  and  Judah  were  too  thick  together  to  last. 
You  can't  come  to  be  intimate  with  such  a  deep 
file  as  Judah  without  beginning  to  see  a  little  way 
into  him,  you  know,"  said  Fledgeby,  with  a  wink, 

"I  must  own,"  returned  the  dress-maker,  with 
her  eyes  upon  her  work,  "  that  we  are  not  good 
friends  at  present." 

"I  know  you're  not  good  friends  at  present," 
said  Fledgeby.  "  I  know  all  about  it.  I  should 
like  to  pay  off  Judah  by  not  letting  him  have 
his  own  deep  way  in  every  thing.  In  most 
things  he'll  get  it  by  hook  or  by  crook,  but — 
hang  it  all ! — don't  let  him  have  his  own  deep 
way  in  every  thing.  That's  too  much."  Mr. 
Fledgeby  said  this  with  some  display  of  indig- 
nant warmth,  as  if  he  was  counsel  in  the  cause 
for  Virtue. 

"  How  can  I  prevent  his  having  his  own  way  ?" 
began  the  dress-maker. 

"Deep  way,  I  called  it,"  said  Fledgeby. 

" — His  own  deep  way,  in  any  thing?" 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Fledgeby.  "I  like  to 
hear  you  ask  it,  because  it's  looking  alive.  It's 
what  I  should  expect  to  find  in  one  of  your  saga- 
cious understanding.     Now,  candidly." 

"Eh?"  cried  Miss  Jenny. 

"I  said,  now  candidly,"  Mr.  Fledgeby  ex- 
plained, a  little  put  out. 

"Oh-h!" 

"I  should  be  glad  to  countermine  him  re- 
specting the  handsome  gal,  your  friend.  He 
means  something  there.  You  may  depend  upon 
it,  Judah  means  something  there.  He  has  a 
motive,  and  of  course  his  motive  is  a  dark  mo- 
tive. Now,  whatever  his  motive  is,  it's  neces- 
sary to  his  motive" — Mr.  Fledgeby's  constructive 
powers  were  not  equal  to  the  avoidance  of  some 
tautology  here — "that  it  should  be  kept  from 
me  what  he  has  done  with  her.  So  I  put  it  to 
you,  who  know:  What  has  he  done  with  her? 
I  ask  no  more.  And  is  that  asking  much,  when 
you  understand  that  it  will  pay?" 

Miss  Jenny  Wren,  who  had  cast  her  eyes  upon 
the  bench  again  after  her  last  interruption,  sat 
looking  at  it,  needle  in  hand  but  not  working, 
for  some  moments.  She  then  briskly  resumed 
her  work,  and  said,  with  a  sidelong  glance  of  her 
eyes  and  chin  at  Mr.  Fledgeby, 

"Where  d'y§  live?" 

"Albany,  Piccadilly,"  replied  Fledgeby. 

"When  are  you  at  home?" 

"When  you  like." 

"Breakfast-time?"  said  Jenny,  in  her  abrupt- 
est  and  shortest  manner. 

"No  better  time  in  the  day,"  said  Fledgeby. 

"  I'll  look  in  upon  you  to-morrow,  young  man. 
Those  two  ladies,"  pointing  to  dolls,  "have  an 
appointment  in  Bond  Street  at  ten  precisely. 
When  I've  dropped  'em  there  I'll  drive  round  to 
you."  With  a  weird  little  laugh  Miss  Jenny 
pointed  to  her  crutch -stick  as  her  equipage. 

"This  is  looking  alive  indeed!"  cried  Fledge- 
by, rising. 


310 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Mark  you!  I  promise  you  nothing,"  said 
the  dolls'  dress-maker,  dabbing  two  dabs  at  him 
with  her  needle,  as  if  she  put  out  both  his  eyes. 
"No,  no.  /understand,"  returned  Fledge- 
by.  "The  damage  and  waste  question  shall  be 
settled  first.  It  shall  be  made  to  pay;  don't 
you  be  afraid.  Good-day,  Miss  Jenny." 
"Good-day,  young  man." 

Mr.  Fledgeby's  prepossessing  form  withdrew 
itself;  and  the  little  dress-maker,  clipping  and 
snipping  and  stitching,  and  stitching  and  snip- 
ping and  clipping,  fell  to  work  at  a  great  rate ; 
musing  and  muttering  all  the  time. 

"Misty,  misty,  misty.  Can't  make  it  out. 
Little  Eyes  and  the  wolf  in  a  conspiracy?  Or 
Little  Eyes  and  the  wolf  against  one  another  ? 
Can't  make  it  out.  My  poor  Lizzie,  have  they 
both  designs  against  you,  either  way?  Can't 
make  it  out.  Is  Little  Eyes  Pubsey,  and  the 
wolf  Co  ?  Can't  make  it  out.  Pubsey  true  to 
Co,  and  Co  to  Pubsey  ?  Pubsey  false  to  Co,  and 
Co  to  Pubsey?  Can't  make  it  out.  What  said 
Little  Eyes?  'Now,  candidly?'  Ah!  How- 
ever the  cat  jumps,  he's  a  liar.  That's  all  I  can 
make  out  at  present ;  but  you  may  go  to  bed  in 
the  Albany,  Piccadilly,  with  that  for  your  pillow, 
young  man !"  Thereupon  the  little  dress-maker 
again  dabbed  out  his  eyes  separately,  and  mak- 
ing a  loop  in  the  air  of  her  thread  and  deftly 
catching  it  into  a  knot  with  her  needle,  seemed 
to  bowstring  him  into  the  bargain. 

For  the  terrors  undergone  by  Mr.  Dolls  that 
evening  when  his  little  parent  sat  profoundly 
meditating  over  her  work,  and  when  he  imag- 
ined himself  found  out,  as  often  as  she  changed 
her  attitude,  or  turned  her  eyes  toward  him, 
there  is  no  adequate  name.  Moreover  it  was 
her  habit  to  shake  her  head  at  that  wretched  old 
boy  whenever  she  caught  his  eye  as  he  shivered 
and  shook.  What  are  popularly  called  "the 
trembles"  being  in  full  force  upon  him  that  even- 
ing, and  likewise  what  are  popularly  called  "the 
horrors,"  he  had  a  very  bad  time  of  if;  which 
was  not  made  better  by  his  being  so  remorseful 
as  frequently  to  moan  "  Sixty  threepenn'orths." 
This  imperfect  sentence  not  being  at  all  intelli- 
gible as  a  confession,  but  sounding  like  a  Gar- 
gantuan order  for  a  dram,  brought  him  into  new 
difficulties  by  occasioning  his  parent  to  pounce 
at  him  in  a  more  than  usually  snappish  manner, 
and  to  overwhelm  him  with  bitter  reproaches. 

What  was  a  bad  time  for  Mr.  Dolls  could  not 
fail  to  be  a  bad  time  for  the  dolls'  dress-maker. 
However,  she  was  on  the  alert  next  morning, 
and  drove  to  Bond  Street,  and  set  down  the  two 
ladies  punctually,  and  then  directed  her  equipage 
to  conduct  her  to  the  Albany.  Arrived  at  the 
doorway  of  the  house  in  which  Mr.  Fledgeby's 
chambers  were,  she  found  a  lady  standing  there 
in  a  traveling  dress,  holding  in  her  hand — of  all 
things  in  the  world — a  gentleman's  hat. 

""You  want  some  one?"  said  the  lady  in  a 
stern  manner. 

"I  am  going  up  stair's  to  Mr.  Fledgeby's." 

"  You  can  not  do  that  at  this  moment.  *  There 
is  a  gentleman  with  him.  I  am  waiting  for  the 
gentleman.  His  business  with  Mr.  Fledgeby 
will  very  soon  be  transacted,  and  then  you  can 
go  up.  Until  the  gentleman  comes  down,  you 
must  wait  here." 

While  speaking,  and  afterward,  the  lady  kept 
watchfully  between  her  and  the  staircase,  as  if 


prepared  to  oppose  her  going  up  by  force.  The 
lady  being  of  a  stature  to  stop  her  with  a  hand, 
and  looking  mightily  determined,  the  dress- 
maker stood  still. 

"Well?  Why  do  you  listen?"  asked  the 
lady. 

"I  am  not  listening,"  said  the  dress-maker. 

"What  do  you  hear?"  asked  the  lady,  alter- 
ing her  phrase. 

"Is  it  a  kind  of  a  spluttering  somewhere?" 
said  the  dress-maker,  with  an  inquiring  look. 

"Mr.  Fledgeby  in  his  shower-bath,  perhaps," 
remarked  the  lady,  smiling. 

"And  somebody's  beating  a  carpet,  I  think  ?'" 

"Mr.  Fledgeby's  carpet,  I  dare  say,"  replied 
the  smiling  lady. 

Miss  Wren  had  a  reasonably  good  eye  for 
smiles,  being  well  accustomed  to  them  on  the 
part  of  her  young  friends,  though  their  smiles 
mostly  ran  smaller  than  in  nature.  But  she 
had  never  seen  so  singular  a  smile  as  that  upon 
this  lady's  face.  It  twitched  her  nostrils  open 
in  a  remarkable  manner,  and  contracted  her  lips 
and  eyebrows.  It  was  a  smile  of  enjoyment  too, 
though  of  such  a  fierce  kind  that  Miss  Wren 
thought  she  would  rather  not  enjoy  herself  than 
do  it  in  that  way. 

• '  Well ! "  said  the  lady,  watching  her.  ' '  What 
now  ?" 

"I  hope  there's  nothing  the  matter!"  said  the 
dress-maker. 

"Where?"  inquired  the  lady. 

"I  don't  know  where,"  said  Miss  Wren,  star- 
ing about  her.  "But  I  never  heard  such  odd 
noises.  Don't  you  think  I  had  better  call  some- 
body ?" 

"I  think  you  had  better  not,"  returned  the 
lady  with  a  significant  frown,  and  drawing 
closer. 

On  this  hint  the  dress-maker  relinquished  the 
idea,  and  stood  looking  at  the  lady  as  hard  as 
the  lady  looked  at  her.  Meanwhile  the  dress- 
maker listened  with  amazement  to  the  odd  noises 
which  still  continued,  and  the  lady  listened  too, 
but  with  a  coolness  in  which  there  was  no  trace 
of  amazement. 

Soon  afterward  came  a  slamming  and  bang- 
ing of  doors ;  and  then  came  running  down  stairs 
a  gentleman  with  whiskers,  and  out  of  breath, 
who  seemed  to  be  red-hot. 

"Is  your  business  done,  Alfred?"  inquired 
the  lady. 

"Very  thoroughly  done,"  replied  the  gentle- 
man, as  he  took  his  hat  from  her. 

"You  can  go  up  to  Mr.  Fledgeby  as  soon  as 
you  like,"  said  the  lady,  moving  haughtily  away. 

"Oh!  And  you  can  take  these  three  pieces 
of  stick  with  you,"  added  the  gentleman  politely, 
"and  say,  if  you  please,  that  they  come  from 
Mr.  Alfred  Lammle,  with  his  compliments  on 
leaving  England.  Mr.  Alfred  Lammle.  Be  so 
good  as  not  to  forget  the  name." 

The  three  pieces  of  stick  were  three  broken 
and  frayed  fragments  of  a  stout  lithe  cane.  Miss 
Jenny  taking  them  wonderingly,  and  the  gentle- 
man repeating  with  a  grin,  "  Mr.  Alfred  Lammle, 
if  you'll  be  so  good.  Compliments,  on  leaving 
England,"  the  lady  and  gentleman  walked  away 
quite  deliberately,  and  Miss  Jenny  and  her 
crutch-stick  went  up  stairs.  "Lammle,  Lam- 
mle, Lammle?"  Miss  Jenny  repeated  as  she 
panted  from  stair  to  stair,  ' '  where  have  I  heard 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


311 


that  name?     Lamrale,    Lammle?      I  know! 
Saint  Mary  Axe !" 

With  a  gleam  of  new  intelligence  in  her  sharp 
face  the  dolls'  dress-maker  pulled  at  Fledgeby's 
bell.  No  one  answered ;  but  from  within  the 
chambers  there  proceeded  a  continuous  splutter- 
ing sound  of  a  highly  singular  and  unintelligible 
nature. 

"Good  gracious!  Is  Little  Eyes  choking?" 
cried  Miss  Jenny. 

Pulling  at  the  bell  again  and  getting  no  re- 
ply, she  pushed  the  outer  door,  and  found  it 
standing  ajar.  No  one  being  visible  on  her 
opening  it  wider,  and  the  spluttering  continu- 
ing, she  took  the  liberty  of  opening  an  inner 
door,  and  then  beheld  the  extraordinary  spec- 
tacle of  Mr.  Fledgeby  in  a  shirt,  a  pair  of  Turk- 
ish trowsers,  and  a  Turkish  cap,  rolling  over  and 
over  on  his  own  carpet,  and  spluttering  wonder- 
fully. 

"  Oh  Lord  !"  gasped  Mr.  Fledgeby.  "  Oh  my 
eye!  Stop  thief!  I  am  strangling.  Fire!  Oh 
my  eye !  A  glass  of  water.  Give  me  a  glass  of 
water.  Shut  the  door.  Murder!  Oh  Lord  !" 
And  then  rolled  and  spluttered  more  than  ever. 

Hurrying  into  another  room,  Miss  Jenny  got 
a  glass  of  water,  and  brought  it  for  Fledgeby's 
relief:  who,  gasping,  spluttering,  and  rattling 
in  his  throat  betweenwhiles,  drank  some  water, 
and  laid  his  head  faintly  on  her  arm. 

"Oh  my  eye!"  cried  Fledgeby,  struggling 
anew.  ' '  It's  salt  and  snuff.  It's  up  my  nose, 
and  down  my  throat,  and  in  my  windpipe. 
Ugh!  Ow!  Ow!  Ow!  Ah— h— h— h !"  And 
here,  crowing  fearfully,  with  his  eyes  starting 
out  of  his  head,  appeared  to  be  contending  with 
every  mortal  disease  incidental  to  poultry. 

"And  Oh  my  eye,  I'm  so  sore !"  cried  Fledge- 
by, starting  over  on  his  back,  in  a  spasmodic 
way  that  caused  the  dress-maker  to  retreat  to 
the  wall.  "  Oh  I  smart  so !  Do  put  something 
to  my  back  and  arms,  and  legs  and  shoulders. 
Ugh!  It's  down  my  throat  again  and  can't 
come  up.  Ow !  Ow  !  Ow !  Ah — h — h — h !  Oh 
I  smart  so  !"  Here  Mr.  Fledgeby  bounded  up, 
and  bounded  down,  and  went  rolling  over  and 
over  again. 

The  dolls'  dress-maker  looked  on  until  he 
rolled  himself  into  a  corner  with  his  Turkish 
slippers  uppermost,  and  then,  resolving  in  the 
first  place  to  address  her  ministration  to  the  salt 
and  snuff,  gave  him  more  water  and  slapped 
his  back.  But  the  latter  application  was  by  no 
means  a  success,  causing  Mr.  Fledgeby  to  scream, 
and  to  cry  out,  "Oh  my  eye!  don't  slap  me! 
I'm  covered  with  weales  and  I  smart  so  !" 

However,  he  gradually  ceased  to  choke  and 
crow,  saving  at  intervals,  and  Miss  Jenny  got 
him  into  an  easy-chair:  where,  with  his  eyes 
red  and  watery,  with  his  features  swollen,  and 
with  some  half-dozen  livid  bars  across  his  face, 
he  presented  a  most  rueful  sight. 

"What  ever  possessed  you  to  take  salt  and 
snuff,  young  man  ?"  inquired  Miss  Jenny. 

"  I  didn't  take  it,"  the  dismal  youth  replied. 
"  It  was  crammed  into  my  mouth." 

"Who  crammed  it?"  asked  Miss  Jenny. 

"He  did,"  answered  Fledgeby.  "The  as- 
sassin. Lammle.  He  rubbed  it  into  my  mouth 
and  up  my  nose  and  down  my  throat — Ow ! 
Ow  !  Ow !  Ah — h — h — h  !  Ugh  ! — to  prevent 
my  crying  out,  and  then  cruelly  assaulted  me." 


"With  this  ?"  asked  Miss  Jenny,  showing  the 
pieces  of  cane. 

"That's  the  weapon,"  said  Fledgeby,  eying 
it  with  the  air  of  an  acquaintance.  "  He  broke 
it  over  me.  Oh  I  smart  so!  How  did  you 
come  by  it  ?" 

"When  he  ran  down  stairs  and  joined  the 
lady  he  had  left  in  the  hall  with  his  hat" — Miss 
Jenny  began. 

"  Oh  !"  groaned  Mr.  Fledgeby,  writhing,  "  she 
was  holding  his  hat,  was  she  ?  I  might  have 
known  she  was  in  it." 

"When  he  came  down  stairs  and  joined  the 
lady  who  wouldn't  let  me  come  up,  he  gave  me 
the  pieces  for  you,  and  I  was  to  say,  '  With  Mr. 
Alfred  Lammle's  compliments  on  his  leaving 
England.' "  Miss  Jenny  said  it  with  such  spite- 
ful satisfaction,  and  such  a  hitch  of  her  chin 
and  eyes  as  might  have  added  to  Mr.  Fledgeby's 
miseries,  if  he  could  have  noticed  either,  in  his 
bodily  pain  with  his  hand  to  his  head. 

"Shall  I  go  for  the  police?"  inquired  Miss 
Jenny,  with  a  nimble  start  toward  the  door. 

"Stop!  No,  don't!"  cried  Fledgeby.  "Don't, 
please.  We  had  better  keep  it  quiet.  Will  you 
be  so  good  as  shut  the  door  ?  Oh  I  do  smart 
so !" 

In  testimony  of  the  extent  to  which  he  smart- 
ed Mr.  Fledgeby  came  wallowing  out  of  the 
easy-chair  and  took  another  roll  on  the  carpet. 

"Now  the  door's  shut,"  said  Mr.  Fledgeby, 
sitting  up  in  anguish,  with  his  Turkish  cap  half 
on  and  half  off,  and  the  bars  on  his  face  getting 
bluer,  "do  me  the  kindness  to  look  at  my  back 
and  shoulders.  They  must  be  in  an  awful  state, 
for  I  hadn't  got  my  dressing-gown  on  when  the 
brute  came  rushing  in.  Cut  my  shirt  away  from 
the  collar  ;  there's  a  pair  of  scissors  on  that  ta- 
ble. "Oh!"  groaned  Mr.  Fledgeby,  with  his 
hand  to  his  head  again.  "How  I  do  smart,  to 
be  sure !" 

"There?"  inquired  Miss  Jenny,  alluding  to 
the  back  and  shoulders. 

"Oh  Lord,  yes!"  moaned  Fledgeby,  rocking 
himself.     "And  all  over!    Every  where!" 

The  busy  little  dress-maker  quickly  snipped 
the  shirt  away,  and  laid  bare  the  results  of  as  fu- 
rious and  sound  a  thrashing  as  even  Mr.  Fledge- 
by merited.  "You  may  well  smart,  young 
man  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Jenny.  Arid  stealthily 
rubbed  her  little  hands  behind  him,  and  poked 
a  few  exultant  pokes  with  her  two  forefingers 
over  the  crown  of  his  head. 

"What  do  you  think  of  vinegar  and  brown 
paper?"  inquired  the  suffering  Fledgeby,  still 
rocking  and  moaning.  "  Does  it  look  as  if 
vinegar  and  brown  paper  was  the  sort  of  appli- 
cation ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mis*s  Jenny,  with  a  silent  chuckle. 
"It  looks  as  if  it  ought  to  be  Pickled." 

Mr.  Fledgeby  collapsed  under  the  word  "Pick- 
led," and  groaned  again.  "My  kitchen  is  on 
this  floor,"  he  said;  "you'll  find  brown  paper 
in  a  dresser-drawer  there,  and  a  bottle  of  vin- 
egar on  a  shelf.  Would  you  have  the  kindness 
to  make  a  few  plasters  and  put  'em  on  ?  It 
can't  be  kept  too  quiet." 

"One,  two  —  hum  —  five,  six.  You'll  want 
six,"  said  the  dress-maker. 

"There's  smart  enough,"  whimpered  Mr. 
Fledgeby,  groaning  and  writhing  again,  "for 
sixty." 


312 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Miss  Jenny  repaired  to  the  kitchen,  scissors  in 
hand,  found  the  brown  paper  and  found  the  vin- 
egar, and  skillfully  cut  out  and  steeped  six  large 
plasters.  When  they  were  all  lying  ready  on 
the  dresser,  an  idea  occurred  to  her  as  she  was 
about  to  gather  them  up. 

"I  think,"  said  Miss  Jenny,  with  a  silent 
laugh,  "  he  ought  to  have  a  little  pepper?  Just 
a  few  grains  ?  I  think  the  young  man's  tricks 
and  manners  make  a  claim  upon  his  friends  for 
a  little  pepper?" 

Mr.  Fledgeby's  evil  star  showing  her  the  pep- 
per-box on  the  chimney-piece,  she  climbed  upon 
a  chair  and  got  it  down,  and  sprinkled  all  the 
plasters  with  a  judicious  hand.  She  then  went 
back  to  Mr.  Fledge  by  and  stuck  them  all  on 
him :  Mr.  Fledgeby  uttering  a  sharp  howl  as 
each  was  put  in  its  place. 

"There,  young  man!"  said  the  dolls'  dress- 
maker. "  Now  I  hope  you  feel  pretty  comfort- 
able?" 

Apparently  Mr.  Fledgeby  did  not,  for  he 
cried,  by  way  of  answer,  "Oh — h  how  I  do 
smart!" 

Miss  Jenny  got  his  Persian  gown  upon  him, 
extinguished  his  eyes  crookedly  with  his  Persian 
cap,  and  helped  him  to  his  bed :  upon  which  he 
climbed  groaning.  "  Business  between  you  and 
me  being  out  of  the  question  to-day,  young  man, 
and  my  time  being  precious,"  said  Miss  Jenny 
then,  "  I'll  make  myself  scarce.  Are  you  com- 
fortable now?" 

"Oh  my  eye!"  cried  Mr.  Fledgeby.  "No, 
I  ain't.     Oh — h — h  !  how  I  do  smart!" 

The  last  thing  Miss  Jenny  saw,  as  she  looked 
back  before  closing  the  room  door,  was  Mr. 
Fledgeby  in  the  act  of  plunging  and  gamboling 
all  over  his  bed,  like  a  porpoise  or  dolphin  in 
its  native  element.  She  then  shut  the  bedroom 
door,  and  all  the  other  doors,  and  going  down 
stairs  and  emerging  from  the  Albany  into  the 
busy  streets,  took  omnibus  for  Saint  Mary  Axe  : 
pressing  on  the  road  all  the  gayly-dressed  ladies 
whom  she  could  see  from  the  window,  and 
making  them  unconscious  lay-figures  for  dolls, 
while  she  mentally  cut  them  out  and  basted  them. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

TWO   PLACES    VACATED. 

Set  down  by  the  omnibus  at  the  corner  of 
Saint  Mary  Axe,  and  trusting  to  her  feet  and 
her  crutch-stick  within  its  precincts,  the  dolls' 
dress-maker  proceeded  to  the  place  of  business 
of  Pubsey  and  Co.  All  there  was  sunny  and 
quiet  externally,  and  shady  and  quiet  internally. 
Hiding  herself  in  the  entry  outside  the  glass 
door,  she  could  see  from  that  post  of  observation 
the  old  man  in  his  spectacles  sitting  writing  at 
his  desk. 

"Boh!"  cried  the  dress-maker,  popping  in 
her  head  at  the  glass  door.  "Mr.  Wolf  at 
home?" 

The  old  man  took  his  glasses  off,  and  mildly 
laid  them  down  beside  him.  "  Ah !  Jenny,  is  it 
you?     I  though  you  had  given  me  up." 

"And  so  I  had  given  up  the  treacherous  wolf 
of  the  forest,"  she  replied  ;  "  but,  godmother,  it 
strikes  me  you  have  come  back.  I  am  not  quite 
sure,  because  the  wolf  and  you  change  forms.     I 


want  to  ask  you  a  question  or  two,  to  find  out 
whether  you  are  really  godmother  or  really 
wolf.     May  I  ?" 

"Yes,  Jenny,  yes."  But  Riah  glanced  to- 
ward the  door,  as  if  he  thought  his  principal 
might  appear  there,  unseasonably. 

' '  If  you're  afraid  of  the  fox,"  said  Miss  Jenny, 
"you  may  dismiss  all  prpsent  expectations  of 
seeing  that  animal.  He  won't  show  himself 
abroad  for  many  a  day." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  child  ?" 

"I  mean,  godmother,"  replied  Miss  Wren, 
sitting  down  beside  the  Jew,  "that  the  fox  has 
'  caught  a  famous  flogging,  and  that  if  his  skin 
and  bones  are  not  tingling,  aching,  and  smart- 
ing at  this  present  instant,  no  fox  did  ever  tingle, 
ache,  and  smart."  Therewith  Miss  Jenny  re- 
lated what  had  come  to  pass  in  the  Albany, 
omitting  the  few  grains  of  pepper. 

"Now,  godmother,"  she  went  on,  "I  partic- 
ularly wish  to  ask  you  what  has  taken  place  here 
since  I  left  the  wolf  here  ?  Because  I  have  an 
idea  about  the  size  of  a  marble  rolling  about  in 
my  little  noddle.  First  and  foremost,  are  you 
Pubsey  and  Co.,  or  are  you  either?  Upon  your 
solemn  word  and  honor." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"Secondly,  isn't  Fledgeby  both  Pubsey  and 
Co.  ?" 

The  old  man  answered  with  a  reluctant  nod. 

"My  idea,"  exclaimed  Miss  Wren,  "is  now 
about  the  size  of  an  orange.  But  before  it  gets 
any  bigger,  welcome  back,  dear  godmother !" 

The  little  creature  folded  her  arms  about  the 
old  man's  neck  with  great  earnestness,  and  kissed 
him.  "I  humbly  beg  your  forgiveness,  god- 
mother. I  am  truly  sorry.  I  ought  to  have  had 
more  faith  in  you.  But  what  could  I  suppose 
when  you  said  nothing  for  yourself,  you  know  ? 
I  don't  mean  to  oifer  that  as  a  justification,  but 
what  could  I  suppose  when  you  were  a  silent 
party  to  all  he  said?  It  did  look  bad;  now 
didn't  it?"  * 

"  It  looked  so  bad,  Jenny,"  responded  the  old 
man,  with  gravity,  "that  I  will  straightway  tell 
you  what  an  impression  it  wrought  upon  me.  I 
was  hateful  in  mine  own  eyes.  I  was  hateful  to 
myself,  in  being  so  hateful  to  the  debtor  and  to 
you.  But  more  than  that,  and  worse  than  that, 
and  to  pass  out  far  and  broad  beyond  myself — 
I  reflected  that  evening,  sitting  alone  in  my  gar- 
den on  the  house-top,  that  I  was  doing  dishonor 
to  my  ancient  faith  and  race.  I  reflected — 
clearly  reflected  for  the  first  time — that  in  bend- 
ing my  neck  to  the  yoke  I  was  willing  to  wear 
I  bent  the  unwilling  necks  of  the  whole  Jewish 
people.  For  it  is  not,  in  Christian  countries, 
with  the  Jews  as  with  other  peoples.  Men  say, 
'  This  is  a  bad  Greek,  but  there  are  good  Greeks. 
This  is  a  bad  Turk,  but  there  are  good  Turks.' 
Not  so  with  the  Jews.  Men  find  the  bad  among 
us  easily  enough — among  what  peoples  are  the 
bad  not  easily  found  ? — but  they  take  the  worst 
of  us  as  samples  of  the  best :  they  take  the  lowest 
of  us  as  presentations  of  the  highest ;  and  they 
say,  'All  Jews  are  alike.'  If,  doing  what  I  was 
content  to  do  here,  because  I  was  grateful  for  the 
past  and  have  small  need  of  money  now,  I  had 
been  a  Christian,  I  could  have  done  it,  compro- 
mising no  one  but  my  individual  self.  But  do- 
ing it  as  a  Jew,  I  could  not  choose  but  compro- 
mise the  Jews  of  all  conditions  and  all  countries. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


313 


It  is  a  little  hard  upon  us,  but  it  is  the  truth. 
I  would  that  all  our  people  remembered  it! 
Though  I  have  little  right  to  say  so,  seeing  that 
it  came  home  so  late  to  me." 

The  dolls'  dress-maker  sat  holding  the  old 
man  by  the  hand,  and  looking  thoughtfully  in 
his  face. 

"Thus  I  reflected,  I  say,  sitting  that  evening 
in  my  garden  on  the  house-top.  And  passing 
the  painful  scene  of  that  day  in  review  before  me 
many  times,  I  always  saw  that  the  poor  gentle- 
man believed  the  story  readily,  because  I  was 
one  of  the  Jews — that  you  believed  the  story 
readily,  my  child,  because  I  was  one  of  the  Jews 
— that  the  story  itself  first  came  into  the  inven- 
tion of  the  originator  thereof,  because  I  was  one 
of  the  Jews.  This  was  the  result  of  my  having 
had  you  three  before  me,  face  to  face,  and  see- 
ing the  thing  visibly  presented  as  upon  a  thea- 
tre. Wherefore  I  perceived  that  the  obligation 
was  upon  me  to  leave  this  service.  But  Jenny, 
my  dear,"  said  Riah,  breaking  off,  "I  promised 
that  you  should  pursue  your  questions,  and  I 
obstruct  them." 

"  On  the  contrary,  godmother ;  my  idea  is  as 
large  now  as  a  pumpkin — and  you  know  what  a 
pumpkin  is,  don't  you?  So  you  gave  notice 
that  you  were  going?  Does  that  come  next?" 
asked  Miss  Jenny,  with  a  look  of  close  attention. 

"I  indited  a  letter  to  my  master.  Yes.  To 
that  effect." 

"  And  what  said  Tingling-Tossing-Aching- 
Screaming-Scratching-Smarter  ?"  asked  Miss 
Wren,  with  an  unspeakable  enjoyment  in  the  ut- 
terance of  those  honorable  titles  and  in  the  rec- 
ollection of  the  pepper. 

"He  held  me  to  certain  months  of  servitude,  > 
which  were  his  lawful  term  of  notice.  They  ex- 
pire to-morrow.  Upon  their  expiration — not 
before — I  had  meant  to  set  myself  right  with  my 
Cinderella." 

"My  idea  is  getting  so  immense  now,"  cried 
Miss  Wren,  clasping  her  temples,  "  that  my  head 
won't  hold  it !  Listen,  godmother ;  I  am  go- 
ing to  expound.  Little  Eyes  (that's  Screaming- 
Scratching-Smarter)  owes  you  a  heavy  grudge 
for  going.  Little  Eyes  casts  about  how  best  to 
pay  you  off.  Little  Eyes  thinks  of  Lizzie.  Lit- 
tle Eyes  says  to  himself,  'I'll  find  out  where  he 
has  placed  that  girl,  and  I'll  betray  his  secret 
because  it's  dear  to  him.'  Perhaps  Little  Eyes 
thinks,  'I'll  make  love  to  her  myself  too;'  but 
that  I  can't  swear — all  the  rest  I  can.  So,  Lit- 
tle Eyes  comes  to  me,  and  I  go  to  Little  Eyes. 
That's  the  way  of  it.  And  now  the  mui'der's 
all  out,  I'm  sorry,"  added  the  dolls'  dress-maker, 
rigid  from  head  to  foot  with  energy  as  she  shook 
her  little  fist  before  her  eyes,  "  that  I  didn't  give 
him  Cayenne  pepper  and  chopped  pickled  Cap- 
sicum !" 

This  expression  of  regret  being  but  partially 
intelligible  to  Mr.  Riah,  the  old  man  reverted 
to  the  injuries  Fledgeby  had  received,  and  hint- 
ed at  the  necessity  of  his  at  once  going  to  tend 
that  beaten  cur. 

"Godmother,  godmother,  godmother!"  cried 
Miss  Wren  irritably,  "I  really  lose  all  patience 
with  you.  One  would  think  you  believed  in 
the  Good  Samaritan.  How  can  you  be  so  in- 
consistent?" 

"Jenny,  dear,"  began  the  old  man  gently, 
"it  is  the  custom  of  our  people  to  help — " 


"Oh!  Bother  your  people!"  interposed  Miss 
Wren,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "If  your  peo- 
ple don't  know  better  than  to  go  and  help  Little 
Eyes,  it's  a  pity  they  ever  got  out  of  Egypt. 
Over  and  above  that,"  she  added,  "he  wouldn't 
take  your  help  if  you  offered  it.  Too  much 
ashamed.  Wants  to  keep  it  close  and  quiet, 
and  to  keep  you  out  of  the  way." 

They  were  still  debating  this  point  when  a 
shadow  darkened  the  entry,  and  the  glass  door 
was  opened  by  a  messenger  who  brought  a  letter 
unceremoniously  addressed,  ' '  Riah. "  To  which 
he  said  there  was  an  answer  wanted. 

The  letter,  which  was  scrawled  in  pencil  up 
hill  and  down  hill,  and  round  crooked  corners, 
ran  thus :  • 

"Old  Riah, — Your  accounts  being  all  squared, 
go.  Shut  up  the  place,  turn  out  directly,  and 
send  me  the  key  by  bearer.  Go.  You  are  an 
unthankful  dog  of  a  Jew.     Get  out.  F." 

The  dolls'  dress-maker  found  it  delicious  to 
trace  the  screaming  and  smarting  of  Little  Eyes 
in  the  distorted  writing  of  this  epistle.  She 
laughed  over  it  and  jeered  at  it  in  a  convenient 
corner  (to  the  great  astonishment  of  the  mes- 
senger) while  the  old  man  got  his  few  goods  to- 
gether in  a  black  bag.  That  done,  the  shutters 
of  the  upper  windows  closed,  and  the  office  blind 
pulled  down,  they  issued  forth  upon  the  steps 
with  the  attendant  messenger.  There,  while 
Miss  Jenny  held  the  bag,  the  old  man  locked 
the  house  door,  and  handed  over  the  key  to  him  ; 
who  at  once  retired  with  the  same. 

"Well,  godmother,"  said  Miss  Wren,  as  they 
remained  upon  the  steps  together,  looking  at 
one  another.  "And  so  you're  thrown  upon  the 
world !" 

"It  would  appear  so,  Jenny,  and  somewhat 
suddenly." 

"Where  are  you  going  to  seek  your  fortune  ?" 
asked  Miss  Wren. 

The  old  man  smiled,  but  looked  about  him 
with  a  look  of  having  lost  his  way  in  life,  which 
did  not  escape  the  dolls'  dress-maker. 

"Verily,  Jenny,"  said  he,  "the  question  is  to 
the  purpose,  and  more  easily  asked  than  answer- 
ed. But  as  I  have  experience  of  the  ready  good- 
will and  good  help  of  those  who  have  given  oc- 
cupation to  Lizzie,  I  think  1  will  seek  them  out 
for  myself." 

"On  foot?"  asked  Miss  Wren,  with  a  chop. 

"Ay!"  said  the  old  man.  "Have  I  not  my 
staff?" 

It  was  exactly  because  he  had  his  staff,  and 
presented  so  quaint  an  aspect,  that  she  mistrust- 
ed his  making  the  journey. 

"The  best  thing  you  can  do,"  said  Jenny, 
"for  the  time  being,  at  all  events,  is  to  come 
home  with  me,  godmother.  Nobody's  there  but 
my  bad  child,  and  Lizzie's  lodging  stands  emp- 
ty." The  old  man  when  satisfied  that  no  in- 
convenience could  be  entailed  on  any  one  by  his 
compliance,  readily  complied ;  and  the  singular- 
ly-assorted couple  once  more  went  through  the 
streets  together. 

Now,  the  bad  child  having  been  strictly  charged 
by  his  parent  to  remain  at  home  in  her  absence, 
of  course  went  out ;  and,  being  in  the  very  last 
stage  of  mental  decrepitude,  went  out  with  two 
objects :  firstly,  to  establish  a  claim  he  conceived 
himself  to  have  upon  any  licensed  victualer  liv- 


314 


OUE  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


ing,  to  be  supplied  with  threepenny  worth  of  rum 
for  nothing ;  and,  secondly,  to  bestow  some 
maudlin  remorse  on  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn,  and 
see  what  profit  came  of  it.  Stumblingly  pur- 
suing these  two  designs — they  both  meant  rum, 
the  only  meaning  of  which  he  was  capable — the 
degraded  creature  staggered  into  Covent  Gar- 
den Market  and  there  bivouacked,  to  have  an 
attack  of  the  trembles  succeeded  by  an  attack 
of  the  horrors,  in  a  doorway. 

This  market  of  Covent  Garden  was  quite  out 
the  creature's  line  of  road,  but  it  had  the  at- 
traction for  him  which  it  has  for  the  worst  of 
the  solitary  members  of  the  drunken  tribe.  It 
may  be  the  companionship  of  the  nightly  stir,  or 
it  may  be  the  companionship  of  the  gin  and 
beer  that  slop  about  among  carters  and  huck- 
sters, or  it  may  be  the  companionship  of  the 
trodden  vegetable  refuse,  which  is  so  like  their 
own  dress  that  perhaps  they  take  the  Market  for 
a  great  wardrobe ;  but  be  it  what  it  may,  you 
shall  see  no  such  individual  drunkards  on  door- 
steps any  where  as  there.  Of  dozing  women- 
drunkards  especially,  you  shall  come  upon  such 
specimens  there,  in  the  morning  sunlight,  as  you 
might  seek  out  of  doors  in  vain  through  Lon- 
don. Such  stale,  vapid,  rejected  cabbage-leaf 
and  cabbage-stalk  dress  ;  such  damaged  orange 
countenance ;  such  squashed  pulp  of  humanity, 
are  open  to  the  day  nowhere  else.  So  the  at- 
traction of  the  Market  drew  Mr.  Dolls  to  it,  and 
he  had  out  his  two  fits  of  trembles  and  horrors 
in  a  doorway  on  which  a  woman  had  had  out 
her  sodden  nap  a  few  hours  before. 

There  is  a  swarm  of  young  savages  always 
flitting  about  this  same  place,  creeping  off  with 
fragments  of  orange-chests,  and  mouldy  litter 
— Heaven  knows  into  what  holes  they  can  con- 
vey them,  having  no  home! — whose  bare  feet 
fall  with  a  blunt,  dull  softness  on  the  pavement 
as  the  policeman  hunts  them,  and  who  are  (per- 
haps for  that  reason)  little  heard  by  the  Powers 
that  be,  whereas  in  top-boots  they  would  make 
a  deafening  clatter.  These,  delighting  in  the 
trembles  and  the  horrors  of  Mr.  Dolls,  as  in  a 
gratuitous  drama,  flocked  about  him  in  his  door- 
way, butted  at  him,  leaped  at  him,  and  pelted 
him.  Hence,  when  he  came  out  of  his  invalid 
retirement  and  shook  off  that  ragged  train,  he 
was  much  bespattered,  and  in  worse  case  than 
ever.  But  not  yet  at  his  worst;  for,  going  into 
a  public  house,  and  being  supplied  in  stress  of 
business  with  his  rum,  and  seeking  to  vanish 
without  payment,  he  was  collared,  searched, 
found  penniless,  and  admonished  not  to  try  that 
again,  by  having  a  pail  of  dirty  water  cast  over 
him.  This  application  superinduced  another  fit 
of  the  trembles ;  after  which  Mr.  Dolls,  as  find- 
ing himself  in  good  cue  for  making  a  call  on  a 
professional  friend,  addressed  himself  to  the 
Temple. 

There  was  nobody  at  the  chambers  but  Young 
Blight.  That  discreet  youth,  sensible  of  a  cer- 
tain incongruity  in  the  association  of  such  a 
client  with  the  business  that  might  be  coming 
some  day,  with  the  best  intentions  temporized 
with  Dolls,  and  offered  a  shilling  for  coach-hire 
home.  Mr.  Dolls,  accepting  the  shilling,  prompt- 
ly laid  it  out  in  two  threepennyworths  of  con- 
spiracy against  his  life,  and  two  threepenny- 
worths  of  raging  repentance.  Returning  to  the 
Chambers  with  which  burden,  he  was  descried 


coming  round  into  the  court  by  the  wary  young 
Blight  watching  from  the  window :  who  instant- 
ly closed  the  outer  door,  and  left  the  miserable 
object  to  expend  his  fury  on  the  panels. 

The  more  the  door  resisted  him  the  more  dan- 
gerous and  imminent  became  that  bloody  con- 
spiracy against  his  life.  Force  of  police  arriv- 
ing, he  recognized  in  them  the  conspirators,  and 
laid  about  him  hoarsely,  fiercely,  staringly,  con- 
vulsively, foamingly.  A  humble  machine,  fa- 
miliar to  the  conspirators,  and  called  by  the  ex- 
pressive name  of  Stretcher,  being  unavoidably 
sent  for,  he  was  rendered  a  harmless  bundle  of 
torn  rags  by  being  strapped  down  upon  it,  with 
voice  and  consciousness  gone  out  of  him,  and 
life  fast  going.  As  this  machine  was  borne  out 
at  the  Temple  gate  by  four  men  the  poor  little 
dolls'  dress-maker  and  her  Jewish  friend  were 
coming  up  the  street. 

"Let  us  see  what  it  is,"  cried  the  dress-maker. 
"Let  us  make  haste  and  look,  godmother." 

The  brisk  little  crutch-stick  was  but  too  brisk. 
"  Oh,  gentlemen,  gentlemen,  he  belongs  to  me !" 

"Belongs  to  you?"  said  the  head  of  the 
party,  stopping  it. 

"Oh  yes,  dear  gentlemen,  he's  my  child,  out 
without  leave.  My  poor,  bad,  bad  boy !  and  he 
don't  know  me,  he  don't  know  me !  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do,"  cried  the  little  creature,  wildly  beat- 
ing her  hands  together,  "when  my  own  child 
don't  know  me!" 

The  head  of  the  party  looked  (as  well  he 
might)  to  the  old  man  for  explanation.  He 
whispered,  as  the  dolls'  dress-maker  bent  over 
the  exhausted  form,  and  vainly  tried  to  extract 
some  sign  of  recognition  from  it:  "It's  her 
drunken  father." 

As  the  load  was  put  down  in  the  street,  Riah 
drew  the  head  of  the  party  aside,  and  whispered 
that  he  thought  the  man  was  dying.  "No,  sure- 
ly not?"  returned  the  other.  But  he  became 
less  confident  on  looking,  and  directed  the  bear- 
ers to  "  bring  him  to  the  nearest  doctor's  shop." 

Thither  he  was  brought ;  the  window  becom- 
ing from  within  a  wall  of  faces,  deformed  into 
all  kinds  of  shapes  through  the  agency  of  globu- 
lar red  bottles,  green  bottles,  blue  bottles,  and 
other  colored  bottles.  A  ghastly  light  shining 
upon  him  that  he  didn't  need,  the  beast  so  furi- 
ous but  a  few  minutes  gone  was  quiet  enough 
now,  with  a  strange,  mysterious  writing  on  his 
face,  reflected  from  one  of  the  great  bottles,  as 
if  Death  had  marked  him :   "  Mine." 

The  medical  testimony  was  more  precise  and 
more  to  the  purpose  than  it  sometimes  is  in  a 
Court  of  Justice.  "You  had  better  send  for 
something  to  cover  it.     All's  over." 

Therefore  the  police  sent  for  something  to 
cover  it,  and  it  was  covered  and  borne  through 
the  streets,  the  people  falling  away.  After  it 
went  the  dolls'  dress-maker,  hiding  her  face  in 
the  Jewish  skirts,  and  clinging  to  them  with 
one  hand,  while  with  the  other  she  plied  her 
stick.  It  was  carried  home,  and,  by  reason 
that  the  staircase  was  very  narrow,  it  was  put 
down  in  the  parlor — the  little  working-bench 
being  set  aside  to  make  room  for  it — and  there, 
in  the  midst  of  the  dolls  with  no  speculation  in 
their  eyes,  lay  Mr.  Dolls  with  no  speculation  in 
his. 

Many  flaunting  dolls  had  to  be  gayly  dressed 
before  the  money  was  in  the  dress-maker's  pocket 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


315 


to  get  mourning  for  Mr.  Dolls.  As  the  old  man, 
Riah,  sat  by,  helping  her  in  such  small  ways  as  he 
could,  he  found  it  difficult  to  make  out  whether 
she  really  did  realize  that  the  deceased  had  been 
her  father. 

"If  my  poor  boy,"  she  would  say,  "  had  been 
brought  up  better,  he  might  have  done  better. 
Not  that  I  reproach  myself.  I  hope  I  have  no 
cause  for  that." 

"None  indeed,  Jenny,  I  am  very  certain." 

"Thank  you,  godmother.  It  cheers  me  to 
hear  you  say  so.  But  you  see  it  is  so  hard  to 
bring  up  a  child  well,  when  you  work,  work, 
work,  all  day.  When  he  was  out  of  employ- 
ment I  couldn't  always  keep  him  near  me.  He 
got  fractious  and  nervous,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
let  him  go  into  the  streets.  And  he  never  did 
well  in  the  streets,  he  never  did  well  out  of 
sight.     How  often  it  happens  with  children  !" 

"Too  often,  even  in  this  sad  sense !"  thought 
the  old  man. 

"How  can  I  say  what  I  might  have  turned 
out  myself,  but  for  my  back  having  been  so  bad 
and  my  legs  so  queer,  when  I  was  young !"  the 
dress-maker  would  go  on.  "I  had  nothing  to 
do  but  work,  and  so  I  worked.  I  couldn't  play. 
But  my  poor  unfortunate  child  could  play,  and 
it  turned  out  the  worse  for  him." 

"And  not  for  him  alone,  Jenny." 

"Well!  I  don't  know,  godmother.  He  suf- 
fered heavily,  did  my  unfortunate  boy.  He  was 
yery,  very  ill  sometimes.  And  I  called  him  a 
quantity  of  names :"  shaking  her  head  over  her 
work,  and  dropping  tears.  "I  don't  know  that 
his  going  wrong  was  much  the  worse  for  me. 
If  it  ever  was,  let  us  forget  it." 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  you  are  a  patient  girl." 

"As  for  patience,"  she  would  reply  with  a 
shrug,  "not  much  of  that,  godmother.  If  I 
had  been  patient  I  should  never  fyave  called 
him  names.  But  I  hope  I  did  it  for  his  good. 
And  besides,  I  felt  my  responsibility  as  a  mo- 
ther so  much.  I  tried  reasoning,  and  reasoning 
failed.  I  tried  coaxing,  and  coaxing  failed.  I 
tried  scolding,  and  scolding  failed.  But  I  was 
bound  to  try  every  thing,  you  know,  with  such 
a  charge  upon  my  hands.  Where  would  have 
been  my  duty  to  my  poor  lost'  boy  if  I  had  not 
tried  every  thing!" 

With  such  talk,  mostly  in  a  cheerful  tone  on 
the  part  of  the  industrious  little  creature,  the 
day-work  and  the  night-work  were  beguiled  un- 
til enough  of  smait  dolls  had  gone  forth  to  bring 
into  the  kitchen,  where  the  working-bench  now 
stood,  the  sombre  stuff  that  the  occasion  required, 
and  to  bring  into  the  house  the  other  sombre 
preparations.  "And  now,"  said  Miss  Jenny, 
"having  knocked  off  my  rosy-cheeked  young 
friends,  I'll  knock  off  my  white-cheeked  self." 
This  referred  to  her  making  her  own  dress, 
which  at  last  was  done.  "The  disadvantage 
of  making  for  yourself,"  said  Miss  Jenny,  as  she 
stood  upon  a  chair  to  look  at  the  result  in  the 
glass,  "is,  that  you  can't  charge  any  body  else 
for  the  job,  and  the  advantage  is,  that  you 
haven't  to  go  out  to  try  on.  Humph  !  Very 
fair  indeed  !  If  He  could  see  me  now  (whoever 
he  is)  I  hope  he  wouldn't  repent  of  his  bargain  !" 

The  simple  arrangements  were  of  her  own 
making,  and  were  stated  to  Riah  thus  : 

"  I  mean  to  go  alone,  godmother,  in  my  usual 
carriage,  and  you'll  be  so  kind  as  keep  house 


while  I  am  gone.  It's  not  far  off.  And  when 
I  return,  we'll  have  a  cup  of  tea,  and  a  chat 
over  future  arrangements.  It's  a  very  plain  last 
house  that  I  have  been  able  to  give  my  poor  un- 
fortunate boy ;  but  he'll  accept  the  will  for  the 
deed,  if  he  knows  any  thing  about  it ;  and  if  he 
doesn't  know  any  thing  about  it,"  with  a  sob, 
and  wiping  her  eyes,  "why,  it  won't  matter  to 
him.  I  see  the  service  in  the  Prayer-book  says, 
that  we  brought  nothing  into  this  world  and  it  is 
certain  we  can  take  nothing  out.  It  comforts 
me  for  not  being  able  to  hire  a  lot  of  stupid  un- 
dertaker's things  for  my  poor  child,  and  seem- 
ing as  if  I  was  trying  to  smuggle  'em  out  of  this 
world  with  him,  when  of  course  I  must  break 
down  in  the  attempt,  and  bring  'em  all  back 
again.  As  it  is,  there'll  be  nothing  to  bring 
back  but  me,  and  that's  quite  consistent,  for  2" 
sha'n't  be  brought  back,  some  day !" 

After  that  previous  carrying  of  him  in  the 
streets,  the  wretched  old  fellow  seemed  to  be 
twice  buried.  He  was  taken  on  the  shoulders 
of  half  a  dozen  blossom-faced  men,  who  shuf- 
fled with  him  to  the  church-yard,  and  who  were 
preceded  by  another  blossom-faced  man,  affect- 
ing a  stately  stalk,  as  if  he  were  a  Policeman  of 
the  D(eath)  Division,  and  ceremoniously  pre- 
tending not  to  know  his  intimate  acquaintances, 
as  he  led  the  pageant.  Yet,  the  spectacle  of 
only  one  little  mourner  hobbling  after,  caused 
many  people  to  turn  their  heads  with  a  look  of 
interest. ' 

At  last  the  troublesome  deceased  was  got  into 
the  ground,  to  be  buried  no  more,  and  the  state- 
ly stalker  stalked  back  before  the  solitary  dress- 
maker, as  if  she  were  bound  in  honor  to  have  no 
notion  of  the  way  home.  Those  Furies,  the 
conventionalities,  being  thus  appeased,  he  left 
her. 

"I  must  have  a  very  short  cry,  godmother, 
before  I  cheer  up  for  good,"  said  the  little  creat- 
ure, coming  in.  "Because  after  all  a  child  is  a 
child,  you  know." 

It  was  a  longer  cry  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected. Howbeit,  it  wore  itself  out  in  a  shad- 
owy corner,  and  then  the  dress-maker  came 
forth,  and  washed  her  face,  and  made  the  tea. 
"  You  wouldn't  mind  my  cutting  out  something 
while  we  are  at  tea,  would  you  ?"  she  asked  her 
Jewish  friend,  with  a  coaxing  air. 

"  Cinderella,  dear  child,"  the  old  man  expos- 
tulated, "  will  you  never  rest  ?" 

"Oh!  It's  not  work,  cutting  out  a  pattern 
isn't,"  said  Miss  Jenny,  with  her  busy  little  scis- 
sors already  snipping  at  some  paper.  "  The 
truth  is,  godmother,  I  want  to  fix  it  while  I  have 
it  correct  in  my  mind." 

"  Have  you  seen  it  to-day  then  ?"  asked  Riah. 

"Yes,  godmother.1  Saw  it  just  now.  It's  a 
surplice,  that's  what  it  is.  Thing  our  clergymen 
wear,  you  know,"  explained  Miss  Jenny,  in  con- 
sideration of  his  professing  another  faith. 

"  And  what  have  you  to  do  with  that,  Jenny  ?" 

"Why,  godmother,"  replied  the  dress-maker, 
"you  must  know  that  we  Professors  who  live 
upon  our  taste  and  invention  are  obliged  to  keep 
our  eyes  always  open.  And  you  know  already 
that  I  have  many  extra  expenses  to  meet  just 
now.  So,  it  came  into  my  head  while  I  was 
weeping  at  my  poor  boy's  grave,  that  something 
in  my  way  might  be  done  with  a  clergyman." 

"What  can  be  done?"  asked  the  old  man. 


316 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Not  a  funeral,  never  fear!"  returned  Miss 
Jenny,  anticipating  his  objection  with  a  nod. 
"The  public  don't  like  to  be  made  melancholy, 
I  know  very  well.  I  am  seldom  called  upon  to 
put  my  young  friends  into  mourning ;  not  into 
real  mourning,  that  is ;  Court  mourning  they 
are  rather  proud  of.  But  a  doll  clergyman,  my 
dear — glossy  black  curls  and  whiskers — uniting 
two  of  my  young  friends  in  matrimony,"  said 
Miss  Jenny,  shaking  her  forefinger,  "is  quite 
another  affair.  If  you  don't  see  those  three  at 
the  altar  in  Bond  Street,  in  a  jiffy,  my  name's 
Jack  Robinson!" 

With  her  expert  little  ways  in  sharp  action, 
she  had  got  a  doll  into  whitey-brown  paper  or- 
ders before  the  meal  was  over,  and  was  display- 
ing it  for  the  edification  of  the  Jewish  mind, 
when  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  street-door. 
Riah  went  to  open  it,  and  presently  came  back, 


ushering  in,  with  the  grave  and  courteous  air 
that  sat  so  well  upon  him,  a  gentleman. 

The  gentleman  was  a  stranger  to  the  dress- 
maker ;  but  even  in  the  moment  of  his  casting 
his  eyes  upon  her,  there  was  something  in  his 
manner  which  brought  to  her  remembrance  Mr. 
Eugene  Wrayburn. 

' '  Pardon  me, "  said  the  gentleman.  ' '  You  are 
the  dolls'  dress-maker  ?" 

"I  am  the  dolls'  dress-maker,  Sir." 

"Lizzie  Hexam's  friend?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  replied  Miss  Jenny,  instantly  on 
the  defensive.     "And  Lizzie  Hexam's  friend." 

"  Here  is  a  note  from  her,  entreating  you  to 
accede  to  the  request  of  Mr.  Mortimer  Light- 
wood,  the  bearer.  Mr.  Riah  chances  to  know 
that  I  am  Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood,  and  will 
tell  you  so." 

Riah  bent  his  head  in  corroboration. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


317 


"  Will  you  read  the  note  ?" 

11  It's  very  short,"  said  Jenny,  with  a  look  of 
wonder,  when  she  had  read  it. 

"  There  was  no  time  to  make  it  longer.  Time 
was  so  very  precious.  My  dear  friend  Mr.  Eu- 
gene Wrayburn  is  dying." 

The  dress-maker  clasped  her  hands,  and  ut- 
tered a  little  piteous  cry. 

"Is  dying,"  repeated  Lightwood,  with  emo- 
tion, "at  some  distance  from  here.  He  is  sink- 
ing under  injuries  received  at  the  hands  of  a  vil- 
lain who  attacked  him  in  the  dark.  I  come 
straight  from  his  bedside.  He  is  almost  always 
insensible.  In  a  short  restless  interval  of  sensi- 
bility, or  partial  sensibility,  I  made  out  that  he 
asked  for  you  to  be  brought  to  sit  by  him.  Hardly 
relying  on  my  own  interpretation  of  the  indistinct 
sounds  he  made,  I  caused  Lizzie  to  hear  them. 
We  were  both  sure  that  he  asked  for  you." 

The  dress-maker,  with  her  hands  still  clasped, 
looked  affrightedly  from  the  one  to  the  other  of 
her  two  companions. 

"If  you  delay,  he  may  die  with  his  request 
ungratified,  with  his  last  wish — intrusted  to  me 
— we  have  long  been  much  more  than  brothers 
— unfulfilled.  I  shall  break  down  if  I  try  to 
say  more." 

In  a  few  moments  the  black  bonnet  and  the 
crutch-stick  were  on  duty,  the  good  Jew  was  left 
in  possession  of  the  house,  and  the  dolls'  dress- 
maker, side  by  side  in  a  chaise  with  Mortimer 
Lightwood,  was  posting  out  of  town. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE   DOLLS    DRESS-MAKER   DISCOVERS  A  WORD. 

A  darkened  and  hushed  room  ;  the  river  out- 
side the  windows  flowing  on  to  the  vast  ocean  ; 
a  figure  on  the  bed,  swathed  and  bandaged  and 
bound,  lying  helpless  on  its  back,  with  its  two 
useless  arms  in  splints  at  its  sides.  Only  two 
days  of  usage  so  familiarized  the  little  dress- 
maker with  this  scene,  that  it  held  the  place 
occupied  two  days  ago  by  the  recollections  of 
years. 

He  had  scarcely  moved  since  her  arrival. 
Sometimes  his  eyes  were  open,  sometimes  closed. 
When  they  were  open,  there  was  no  meaning  in 
their  unwinking  stare  at  one  spot  straight  before 
them,  unless  for  a  moment  the  brow  knitted  into 
a  faint  expression  of  anger,  or  surprise.  Then, 
Mortimer  Lightwood  would  speak  to  him,  and 
on  occasions  he  would  be  so  far  roused  as  to  make 
an  attempt  to  pronounce  his  friend's  name.  But. 
in  an  instant  consciousness  was  gone  again,  and 
no  spirit  of  Eugene  was  in  Eugene's  crushed 
outer  form. 

They  provided  Jenny  with  materials  for  ply- 
ing her  work,  and  she  had  a  little  table  placed 
at  the  foot  of  his  bed.  Sitting  there,  with  her 
rich  shower  of  hair  falling  over  the  chair-back, 
they  hoped  she  might  attract  his  notice.  With 
the  same  object  she  would  sing,  just  above  her 
breath,  when  he  opened  his  eyes,  or  she  saw  his 
brow  knit  into  that  faint  expression,  so  evanes- 
cent that  it  was  like  a  shape  made  in  water. 
But  as  yet  he  had  not  heeded.  The  "they"  here 
mentioned  were  the  medical  attendant ;  Lizzie, 
who  was  there  in  all  her  intervals  of  rest ;  and 
Lightwood,  who  never  left  him. 


The  two  days  became  three,  and  the  three 
days  became  four.  At  length,  quite  unexpect- 
edly, he  said  something  in  a  whisper. 

"What  was  it,  my  dear  Eugene?" 

"Will  you,  Mortimer — " 

"Willi—?" 

—"Send  for  her?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  she  is  here." 

Quite  unconscious  of  the  long  blank,  he  sup- 
posed that  they  were  still  speaking  together. 

The  little  dress-maker  stood  up  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  humming  her  song,  and  nodded  to  him 
brightly.  •*!  can't  shake  hands,  Jenny,"  said 
Eugene,  with  something  of  his  old  look ;  "but  I 
am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

Mortimer  repeated  this  to  her,  for  it  could 
only  be  made  out  by  bending  over  him  and 
closely  watching  his  attempts  to  say  it.  In  a 
little  while  he  added: 

"Ask  her  if  she  has  seen  the  children." 

Mortimer  could  not  understand  this,  neither 
could  Jenny  herself,  until  he  added : 

"Ask  her  if  she  has  smelt  the  flowers." 

"Oh!  I  know!"  cried  Jenny.  "I  understand 
him  now !"  Then  Lightwood  yielded  his  place 
to  her  quick  approach,  and  she  said,  bending 
over  the  bed,  with  that  better  look :  "You  mean 
my  long  bright  slanting  rows  of  children,  who 
used  to  bring  me  ease  and  rest?  You  mean  the 
children  who  used  to  take  me  up,  and  make  mc 
light?" 

Eugene  smiled,  "Yes." 

"I  have  not  seen  them  since  I  saw  you.  I 
never  see  them  now,  but  I  am  hardly  ever  in 
pain  now." 

"It  was  a  pretty  fancy,"  said  Eugene. 

"But  I  have  heard  my  birds  sing,"  cried  the 
little  creature,  "  and  I  have  smelt  my  flowers. 
Yes,  indeed  I  have  !  And  both  were  most  beau- 
tiful and  most  Divine !" 

"Stay  and  help  to  nurse  me,"  said  Eugene, 
quietly.  "I  should  like  you  to  have  the  fancy 
here,  before  I  die." 

She  touched  his  lips  with  her  hand,  and  shaded 
her  eyes  with  that  same  hand  as  she  went  back 
to  her  work  and  her  little  low  song.  He  heard 
the  song  with  evident  pleasure,  until  she  allowed 
it  gradually  to  sink  away  into  silence. 

"Mortimer." 

"  My  dear  Eugene." 

"If  you  can  give  me  any  thing  to  keep  me 
here  for  only  a  few  minutes — " 

"To  keep  you  here,  Eugene?" 

"To  prevent  my  wandering  away  I  don't  know 
where — for  I  begin  to  be  sensible  that  I  have  just 
come  back,  and  that  I  shall  lose  myself  again — 
do  so,  dear  boy!" 

Mortimer  gave  him  such  stimulants  as  could 
be  given  him  with  safety  (they  were  always  at 
hand,  ready),  and  bending  over  him  once  more, 
was  about  to  caution  him,  when  he  said : 

"Don't  tell  me  not  to  speak,  for  I  must  speak. 
If  you  knew  the  harassing  anxiety  that  gnaws 
and  wears  me  when  I  am  wandering  in  those 
places — where  are  those  endless  places,  Morti- 
mer?    They  must  be  at  an  immense  distance  !" 

He  saw  in  his  friend's  face  that  he  was  losing 
himself;  for  he  added  after  a  moment:  "Don't 
be  afraid — I  am  not  gone  yet.     What  was  it?" 

"You  wanted  to  tell  mc  something,  Eugene. 
My  poor  dear  fellow,  you  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing to  your  old  friend — to  the  friend  who  has 


318 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


always  loved  you,  admired  you,  imitated  yon, 
founded  himself  upon  you,  been  nothing  with- 
out you,  and  who,  God  knows,  would  be  here  in 
your  place  if  he  could  !" 

"Tut,  tut !"  said  Eugene,  with  a  tender  glance 
as  the  other  put  his  hand  before  his  face.  "I 
am  not  worth  it.  I  acknowledge  that  I  like  it, 
dear  boy,  but  I  am  not  worth  it.  This  attack, 
my  dear  Mortimer;  this  murder — " 

His  friend  leaned  over  him  with  renewed  at- 
tention, saying :  "You  and  I  suspect  some  one." 

"More  than  suspect.  But,  Mortimer,  while  I 
lie  here,  and  when  I  lie  here  no  longer,  I  trust 
to  you  that  the  perpetrator  is  never  brought  to 
justice." 

"Eugene?" 

"Her  innocent  reputation  would  be  ruined, 
my  friend.  She  would  be  punished,  not  he. 
I  have  wronged  her  enough  in  fact;  I  have 
wronged  her  still  more  in  intention.  You  rec- 
ollect what  pavement  is  said  to  be  made  of  good 
intentions.  It  is  made  of  bad  intentions  too. 
Mortimer,  I  am  lying  on  it,  and  I  know !" 

"Be  comforted,  my  dear  Eugene." 

"  I  will,  when  you  have  promised  me.  Dear 
Mortimer,  the  man  must  never  be  pursued.  If 
he  should  be  accused,  you  must  keep  him  silent 
and  save  him.  Don't  think  of  avenging  me ; 
think  only  of  hushing  the  story  and  protecting 
her.  You  can  confuse  the  case,  and  turn  aside 
the  circumstances.  Listen  to  what  I  say  to  you. 
It  was  not  the  schoolmaster,  Bradley  Headstone. 
Do  you  hear  me  ?  Twice ;  it  was  not  the  school- 
master, Bradley  Headstone.  Do  you  hear  me? 
Three  times;  it  was  not  the  schoolmaster,  Brad- 
ley Headstone." 

He  stopped,  exhausted.  His  speech  had  been 
whispered,  broken,  and  indistinct ;  but  by  a  great 
effort  he  had  made  it  plain  enough  to  be  unmis- 
takable. 

"Dear  fellow,  I  am  wandering  away.  Stay 
me  for  another  moment,  if  you  can." 

Lightwood  lifted  his  head  at  the  neck,  and 
put  a  wine-glass  to  his  lips.     He  rallied. 

"I  don't  know  how  long  ago  it  was  done, 
whether  weeks,  days,  or  hours.  No  matter. 
There  is  inquiry  on  foot,  and  pursuit.  Say! 
Is  there  not  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Check  it;  divert  it!  Don't  let  her  be 
brought  in  question.  Shield  her.  The  guilty 
man,  brought  to  justice,  would  poison  her  name. 
Let  the  guilty  man  go  unpunished.  Lizzie  and 
my  reparation  before  all !     Promise  me  !" 

"  Eugene,  I  do.     I  promise  you !" 

In  the  act  of  turning  his  eyes  gratefully  to- 
ward his  friend  he  wandered  away.  His  eyes 
stood  still,  and  settled  into  that  former  intent 
unmeaning  stare. 

Hours  and  hours,  days  and  nights,  he  remain- 
ed in  this  same  condition.  There  were  times 
when  he  would  calmly  speak  to  his  friend  after 
a  long  period  of  unconsciousness,  and  would  say 
he  was  better,  and  would  ask  for  something. 
Before  it  could  be  given  him  he  would  be  gone 
again. 

The  dolls'  dress-maker,  all  softened  compas- 
sion now,  watched  him  with  an  earnestness  that 
never  relaxed.  She  would  regularly  change  the 
ice,  or  the  cooling  spirit,  on  his  head,  and  would 
keep  her  ear  at  the  pillow  betweenwhiles,  listen- 
ing for  any  faint  words  that  fell  from  him  in  his 


wanderings.  It  was  amazing  through  how  many 
hours  at  a  time  she  would  remain  beside  him,  in 
a  crouching  attitude,  attentive  to  hi?  slightest 
moan.  As  he  could  not  move  a  hand,  he  could 
make  no  sign  of  distress ;  but,  through  this  close 
watching  (if  through  no  secret  sympathy  or  pow- 
er) the  little  creature  attained  an  understanding 
of  him  that  Lightwood  did  not  possess.  Morti- 
mer would  often  turn  to  her,  as  if  she  were  an 
interpreter  between  this  sentient  world  and  the 
insensible  man  ;  and  she  would  change  the  dress- 
ing of  a  wound,  or  ease  a  ligature,  or  turn  his 
face,  or  alter  the  pressure  of  the  bed-clothes  on 
him,  with  an  absolute  certainty  of  doing  right. 
The  natural  lightness  and  delicacy  of  touch 
wbjch  had  become  very  refined  by  practice  in 
her  miniature  work  no  doubt  was  involved  in 
this ;  but  her  perception  was  at  least  as  fine. 

The  one  word,  Lizzie,  he  muttered  millions 
of  times.  In  a  certain  phase  of  his  distressful 
state,  which  was  the  worst  to  those  who  tended 
him,  he  would  roll  his  head  upon  the  pillow,  in- 
cessantly repeating  the  name  in  a  hurried  and 
impatient  manner,  with  the  misery  of  a  disturbed 
mind,  and  the  monotony  of  a  machine.  Equal- 
ly, when  he  lay  still  and  staring,  he  would  re- 
peat it  for  hours  without  cessation,  but  then,  al- 
ways in  a  tone  of  subdued  warning  and  horror. 
Her  presence  and  her  touch  upon  his  breast  or 
face  would  often  stop  this*  and  then  they  learned 
to  expect  that  he  would  for  some  time  remain 
still,  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  that  he  would  be 
conscious  on  opening  them.  But  the  heavy  dis- 
appointment of  their  hope — revived  by  the  wel- 
come silence  of  the  room — was,  that  his  spirit 
would  glide  away  again  and  be  lost  in  the  mo- 
ment of  their  joy  that  it  was  there. 

This  frequent  rising  of  a  drowning  man  from 
the  deep,  to  sink  again,  was  dreadful  to  the  be- 
holders. But  gradually  the  change  stole  upon 
him  that  it  became  dreadful  to  himself.  His 
desire  to  impart  something  that  was  on  his 
mind,  his  unspeakable  yearning  to  have  speech 
with  his  friend  and  make  a  communication  to 
him,  so  troubled  him  when  he  recovered  con- 
sciousness that  its  term  was  thereby  shortened. 
As  the  man  rising  from  the  deep  would  disap- 
pear the  sooner  for  fighting  with  the  water,  so 
he  in  his  desperate  struggle  went  down  again. 

One  afternoon  when  he  had  been  lying  still, 
and  Lizzie,  unrecognized,  had  just  stolen  out  of 
the  room  to  pursue  her  occupation,  he  uttered 
Lightwood's  name. 

"My  dear  Eugene,  I  am  here." 

"  How  long  is  this  to  last,  Mortimer?" 

Lightwood  shook  his  head.  "  Still,  Eugene, 
you  are  no  worse  than  you  were." 

"  But  I  know  there's  no  hope.  Yet  I  pray  it 
may  last  long  enough  for  you  to  do  me  one  last 
service,  and  for  me  to  do  one  last  action.  Keep 
me  here  a  few  moments,  Mortimer.     Try,  try !" 

His  friend  gave  him  what  aid  he  could,  and 
encouraged  him  to  believe  that  he  was  more 
composed,  though  even  then  his  eyes  were  losing 
the  expression  they  so  rarely  recovered. 

"Hold  me  here,  dear  fellow,  if  you  can.  Stop 
my  wandering  away.     I  am  going!" 

'"Not  yet,  not  yet.  Tell  me,  dear  Eugene, 
what  is  it  I  shall  do  ?" 

"Keep  me  here  for  only  a  single  minute.  I 
am  going  away  again.  Don't  let  me  go.  Hear 
me  speak  first.     Stop  me — stop  me!" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


319 


u  My  poor  Eugene,  try  to  be  calm." 
"  I  do  try.     I  try  so  hard.     If  you  only  knew 
how  hard !     Don't  let  me  wander  till  I  have 
spoken.     Give  me  a  little  more  wine." 

Lightwood  complied.  Eugene,  with  a  most 
pathetic  struggle  against  the  unconsciousness 
that  was  coming  over  him,  and  with  a  look  of 
appeal  that  affected  his  friend  profoundly,  said : 
"You  can  leave  me  with  Jenny,  while  you 
speak  to  her  and  tell  her  what  I  beseech  of  her. 
You  can  leave  me  with  Jenny  while  you  are 
gone.  There's  not  much  for  you  to  do.  You 
won't  be  long  away." 

"No,  no,  no.  But  tell  me  what  it  is  that  I 
shall  do,  Eugene !" 

"  I  am  going!     You  can't  hold  me." 

"Tell  me  in  a  word,  Eugene!" 

His  eyes  were  fixed  again,  and  the  only  word 
that  came  from  his  lips  was  the  word  millions  of 
times  repeated.     Lizzie,  Lizzie,  Lizzie. 

But  the  watchful  little  dress-maker  had  been 
vigilant  as  ever  in  her  watch,  and  she  now  came 
up  and  touched  Lightwood's  arm  as  he  looked 
down  at  his  friend,  despairingly. 

"  Hush !"  she  said,  with  her  finger  on  her  lips. 
"His  eyes  are  closing.  He'll  be  conscious  when 
he  next  opens  them.  Shall  I  give  you  a  leading 
word  to  say  to  him  ?" 

"  O  Jenny,  if  you  could  only  give  me  the  right 
word !" 

"I  can.     Stoop  down." 

He  stooped,  and  she  whispered  in  his  ear. 
She  whispered  in  his  ear  one  short  word  of  a  sin- 
gle syllable.  Lightwood  started,  and  looked  at 
her. 

"  Try  it,"  said  the  little  creature,  with  an  ex- 
cited and  exultant  face.  She  then  bent  over  the 
unconscious  man,  and,  for  the  first  time,  kissed 
him  on  the  cheek,  and  kissed  the  poor  maimed 
hand  that  was  nearest  to  her.  Then,  she  with- 
drew to  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

Some  two  hours  afterward,  Mortimer  Light- 
wood  saw  his  consciousness  come  back,  and  in- 
stantly, but  very  tranquilly,  bent  over  him. 

"  Don't  speak,  Eugene.  Do  no  more  than  look 
at  me,  and  listen  to  me.    You  follow  what  I  say." 

He  moved  his  head  in  assent. 

"I  am  going  on  from  the  point  where  we 
broke  off.  Is  the  word  we  should  soon  have 
come  to — is  it — Wife  ?" 

"  O  God  bless  you,  Mortimer  !" 

"  Hush !  Don't  be  agitated.  Don't  speak. 
Hear  me,  dear  Eugene.  Your  mind  will  be 
more  at  peace,  lying  here,  if  you  make  Lizzie 
your  wife.  You  wish  me  to  speak  to  her,  and 
tell  her  so,  and  entreat  her  to  be  your  wife. 
You  ask  her  to  kneel  at  this  bedside  and  be  mar- 
ried to  you,  that  your  reparation  may  be  com- 
plete.    Is  that  so?" 

"Yes.     God  bless  you !     Yes." 

"It  shall  be  done,  Eugene.  Trust  it  to  me. 
I  shall  have  to  go  away  for  some  few  hours,  to 
give  effect  to  your  wishes.  You  see  this  is  un- 
avoidable ?"     ' 

1 '  Dear  friend,  I  said  so." 

"  True.  But  I  had  not  the  clew  then.  How 
do  you  think  I  got  it  ?" 

Glancing  wistfully  around,  Eugene  saw  Miss 
Jenny  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  looking  at  him  with 
her  elbows  on  the  bed,  and  her  head  upon  her 
hands.  There  was  a  trace  of  his  whimsical  air 
upon  him  as  he  tried  to  smile  at  her. 


"Yes  indeed,"  said  Lightwood,  "the  discov- 
ery was  hers.  Observe,  my  dear  Eugene  ;  while 
I  am  away  you  will  know  that  I  have  discharged 
my  trust  with  Lizzie,  by  finding  her  here,  in  my 
present  place  at  your  bedside,  to  leave  you  no 
more.  A  final  word  before  I  go.  This  is  the 
right  course  of  a  true  man,  Eugene.  And  I 
solemnly  believe,  with  all  my  soul,  that  if  Prov- 
idence should  mercifully  restore  you  to  us,  you 
will  be  bles&d  with  a  noble  wife  in  the  preserver 
of  your  life,  whom  you  will  dearly  love." 

"Amen.  I  am  sure  of  that.  But  I  shall  not 
come  through  it,  Mortimer." 

"You  will  not  be  the  less  hopeful  or  less 
strong,  for  this,  Eugene." 

"  No.  Touch  my  face  with  yours,  in  case  I 
should  not  hold  out  till  you  come  back.  I  love 
you,  Mortimer.  Don't  be  uneasy  for  me  while 
your  are  gone.  If  my  dear  brave  girl  will  take 
me,  I  feel  persuaded  that  I  shall  live  long  enough 
to  be  married,  dear  fellow." 

Miss  Jenny  gave  up  altogether  on  this  part- 
ing taking  place  between  the  friends,  and,  sitting 
with  her  back  toward  the  bed  in  the  bower  made 
by  her  bright  hair,  wept  heartily,  though  noise- 
lessly. Mortimer  Lightwood  was  soon  gone. 
As  the  evening  light  lengthened  the  heavy  re- 
flections of  the  trees  in  the  river,  another  figure 
came  with  a  soft  step  into  the  sick  room. 

"Is  he  conscious?"  asked  the  little  dress- 
maker, as  the  figure  took  its  station  by  the  pil- 
low. For,  Jenny  had  given  place  to  it  immedi- 
ately, and  could  not  see  the  sufferer's  face,  in 
the  dark  room,  from  her  new  and  removed  po- 
sition. 

"  He  is  conscious,  Jenny,"  murmured  Eugene 
for  himself.     "  He  knows  his  wife." 


CHAPTER  XL 


EFFECT  IS   GIVEN  TO   THE   DOLLS    DRESS-MAK- 
er's  DISCOVERY. 

Mrs.  John  Rokesmith  sat  at  needle-work  in 
her  neat  little  room,  beside  a  basket  of  neat  lit- 
tle articles  of  clothing,  which  presented  so  much 
of  the  appearance  of  being  in  the  dolls'  dress- 
maker's way  of  business,  that  one  might  have 
supposed  she  was  going  to  set  up  in  opposition 
to  Miss  Wren.  Whether  the  Complete  British 
Family  Housewife  had  imparted  sage  counsel 
anent  them,  did  not  appear,  but  probably  not, 
as  that  cloudy  oracle  was  nowhere  visible.  For 
certain,  however,  Mrs.  John  Rokesmith  stitched 
at  them  with  so  dextrous  a  hand,  that  she  must 
have  taken  lessons  of  somebody.  Love  is  in  all 
things  a  most  wonderful  teacher,  and  perhaps 
love  (from  a  pictorial  point  of  view,  with  nothing 
on  but  a  thimble)  had  been  teaching  this  branch 
of  needle-work  to  Mrs.  John  Rokesmith. 

It  was  near  John's  time  for  coming  home,  but 
as  Mrs.  John  was  desirous  to  finish  a  special  tri- 
umph of  her  skill  before  dinner,  she  did  not  go 
out  to  meet  him.  Placidly,  though  rather  con- 
sequentially smiling,  she  sat  stitching  away  with 
a  regular  sound,  like  a  sort  of  dimpled  little 
charming  Dresden-china  clock  by  the  very  best 
maker. 

A  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  ring  at  the  bell. 
Not  John;  or  Bella  would  have  flown  out  to 
meet  him.    Then  who,  if  not  John  ?    Bella  was 


320 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


asking  herself  the  question,  when  that  flutter- 
ing little  fool  of  a  servant  fluttered  in,  saying, 
"Mr.  Lightwood!" 

Oh  good  gracious ! 

Bella  had  but  time  to  throw  a  handkerchief 
over  the  basket,  when  Mr.  Lightwood  made  his 
bow.  There  was  something  amiss  with  Mr. 
Lightwood,  for  he  was  strangely  grave  and 
looked  ill. 

With  a  brief  reference  to  the  happy  time  when 
it  had  been  his  privilege  to  know  Mrs.  Roke- 
smith  as  Miss  Wilfer,  Mr.  Lightwood  explained 
what  was  amiss  with  him  and  why  he  came.  He 
came  bearing  Lizzie  Hexam's  earnest  hope  that 
Mrs.  John  Rokesmith  would  see  her  married. 

Bella  was  so  fluttered  by  the  request,  and  by 
the  short  narrative  he  had  feelingly  given  her, 
that  there  never  was  a  more  timely  smelling- 
bottle  than  John's  knock.  "My  husband," 
said  Bella ;   "  I'll  bring  him  in." 

But  that  turned  out  to  be  more  easily  said 
than  done ;  for,  the  instant  she  mentioned  Mr. 
Lightwood's  name,  John  stopped,  with  his  hand 
upon  the  lock  of  the  room  door. 

"  Come  up  stairs,  my  darling." 

Bella  was  amazed  by  the  flush  in  his  face,  and 
by  his  sudden  turning  away.  "  What  can  it 
mean  P"  she  thought,  as  she  accompanied  him 
up  stairs. 

"Now,  my  life,"  said  John,  taking  her  on  his 
knee,  "tell  me  all  about  it." 

All  very  well  to  say,  "  Tell  me  all  about  it;" 
but  John  was  very  much  confused.  His  atten- 
tion evidently  trailed  off,  now  and  then,  even 
while  Bella  told  him  all  about  it.  Yet  she  knew 
that  he  took  a  great  interest  in  Lizzie  and  her 
fortunes.     What  could  it  mean  ? 

"  Yon  will  come  to  this  marriage  with  me, 
John  dear?" 

"N — no,  my  love;  I  can't  do  that." 

"  You  can't  do  that,  John?" 

"No,  my  dear,  it's  quite  out  of  the  question. 
Not  to  be  thought  of." 

"  Am  I  to  go  alone,  John  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear,  you  will  go  with  Mr.  Light- 
wood." 

"Don't  you  think  it's  time  we  went  down  to 
Mr.  Lightwood,  John  dear?"  Bella  insinuated. 

"My  darling,  it's  almost  time  you  went,  but  I 
must  ask  you  to  excuse  me  to  him  altogether." 

"You  never  mean,  John  dear,  that  you  are 
not  going  to  see  him  ?  Why,  he  knows  you 
have  come  home.     I  told  him  so." 

"That's  a  little  unfortunate,  but  it  can't  be 
helped.  Unfortunate  or  fortunate,  I  positively 
can  not  see  him,  my  love." 

Bella  cast  about  in  her  mind  what  could  be 
his  reason  for  this  unaccountable  behavior,  as 
she  sat  on  his  knee  looking  at  him  in  astonish- 
ment and  pouting  a  little.  A  weak  reason  pre- 
sented itself. 

"John  dear,  you'never  can  be  jealous  of  Mr. 
Lightwood?" 

"Why,  my  precious  child,"  returned  her  hus- 
band, laughing  outright,  "how  could  I  be  jeal- 
ous of  him  ?     Why  should  I  be  jealous  of  him  ?" 

"Because  yon  know,  John,"  pursued  Bella, 
pouting  a  little  more,  "though  he  did  rather  ad- 
mire me  once,  it  was  not  my  fault." 

"It  was  your  fault  that  I  admired  yon,"  re- 
turned her  husband,  with  a  look  of  pride  in  her, 
"and  why  not  your  fault  that  he  admired  you? 


But  I  jealous  on  that  account?  Why,  I  must 
go  distracted  for  life  if  I  turned  jealous  of  every 
one  who  used  to  find  my  wife  beautiful  and  win- 
ning!" 

"I  am  half  angry  with  you,  John  dear,"  said 
Bella,  laughing  a  little,  "  and  half  pleased  with 
you  ;  because  you  are  such  a  stupid  old  fellow, 
and  yet  you  say  nice  things,  as  if  you  meant 
them.  Don't  be  mysterious,  Sir.  What  harm 
do  you  know  of  Mr.  Lightwood?" 

"None,  my  love." 

"  What  has  he  ever  done  to  you,  John?" 

"He  has  never  done  any  thing  to  me,  my 
dear.  I  know  no  more  against  him  than  I  know 
against  Mr.  Wrayburn  ;  he  has  never  done  any 
thing  to  me ;  neither  has  Mr.  Wrayburn.  And 
yet  I  have  exactly  the  same  objection  to  both 
of  them." 

"Oh,  John!"  retorted  Bella,  as  if  she  were 
giving  him  up  for  a  bad  job,  as  she  used  to  give 
up  herself.  "You  are  nothing  better  than  a 
sphinx !  And  a  married  sphinx  isn't  a — isn't  a 
nice  confidential  husband,"  said  Bella,  in  a  tone 
of  injury. 

"  Bella,  my  life,"  said  John  Rokesmith,  touch- 
ing her  cheek,  with  a  grave  smile,  as  she  cast 
down  her  eyes  and  pouted  again  ;  "look  at  me. 
I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"In  earnest,  Blue  Beard  of  the  secret  cham- 
ber?" asked  Bella,  clearing  her  pretty  face. 

"In  earnest.  And  I  confess  to  the  secret 
chamber.  Don't  you  remember  that  you  asked 
me  not  to  declare  what  I  thought  of  your  higher 
qualities  until  you  had  been  tried  ?" 

"Yes,  John  dear.  And  I  fully  meant  it,  and 
I  fully  mean  it." 

"The  time  will  come,  my  darling — I  am  no 
prophet,  but  I  say  so — when  you  will  be  tried. 
The  time  will  come,  I  thi-nk,  when  you  will  un- 
dergo a  trial  through  which  you  will  never  pass 
quite  triumphantly  for  me  unless  you  can  put 
perfect  faith  in  me." 

"Then  you  may  be-  sure  of  me,  John  dear, 
for  I  can  put  perfect  faith  in  you,  and  I  do,  and 
I  always,  always  will.  Don't  judge  me  by  a 
little  thing  like  this,  John.  In  little  things  I 
am  a  little  thing  myself— I  always  was.  But  in 
great  things  1  hope  not ;  I  don't  mean  to  boast, 
John  dear,  but  I  hope  not." 

He  was  even  better  convinced  of  the  truth  of 
what  she  said  than  she  was  as  he  felt  her  loving 
arms  about  him.  If  the  Golden  Dustman's  rich- 
es had  been  his  to  stake,  he  would  have  staked 
them  to  the  last  farthing  on  the  fidelity  through 
good  and  evil  of  her  affectionate  and  trusting 
heart. 

"Now  I'll  go  down  to,  and  go  away  with,  Mr. 
Lightwood,"  said  Bella,  springing  up.  "You 
are  the  most  creasing  and  tumbling  Clumsy- 
Boots  of  a  packer,  John,  that  ever  was;  but  if 
you're  quite  good,  and  will  promise  never  to  do 
so  any  more  (though  I  don't  know  what  you 
have  done !),  you  may  pack  me  a  little  bag  for  a 
night,  while  I  get  my  bonnet  on." 

He  gayly  complied,  and  she  tied  her  dimpled 
chin  up,  and  shook  her  head  into  her  bonnet, 
and  pulled  out  the  bows  of  her  bonnet-strings, 
and  got  her  gloves  on,  finger  by  finger,  and  final- 
ly got  them  on  her  little  plump  hands,  and  bade 
him  good-by,  and  went  down.  Mr.  Lightwood's 
impatience  was  much  relieved  when  he  found 
her  dressed  for  departure. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


521 


"  Mr.  Rokesmith  goes  with  us?"  he  said,  hesi- 
tating, with  a  look  toward  the  door. 

"Oh,  I  forgot!"  replied  Bella.  "His  best 
compliments.  His  face  is  swollen  to  the  size  of 
two  faces,  and  he  is  to  go  to  bed  directly,  poor 
fellow,  to  wait  for  the  doctor,  who  is  coming  to 
lance  him." 

u  It  is  carious,"  observed  Lightwood,  "that  I 
have  never  yet  seen  Mr.  Rokesmith,  though  we 
have  been  engaged  in  the  same  affairs." 

"  Really  ?"  said  the  unblushing  Bella. 

"I  begin  to  think,"  observed  Lightwood, 
"  that  I  never  shall  see  him." 

"  These  things  happen  so  oddly  sometimes," 
said  Bella,  with  a  steady  countenance,  "that 
there  seems  a  kind  of  fatality  in  them.  But  I 
am  quite  ready,  Mr.  Lightwood." 

They  started  directly  in  a  little  carriage  that 
Lightwood  had  brought  with  him  from  never- 
to-be-forgotten  Greenwich;  and  from  Green- 
wich they  started  directly  for  London;  and  in 
London  they  waited  at  a  railway  station  until 
such  time  as  the  Reverend  Frank  Milvey,  and 
Margaretta  his  wife,  with  whom  Mortimer  Light- 
wood  had  been  already  in  conference,  should 
come  and  join  them. 

That  worthy  couple  were  delayed  by  a  por- 
tentous old  parishioner  of  the  female  gender, 
who  was  one  of  the  plagues  of  their  lives,  and 
with  whom  they  bore  with  most  exemplary  sweet- 
ness and  good-humor,  notwithstanding  her  hav- 
ing an  infection  of  absurdity  about  her  that  com- 
municated itself  to  every  thing  with  which,  and 
every  body  with  whom,  she  came  in  contact. 
She  was  a  member  of  the  Reverend  Frank's  con- 
gregation, and  made  a  point  of  distinguishing 
herself  in  that  body  by  conspicuously  weeping  at 
every  thing,  however  eheering,  said  by  the  Rev- 
erend Frank  in  his  publie  ministration ;  also, 
by  applying  to  herself  the  various  lamentations 
of  David,  and  complaining  in  a  personally  in- 
jured manner  (much  in  arrear  of  the  clerk  and 
the  rest  of  the  respondents)  that  her  enemies 
were  digging  pitfalls  about  her,  and  breaking 
her  with  rods  of  iron.  Indeed,  this  old  widow 
discharged  herself  of  that  portion  of  the  Morn- 
ing and  Evening  Service  as  if  she  were  lodging 
a  complaint  on  oath  and  applying  for  a  Warrant 
before  a  magistrate.  .  But  this  was  not  her  most 
inconvenient  characteristic,  for  that  took  the 
form  of  an  impression,  usually  recurring  in  in- 
clement jveather  and  at  about  daybreak,  that 
she  had  something  on  her  mind,  and  stood  in 
immediate  need  of  the  Reverend  Frank  to  come 
and  take  it  off.  Many  a  time  had  that  kind 
creature  got  up,  and  gone  out  to  Mrs.  Sprodgkin 
(such  was  the  disciple's  name),  suppressing  a 
strong  sense  of  her  comicality  by  his  strong  sense 
of  duty,  and  perfectly  knowing  that  nothing  but 
a  cold  would  come  of  it.  However,  beyond 
themselves,  the  Reverend  Frank  Milvey  and  Mrs. 
Milvey  seldom  hinted  that  Mrs.  Sprodgkin  was 
hardly  worth  the  trouble  she  gave ;  but  both 
made  the  best  of  her,  as  they  did  of  all  their 
troubles. 

This  very  exacting  member  of  the  fold  ap- 
peared to  be  endowed  with  a  sixth  sense,  in  re- 
gard of  knowing  when  the  Reverend  Frank  Mil- 
vey least  desired  her  company,  and  with  prompti- 
tude appearing  in  his  little  hall.  Consequently, 
when  the  Reverend  Frank  had  willingly  engaged 
that  he  and  his  wife  would  accompany  Light- 


wood  back,  he  said,  as  a  matter  of  course :  ' '  We 
must  make  haste  to  get  out,  Margaretta,  my 
dear,  or  we  shall  be  descended  on  by  Mrs. 
Sprodgkin."  To  which  Mrs.  Milvey  replied,  in 
her  pleasantly  emphatic  way,  "Oh  yes,  for  she 
is  such  a  marplot,  Frank,  and  does  worry  so!" 
Words  that  were  scarcely  uttered  when  their 
theme  was  announced  as  in  faithful  attendance 
below,  desiring  counsel  on  a  spiritual  matter. 
The  points  on  which  Mrs.  Sprodgkin  sought 
elucidation  being  seldom  of  a  pressing  nature 
(as  Who  begat  Whom,  or  some  information  con- 
cerning the  Amorites),  Mrs.  Milvey  on  this  spe- 
cial occasion  resorted  to  the  device  of  buying  her 
off  with  a  present  of  tea  and  sugar,  and  a  loaf 
and  butter.  These  gifts  Mrs.  Sprodgkin  ac- 
cepted, but  still  insisted  on  dutifully  remaining 
in  the  hall,  to  courtesy  to  the  Reverend  Frank 
as  he  came  forth.  Who,  incautiously  saying  in 
his  genial  manner,  "Well,  Sally,  there  you 
are!"  involved  himself  in  a  discursive  address 
from  Mrs.  Sprodgkin,  revolving  around  the  re- 
sult that  she  regarded  tea  and  sugar  in  the  light 
of  myrrh  and  frankincense,  and  considered  bread 
and  butter  identical  with  locusts  and  wild  honey. 
Having  communicated  this  edifying  piece  of  in- 
formation, Mrs.  Sprodgkin  was  left  still  unad- 
journed in  the  hall,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Milvey 
hurried  in  a  heated  condition  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion. All  of  which  is  here  recorded  to  the  honor 
of  that  good  Christian  pair,  representatives  of 
hundreds  of  other  good  Christian  pairs  as  con- 
scientious and  as  useful,  who  merge  the  small- 
ness  of  their  work  in  its  greatness,  and  feel  in 
no  danger  of  losing  dignity  when  they  adapt 
themselves  to  incomprehensible  humbugs. 

"Detained  at  the  last  moment  by  one  who 
had  a  claim  upon  me,"  was  the  Reverend  Frank's 
apology  to  Lightwood,  taking  no  thought  of 
himself.  To  which  Mrs.  Milvey  added,  taking 
thought  for  him,  like  the  championing  little  wife 
she  was ;  "  Oh  yes,  detained  at  the  last  moment. 
But  as  to  the  claim,  Frank,  I  must  say  that  I  do 
think  you  are  ouer-considerate  sometimes,  and 
allow  that  to  be  a  little  abused." 

Bella  felt  conscious,  in  spite  of  her  late  pledge 
for  herself,  that  her  husband's  absence  would 
give  disagreeable  occasion  for  surprise  to  the 
Milveys.  Nor  could  she  appear  quite  at  her 
ease  when  Mrs.  Milvey  asked : 

"How  is  Mr.  Rokesmith,  and  is  he  gone  be- 
fore us,  or  does  he  follow  us?" 

It  becoming  necessary,  upon  this,  to  send  him 
to  bed  again  and  hold  him  in  waiting  to  be 
lanced  again,  Bella  did  it.  But  not  half  as  well 
on  the  second  occasion  as  on  the  first;  for,  a 
twice-told  white  one  seems  almost  to  become  a 
black  one,  when  you  are  not  used  to  it. 

"Oh  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Milvey,  "I  am  so 
sorry !  Mr.  Rokesmith  took  suck  an  interest  in 
Lizzie  Hexam,  when  we  were  there  before.  And 
if  we  had  only  known  of  his  face,  we  could  have 
given  him  something  that  would  have  kept  it 
down  long  enough  for  so  short  a  purpose." 

By  way  of  making  the  white  one  whiter,  Bella 
hastened  to  stipulate  that  he  was  not  in  pain. 
Mrs.  Milvey  was  so  glad  of  it. 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Milvey, 
"  a"[id  I  am  sure  you  don't,  Frank,  but  the  clergy 
and  their  wives  seem  to  cause  swelled  faces. 
Whenever  I  take  notice  of  a  child  in  the  school, 
it  seems  to  me  as  if  its  face  swelled  instantly. 


322 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Frank  never  makes  acquaintance  with  a  new  old 
woman,  but  she  gets  the  face-ache.  And  an- 
other thing  is,  we  do  make  the  poor  children 
sniff  so.  I  don't  know  how  we  do  it,  and  I 
should  be  so  glad  not  to ;  but  the  more  we  take 
notice  of  them,  the  more  they  sniff.  Just  as 
they  do  when  the  text  is  given  out. — Frank, 
that's  a  schoolmaster.  I  have  seen  him  some- 
where. 

The  reference  was  to  a  young  man  of  reserved 
appearance,  in  a  coat  and  waistcoat  of  black, 
and  pantaloons  of  pepper  and  salt.  He  had 
come  into  the  office  of  the  station,  from  its  in- 
terior, in  an  unsettled  way,  immediately  after 
Lightwood  had  gone  out  to  the  train ;  and  he 
had  been  hurriedly  reading  the  printed  bills  and 
notices  on  the  wall.  He  had  had  a  wandering 
interest  in  what  was  said  among  the  people  wait- 
ing there  and  passing  to  and  fro.  He  had  drawn 
nearer,  at  about  the  time  when  Mrs.  Milvey 
mentioned  Lizzie  Hexam,  and  had  remained 
near  since :  though  always  glancing  toward  the 
door  by  which  Lightwood  had  gone  out.  He 
stood  with  his  back  toward  them,  and  his  gloved 
hands  clasped  behind  him.  There  was  now  so 
evident  a  faltering  upon  him,  expressive  of  in- 
decision whether  or  no  he  should  express  his 
having  heard  himself  referred  to,  that  Mr.  Mil- 
vey spoke  to  him. 

"I  can  not  recall  your  name,"  he  said,  "but 
I  remember  to  have  seen  you  in  your  school." 

"  My  name  is  Bradley  Headstone,  Sir,"  he  re- 
plied, backing  into  a  more  retired  place. 

"I  ought  to  have  remembered  it,"  said  Mr. 
Milvey,  giving  him  his  hand.  "  I  hope  you  are 
well  ?     A  little  overworked,  I  am  afraid  ?" 

"Yes,  I  am  overworked  just  at  present,  Sir." 

"Had  no  play  in  your  last  holidav  time?" 

"No,  Sir." 

"All  work  and  no  play,  Mr.  Headstone,  will 
not  make  dullness,  in  your  case,  I  dare  say; 
but  it  will  make  dyspepsia,  if  you  don't  take 
care." 

"I  will  endeavor  to  take  care,  Sir.  Might 
I  beg  leave  to  speak  to  you,  outside,  a  mo- 
ment"?" 

"By  all  means." 

It  was  evening,  and  the  office  was  well  lighted. 
The  schoolmaster,  who  had  never  remitted  his 
watch  on  Lightwood's  door,  now  moved  by  an- 
other door  to  a  corner  without,  where  there  Avas 
more  shadow  than  light ;  and  said,  plucking  at 
his  gloves : 

"One  of  your  ladies,  Sir,  mentioned  within 
my  hearing  a  name  that  I  am  acquainted  with ; 
I  may  say,  well  acquainted  with.  The  name  of 
the  sister  of  an  old  pupil  of  mine.  He  was  my 
pupil  for  a  long  time,  and  has  got  on  and  gone 
upward  rapidly.  The  name  of  Hexam.  The 
name  of  Lizzie  Hexam."  He  seemed  to  be  a 
shy  man,  struggling  against  nervousness,  and 
spoke  in  a  very  constrained  way.  The  break  he 
set  between  his  two  last  sentences  was  quite  em- 
barrassing to  his  hearer. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Milvey.  "We  are  going 
down  to  see  her." 

"I  gathered  as  much,  Sir.  I  hope  there  is 
nothing  amiss  with  the  sister  of  my  old  pupil? 
I  hope  no  bereavement  has  befallen  her.  I 
hope  she  is  in  no  affliction  ?  Has  lost  no — rela- 
tion ?" 

Mr.  Milvey  thought  this  a  man  with  a  very 


odd  manner,  and  a  dark  downward  look;  but 
he  answered  in  his  usual  open  way. 

"I  am  glad  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Headstone,  that 
the  sister  of  your  old  pupil  has  not  sustained 
any  such  loss.  You  thought  I  might  be  going 
down  to  bury  some  one?" 

"  That  may  have  been  the  connection  of  ideas, 
Sir,  with  your  clerical  character,  but  I  was  not 
conscious  of  it. — Then  you  are  not,  Sir?" 

A  man  with  a  very  odd  manner  indeed,  and 
with  a  lurking  look  that  was  quite  oppressive. 

"  No.  In  fact,"  said  Mr.  Milvey,  "  since  you 
are  so  interested  in  the  sister  of  your  old  pupil, 
I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  I  am  going  down  to 
marry  her." 

The  schoolmaster  started  back. 

"Not  to  marry  her  myself,"  said  Mr.  Mil- 
vey, with  a  smile,  "  because  I  have  a  wife  al- 
ready. To  perform  the  marriage  service  at  her 
wedding." 

Bradley  Headstone  caught  hold  of  a  pillar  be- 
hind him.  If  Mr.  Milvey  knew  an  ashy  face 
when  he  saw  it,  he  saw  it  then. 

"You  are  quite  ill,  Mr.  Headstone!" 

H  It  is  not  much,  Sir.  It  will  pass  over  very- 
soon.  I  am  accustomed  to  be  seized  with  gid- 
diness. Don't  let  me  detain  you,  Sir ;  I  stand 
in  need  of  no  assistance,  I  thank  you.  Much 
obliged  by  your  sparing  me  these  minutes  of 
your  time." 

As  Mr.  Milvey,  who  had  no  more  minutes  to 
spare,  made  a  suitable  reply  and  turned  back 
into  the  office,  he  observed  the  schoolmaster  to 
lean  against  the  pillar  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  to  pull  at  his  neckcloth  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  tear  it  off.  The  Reverend  Frank  accordingly 
directed  the  notice  of  one  of  the  attendants  to 
him,  by  saying :  "There  is  a  person  outside  who 
seems  to  be  really  ill,  and  to  require  some  help, 
though  he  says  he  does  not." 

Lightwood  had  by  this  time  secured  their 
places,  and  the  departure-bell  was  about  to  be 
rung.  They  took  their  seats,  and  were  begin- 
ning to  move  out  of  the  station,  when  the  same 
attendant  came  running  along  the  platform,  look- 
ing into  all  the  carriages. 

"Oh!  You  are  here,  Sir!"  he  said,  spring- 
ing on  the  step,  and  holding  the  window-frame 
by  his  elbow,  as  the  carriage  moved.  "  That 
person  you  pointed  out  to  me  is  in  a  fit." 

"I  infer  from  what  he  told  me  that  he  is  sub- 
ject to  such  attacks.  He  will  come  to,  in  the 
air,  in  a  little  while." 

He  was  took  very  bad  to  be  sure,  and  was 
biting  and  knocking  about  him  (the  man  said) 
furiously.  Would  the  gentleman  give  him  his 
card,  as  he  had  seen  him  first  ?  The  gentleman 
did  so,  with  the  explanation  that  he  knew  no 
more  of  the  man  attacked  than  that  he  was  a 
man  of  a  very  respectable  occupation,  who  had 
said  he  was  out  of  health,  as  his  appearance 
would  of  itself  have  indicated.  The  attendant 
received  the  card,  watched  his  opportunity  for 
sliding  down,  slid  down,  and  so  it  ended. 

Then,  the  train  rattled  among  the  house-tops, 
and  among  the  ragged  sides  of  houses  torn  down 
to  make  way  for  it,  and  over  the  swarming  streets, 
and  under  the  fruitful  earth,  until  it  shot  across 
the  river :  bursting  over  the  quiet  surface  like  a 
bomb-shell,  and  gone  again  as  if  it  had  exploded 
in  the  rush  of  smoke  and  steam  and  glare.  A 
little  more,  and  again  it  roared  across  the  river, 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


323 


eugene's  bedside. 


a  great  rocket:  spurning  the  watery  turnings 
and  doublings  with  ineffable  contempt,  and  go- 
ing straight  to  its  end,  as  Father  Time  goes  to 
his.  To  whom  it  is  no  matter  what  living  wa- 
ters run  high  or  low,  reflect  the  heavenly  lights 
and  darknesses,  produce  their  little  growth  of 
weeds  and  flowers,  turn  here,  turn  there,  are 
noisy  or  still,  are  troubled  or  at  rest,  for  their 
course  has  one  sure  termination,  though  their 
sources  and  devices  are  many. 

Then,  a  carriage  ride  succeeded,  near  the  sol- 
emn river,  stealing  away  by  night,  as  all  things 
steal  away,  by  night  and  by  day,  so  quietly  yield- 
ing to  the  attraction  of  the  loadstone  rock  of 
Eternity ;  and  the  nearer  they  drew  to  the  cham- 
ber where  Eugene  lay,  the  more  they  feared  that 
they  might  find  his  wanderings  done.  At  last 
they  saw  its  dim  light  shining  out,  and  it  gave 
them  hope  :  though  Lightwood  faltered  as  he 
thought :  "If  he  were  gone,  she  would  still  be 
sitting  by  him." 


But  he  lay  quiet,  half  in  stupor,  half  in  sleep. 
Bella,  entering  with  a  raised  admonitory  finger, 
kissed  Lizzie  softly,  but  said  not  a  word.  Nei- 
ther did  any  of  them  speak,  but  all  sat  down  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  silently  waiting.  And  now, 
in  this  night-watch,  mingling  with  the  flow  of 
the  river  and  with  the  rush  of  the  train,  came 
the  questions  into  Bella's  mind  again :  What 
could  be  in  the  depths  of  that  mystery  of  John's? 
Why  was  it  that  he  had  never  been  seen  by 
Mr.  Lightwood,  whom  he  still  avoided?  When 
would  that  trial  come,  through  which  her  faith 
in,  and  her  duty  to,  her  dear  husband,  was  to 
carry  her,  rendering  him  triumphant?  For, 
that  had  been  his  term.  Her  passing  through 
the  trial  was  to  make  the  man  she  loved  with  all 
her  heart  triumphant.  Term  not  to  sink  out 
of  sight  in  Bella's  breast. 

Far  on  in  the  night  Eugene  opened  his  eyes. 
He  was  sensible,  and  said  at  once  :  "  How  does 
the  time  go  ?    Has  our  Mortimer  come  back  ?" 


334 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Lightwood  was  there  immediately,  to  answer 
for  himself.     "Yes,  Eugene,  and  all  is  ready." 

"Dear  boy!"  returned  Eugene  with  a  smile, 
"we  both  thank  you  heartily.  Lizzie,  tell 
them  how  welcome  they  are,  and  that  I  would 
be  eloquent  if  I  could." 

"  There  is  no  need,"  said  Mr.  Milvey.  "  We 
know  it.     Are  you  better,  Mr.  Wrayburn?" 

"I  am  much  happier,"  said  Eugene. 

"Much  better  too,  I  hope?" 

Eugene  turned  his  eyes  toward  Lizzie,  as  if 
to  spare  her,  and  answered  nothing. 

Then,  they  all  stood  around  the  bed,  and  Mr. 
Milvey,  opening  his  book,  began  the  service  ;  so 
rarely  associated  with  the  shadow  of  death  ;  so 
inseparable  in  the  mind  from  a  flush  of  life  and 
gayety  and  hope  and  health  and  joy.  Bella 
thought  how  different  from  her  own  sunny  little 
wedding,  and  wept.  Mrs.  Milvey  overflowed 
with  pity,  and  wept  too.  The  dolls'  dress- 
maker, with  her  hands  before  her  face,  wept  in 
her  golden  bower.  Reading  in  a  low  clear 
voice,  and  bending  over  Eugene,  who  kept  his 
eyes  upon  him,  Mr.  Milvey  did  his  office  with 
suitable  simplicity.  As  the  bridegroom  could 
not  move  his  hand,  they  touched  his  finders  with 
the  ring,  and  so  put  it  on  the  bride.  When  the 
two  plighted  their  troth  she  laid  her  hand  on 
his,  and  kept  it  there.  When  the  ceremony  was 
done,  and  all  the  rest  departed  from  the  room, 
she  drew  her  arm  under  his  head,  and  laid  her 
own  head  down  upon  the  pillow  by  his  side. 

"Undraw  the  curtains,  my  dear  girl,"  said 
Eugene,  after  a  while,  "and  let  us  see  our  wed- 
ding-day." 

The  sun  was  rising,  and  his  first  rays  struck 
into  the  room  as  she  came  back  and  put  her 
Ji])S  to  his.  "I  bless  the  day!"  said  Eugene. 
"I  bless  the  day !"  said  Lizzie. 

"You  have  made  a  poor  marriage  of  it,  my 
sweet  wife,"  said  Eugene.  "  A  shattered,  grace- 
less fellow,  stretched  at  his  length  here,  and 
next  to  nothing  for  you  when  you  are  a  young 
widow." 

"I  have  made  the  marriage  that  I  would 
have  given  all  the  world  to  dare  to  hope  for," 
she  replied. 

"You  have  thrown  yourself  away,"  said  Eu- 
gene, shaking  his  head.  "But  you  have  fol- 
lowed the  treasure  of  your  heart.  My  justifica- 
tion is,  that  you  had  thrown  that  away  first, 
dear  girl!" 

"  No.     I  had  given  it  to  you." 

"The  same  thing,  my  poor  Lizzie!" 

"Hush,  hush  !     A  very  different  thing." 

There  were  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  she  be- 
sought him  to  close  them.  "  No,"  said  Eugene, 
a.?ain  shaking  his  head;  "let  me  look  at  you, 
Lizzie,  while  I  can.  You  brave  devoted  girl ! 
You  heroine!" 

Her  own  eyes  filled  under  his  praises.  And 
when  he  mustered  strength  to  move  his  wounded 
head  a  very  little  way,  and  lay  it  on  her  bosom, 
the  tears  of  both  fell. 

"Lizzie,"  said  Eugene,  after  a  silence: 
"when  you  see  me  wandering  away  from  this 
refuge  that  I  have  so  ill  deserved,  speak  to  me 
by  my  name,  and  I  think  I  shall  come  back." 

"Yes,  dear  Eugene." 

"  There  !"  he  exclaimed,  smiling.  "  I  should 
have  gone  then,  but  for  that!" 

A  little  while  afterward,  when  he  appeared  to 


be  sinking  into  insensibility,  she  said,  in  a  calm 
loving  voice:  "Eugene,  my  dear  husband!" 
He  immediately  answered:  "There  again! 
You  see  how  you  can  recall  me !','  And  after- 
ward, when  he  could  not  speak,  he  still  an- 
swered by  a  slight  movement  of  his  head  upon 
her  bosom. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  sky  when  she  gen- 
tly disengaged  herself  to  give  him  the  stimulants 
and  nourishment  he  required.  The  utter  help- 
lessness of  the  wreck  of  him  that  lay  cast  ashore 
there  now  alarmed  her,  but  he  himself  appeared 
a  little  more  hopeful. 

"Ah,  my  beloved  Lizzie!"  he  said,  faintly. 
"How  shall  I  ever  pay  all  I  owe  you,  if  I  re- 
cover!" 

"Don't  be  ashamed  of  me,"  she  replied,  "  and 
you  will  have  more  than  paid  all." 

"It  would  require  a  life,  Lizzie,  to  pay  all; 
more  than  a  life." 

"Live  for  that,  then  ;  live  for  me,  Eugene; 
live  to  see  how  hard  I  will  try -to  improve  my- 
self, and  never  to  discredit  you." 

"My  darling  girl,"  he  replied,  rallying  more 
of  his  old  manner  than  he  had  ever  yet  got  to- 
gether. "  On  the  contrary,  I  have  been  think- 
ing whether  it  is  not  the  best  thing  I  can  do,  to 
die." 

"The  best  thing  you  can  do,  tcvleave  me  with 
a  broken  heart  ?" 

"I  don't  mean  that,  my  dear  girl.  I  was  not 
thinking  of  that.  What  I  was  thinking  of  was 
this.  Out  of  your  compassion  for  me,  in  this 
maimed  and  broken  state,  you  make  so  much  of 
me — you  think  so  well  of  me — you  love  me  so 
dearly." 

"  Heaven  knows  I  love  yon  dearly !" 

"And  Heaven  knows  I  prize  it!  Well.  If 
I  live,  you'll  find  me  out." 

"  I  shall  find  out  that  my  husband  has  a  mine 
of  purpose  and  energy,  and  will  turn  it  to  the 
best  account  ?" 

"I  hope  so,  dearest  Lizzie,"  said  Eugene, 
wistfully,  and  yet  somewhat  whimsically.  "I 
hope  so.  But  I  can't  summon  the  vanity  to 
think  so.  How  can  I  think  so,  looking  back  on 
such  a  trifling  wasted  youth  as  mine !  I  hum- 
bly hope  it ;  but  I  daren't  believe  it.  There  is  a 
sharp  misgiving  in  my  conscience  that  if  I  were 
to  live  I  should  disappoint  your  good  opinion 
and  my  own— and  that  I  ought  to  die,' my  dear !" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   PASSING    SHADOW. 

The  winds  and  tides  rose  and  fell  a  certain 
number  of  times,  the  earth  moved  round  the  sun 
a  certain  number  of  times,  the  ship  upon  the 
ocean  made  her  voyage  safely,  and  brought  a 
baby-Bella  home.  Then  who  so  blest  and  happy 
as  Mrs.  John  Rokesmith,  saving  and  excepting 
Mr.  John  Rokesmith  ! 

"Would  you  not  like  to  be  rich  now,  my  dar- 
ling?" 

"How  can  you  ask  me  such  a  question,  John 
dear?     Am  I  not  rich  ?" 

These  were  among  the  first  words  spoken  near 
the  baby-Bella  as  she  lay  asleep.  She  soon 
proved  to  bo  a  baby  of  wonderful  intelligence, 
evincing  the  strongest  objection  to  her  grand- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


325 


mother's  society,  and  being  invariably  seized  with 
a  painful  acidity  of  the  stomach  when  that  digni- 
fied lady  honored  her  with  any  attention. 

It  was  charming  to  see  Bella  contemplating 
this  baby,  and  finding  out  her  own  dimples  in 
that  tiny  reflection,  as  if  she  were  looking  in  the 
glass  without  personal  vanity.  Her  cherubic 
father  justly  remarked  to  her  husband  that  the 
baby  seemed  to  make  her  younger  than  before, 
reminding  him  of  the  days  when  she  had  a  pet 
doll  and  used  to  talk  to  it  as  she  carried  it  about. 
The  world  might  have  been  challenged  to  pro- 
duce another  baby  who  had  such  a  store  of  pleas- 
ant nonsense  said  and  sung  to  it,  as  Bella  said 
and  sung  to  this  baby  ;  or  who  was  dressed  and 
undressed  as  often  in  four-and-twenty  hours  as 
Bella  dressed  and  undressed  this  baby;  or  who 
was  held  behind  doors  and  poked  out  to  stop  its 
father's  way  when  he  came  home,  as  this  baby 
was;  or,  in  a  word,  who  did  half  the  number  or 
baby  things,  through  the  lively  invention  of  a 
gay  and  proud  young  mother,  that  this  inex- 
haustible baby  did. 

The  inexhaustible  baby  was  two  or  three 
months  old  when  Bella  began  to  notice  a  cloud 
upon  her  husband's  brow.  Watching  it,  she 
saw  a  gathering  and  deepening  anxiety  there, 
which  caused  her  great  disquiet.  More  than 
once  she  awoke  him  muttering  in  his  sleep ;  and, 
though  he  muttered  nothing  worse  than  her  own 
name,  it  was  plain  to  her  that  his  restlessness 
originated  in  some  load  of  care.  Therefore, 
Bella  at  length  put  in  her  claim  to  divide  this 
load,  and  bear  her  half  of  it. 

"You  know,  John  dear,"  she  said,  cheerily 
reverting  to  their  former  conversation,  "that! 
hope  I  may  safely  be  trusted  in  great  things. 
And  it  surely  can  not  be  a  little  thing  that  causes 
you  so  much  uneasiness.  It's  very  considerate 
of  you  to  try  to  hide  from  me  that  you  are  un- 
comfortable about  something,  but  it's  quite  im- 
possible to  be  done,  John  love." 

"T  admit  that  I  am  rather  uneasy,  my  own." 

"Then  please  to  tell  me  what  about,  Sir." 

But  no,  he  evaded  that.  "Never  mind!" 
thought  Bella,  resolutely.  "John  requires  me 
to  put  perfect  faith  in  him,  and  he  shall  not  be 
disappointed." 

She  went  up  to  London  one  day  to  meet  him, 
in  order  that  they  might  make  some  purchases. 
She  found  him  waiting  for  her  at  her  journey's 
end,  and  they  walked  away  together  through 
the  streets.  He  was  in  gay  spirits,  though  still 
harping  on  that  notion  of  their  being  rich  ;  and 
he  said,  now  let  them  make  believe  that  yonder 
fine  carriage  was  theirs,  and  that  it  was  waiting 
to  take  them  home  to  a  fine  house  they  had : 
what  would  Bella,  in  that  case,  best  like  to  find 
in  the  house?  Well!  Bella  didn't  know:  al- 
ready having  every  thing  she  wanted,  she  couldn't 
say.  But  by  degrees  she  was  led  on  to  confess 
that  she  would  like  to  have  for  the  inexhaustible 
baby  such  a  nursery  as  never  was  seen.  It  was 
to  be  "a  very  rainbow  for  colors,"  as  she  was 
quite  sure  baby  noticed  colors ;  and  the  stair- 
case was  to  be  adorned  with  the  most  exquisite 
flowers,  as  she  was  absolutely  certnin  baby  no- 
ticed flowers ;  and  there  was  to  be  an  aviary 
some  where,  of  the  loveliest  little  birds,  as  there 
was  not  the  smallest  doubt  in  the  world  that 
baby  noticed  birds.  Was  there  nothing  else? 
No,  John  dear.     The  predilections  of  the  inex- 


haustible baby  being  provided  for,  Bella  could 
think  of  nothing  else. 

They  Were  chatting  on  in  this  way,  and  John 
{  had  suggested,  "No  jewels  for  your  own  wear, 
for  instance?"  and  Bella  had  replied,  laughing. 
O !  if  he  came  to  that,  yes,  there  might  be  a 
beautiful  ivory  case  of  jewels  on  her  dressing- 
table  ;  when  these  pictures  were  in  a  moment 
darkened  and  blotted  out. 

They  turned  a  corner,  and  met  Mr.  Light- 
wood. 

He  stopped  as  if  he  were  petrified  by  the  sight 
of  Bella's  husband,  who  in  the  same  moment  had 
changed  color. 

"  Mr.  Lightwood  and  I  have  met  before,"  he 
said. 

"Met  before,  John  ?"  Bella  repeated  in  a  tone 
of  wonder.  "Mr.  Lightwood  told  me  he  had 
never  seen  you." 

"I  did  not  then  know  that  I  had,"  said  Light- 
wood,  discomposed  on  her  account.  "  I  believed 
that  I  had  only  heard  of — Mr.  Rokesmith." 
With  an  emphasis  on  the  name. 

"When  Mr.  Lightwood  saw  me,  my  love," 
observed  her  husband,  not  avoiding  his  eye,  but 
looking  at  him,  "my  name  was  Julius  Hand- 
ford." 

Julius  Handford  !  The  name  that  Bella  had 
so  often  seen  in  old  newspapers,  when  she  was 
an  inmate  of  Mr.  Boffin's  house!  Julius  Hand- 
ford,  who  had  been  publicly  entreated  to  appear, 
and  for  intelligence  of  whom  a  reward  had  been 
publicly  offered ! 

"I  would  have  avoided  mentioning  it  in  your 
presence,"  said  Lightwood  to  Bella,  delicately; 
"  but  since  your  husband  mentions  it  himself, 
I  must  confirm  his  strange  admission.  I  saw 
him  as  Mr.  Julius  Handford,  and  I  afterward 
(unquestionably  to  his  knowledge)  took  great 
pains  to  trace  him  out." 

"  Quite  true.  But  it  was  not  my  object  or  my 
interest,"  said  Rokesmith,  quietly,  "to  be  traced 
out." 

Bella  looked  from  the  one  to  the  other  in 
amazement. 

"Mr.  Lightwood,"  pursued  her  husband,  "as 
chance  has  brought  us  face  to  face  at  last — which 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  for  the  wonder  is,  that, 
in  spite  of  all  my  pains  to  the  contrary,  chance 
has  not  confronted  us  together  sooner — I  have 
only  to  remind  you  that  you  have  been  at  my 
house,  and  to  add  that  I  have  not  changed  my 
residence." 

"  Sir,"  returned  Lightwood,  with  a  meaning 
glance  toward  Bella,  "my  position  is  a  truly 
painful  one.  I  hope  that  no  complicity  in  a 
very  dark  transaction  may  attach  to  you ;  but 
you  can  not  fail  to  know  that  your  own  extraor- 
dinary conduct  has  laid  you  under  suspicion." 

"I  know  it  has,"  was  all  the  reply. 

"  My  professional  duty,"  said  Lightwood,  hes- 
itating, with  another  glance  toward  Bella,  "is 
greatly  at  variance  with  my  personal  inclination; 
but  I  doubt,  Mr.  Handford,  or  Mr.  Rokesmith, 
whether  I  am  justified  in  taking  leave  of  you 
here,  with  your  whole  course  unexplained." 

Bella  caught  her  husband  by  the  hand. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  darling.  Mr.  Light- 
wood  will  find  that  he  is  quite  justified  in  taking 
leave  of  me  here.  At  all  events."  added  Roke- 
smith, "he  will  find  that  I  mean  to  take  leave 
of  him  here." 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"I  think,  Sir,"  said  Lightwood,  "you  can 
scarcely  deny  that  when  I  came  to  your  house 
on  the  occasion  to  which  you  have  referred  you 
avoided  me  of  a  set  purpose." 

"Mr.  Lightwood,  I  assure  you  I  have  no  dis- 
position to  deny  it,  or  intention  to  deny  it.  I 
should  have  continued  to  avoid  you,  in  pursu- 
ance of  the  same  set  purpose,  for  a  short  time 
longer,  if  we  had  not  met  now.  I  am  going 
straight  home,  and  shall  remain  at  home  to- 
morrow until  noon.  Hereafter  I  hope  we  may 
be  better  acquainted.     Good-day." 

Lightwood  stood  irresolute,  but  Bella's  hus- 
band passed  him  in  the  steadiest  manner,  with 
Bella  on  his  arm ;  and  they  went  home  without 
encountering  any  further  remonstrance  or  mol- 
estation from  any  one. 

When  they  had  dined  and  were  alone,  John 
Rokesmith  said  to  his  wife,  who  had  preserved 
her  cheerfulness:  "And  you  don't  ask  me,  my 
dear,  why  I  bore  that  name?" 

"No,  John  love.  I  should  dearly  like  to 
know,  of  course"  (which  her  anxious  face  con- 
firmed) ;  "  but  I  wait  until  you  can  tell  me  of 
your  own  free-will.  You  asked  me  if  I  could 
have  perfect  faith  in  you,  and  I  said  yes,  and  I 
meant  it." 

It  did  not  escape  Bella's  notice  that  he  began 
to  look  triumphant.  She  wanted  no  strength- 
ening in  her  firmness ;  but  if  she  had  had  need 
of  any,  she  would  have  derived  it  from  his  kin- 
dling face. 

"  You  can  not  have  been  prepared,  my  dear- 
est, for  such  a  discovery  as  that  this  mysterious 
Mr.  Handford  was  identical  with  your  hus- 
band?" 

"No,  John  dear,  of  course  not.  But  you 
told  me  to  prepare  to  be  tried,  and  I  prepared 
myself." 

He  drew  her  to  nestle  closer  to  him,  and  told 
her  it  would  soon  be  over  and  the  truth  would 
soon  appear.  "And  now,"  he  went  on,  "lay 
stress,  my  dear,  on  these  words  that  I  am  going 
to  add.  I  stand  in  no  kind  of  peril,  and  I  can 
by  possibility  be  hurt  at  no  one's  hand." 

"You  are  quite,  quite  sure  of  that,  John 
dear?" 

"  Not  a  hair  of  my  head !  Moreover,  I  have 
done  no  wrong,  and  have  injured  no  man.  Shall 
I  swear  it  ?" 

"No,  John!"  cried  Bella,  laying  her  hand 
upon  his  lips  with  a  proud  look.  "Never  to 
me!" 

"But  circumstances,"  he  went  on  " — I  can, 
and  I  will,  disperse  them  in  a  moment — have 
surrounded  me  with  one  of  the  strangest  sus- 
picions ever  known.  You  heard  Mr.  Lightwood 
speak  of  a  dark  transaction?" 

"Yes,  John." 

"  You  are  prepared  to  hear  explicitly  what  he 
meant?" 

"Yes,  John." 

"  My  life,  he  meant  the  murder  of  John  Har- 
mon, your  allotted  husband." 

With  a  fast  palpitating  heart  Bella  grasped 
him  bv  the  arm.  "You  can  not  be  suspected, 
John  ?"" 

"  Dear  love,  I  can  be— for  I  am  !" 

There  was  silence  between  them  as  she  sat 
looking  in  his  face,  with  the  color  quite  gone 
from  her  own  face  and  lips.  "  How  dare  they  !" 
she  cried  at  length,  in  a  burst  of  generous  in- 


dignation. "My  beloved  husband,  how  dare 
they!" 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  as  she  opened  hers, 
and  held  her  to  his  heart.  "Even  knowing 
this,  you  can  trust  me,  Bella  ?" 

"I  can  trust  you,  John  dear,  with  all  my  soul. 
If  I  could  not  trust  you,  I  should  fall  dead  at 
your  feet." 

The  kindling  triumph  in  his  face  was  bright 
indeed  as  he  looked  up  and  rapturously  exclaim- 
ed, what  had  he  done  to  deserve  the  blessing  of 
this  dear,  confiding  creature's  heart !  Again  she 
put  her  hand  upon  his  lips,  saying,  "  Hush !" 
and  then  told  him,  in  her  own  little,  natural, 
pathetic  way,  that  if  all  the  world  were  against 
him  she  would  be  for  him ;  that  if  all  the  world 
repudiated  him  she  would  believe  him ;  that  if 
he  were  infamous  in  other  eyes  he  would  be 
honored  in  hers ;  and  that,  under  the  worst  un- 
merited suspicion,  she  would  devote  her  life  to 
consoling  him,  and  imparting  her  own  faith  in 
him  to  their  little  child. 

A  twilight  calm  of  happiness  then  succeeding 
to  their  radiant  noon,  they  remained  at  peace 
until  a  strange  voice  in  the  room  startled  them 
both.  The  room  being  by  that  time  dark,  the 
voice  said,  "Don't  let  the  lady  be  alarmed  by 
my  striking  a  light,"  and  immediately  a  match 
rattled  and  glimmered  in  a  hand.  The  hand 
and  the  match  and  the  voice  were  then  seen  by 
John  Rokesmith  to  belong  to  Mr.  Inspector, 
once  meditatively  active  in  this  chronicle. 

"I  take  the  liberty,"  said  Mr.  Inspector,  in  a 
business-like  manner,  "to  bring  myself  to  the 
recollection  of  Mr.  Julius  Handford,  who  gave 
me  his  name  and  address  down  at  our  place  a 
considerable  time  ago.  Would  the  lady  object 
to  my  lighting  the  pair  of  candles  on  the  chim- 
ney-piece, to  throw  a  further  light  upon  the  sub- 
ject? No?  Thank  you,  ma'am.  Now  we  look 
cheerful !" 

Mr.  Inspector,  in  a  dark-blue  buttoned-up 
frock-coat  and  pantaloons,  presented  a  servicea- 
ble, half-pay,  Royal  Arms  kind  of  appearance, 
as  he  applied  his  pocket-handkerchief  to  his  nose 
and  bowed  to  the  lady. 

"You  favored  me,  Mr.  Handford,"  said  Mr. 
Inspector,  "by  writing  down  your  name  and 
address,  and  I  produce  the  piece  of  paper  on 
which  you  wrote  it.  Comparing  the  same  with 
the  writing  on  the  fly-leaf  of  this  book  on  the 
table — and  a  sweet  pretty  volume  it  is — I  find 
the  writing  of  the  entry,  '  Mrs.  John  Rokesmith. 
From  her  husband  on  her  birthday' — and  very 
gratifying  to  the  feelings  such  memorials  are — 
to  correspond  exactly.  Can  I  have  a  word  with 
you  ?" 

"Certainly.  Here,  if  you  please,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Why,"  retorted  Mr.  Inspector,  again  using 
his  pocket  handkerchief,  "though  there's  no- 
thing for  the  lady  to  be  at  all  alarmed  at,  still, 
ladies  are  apt  to  "take  alarm  at  matters  of  busi- 
ness— being  of  that  fragile  sex  that  they're  not 
accustomed  to  them  when  not  of  a  strictly  do- 
mestic character — and  I  do  generally  make  it  a 
rule  to  propose  retirement  from  the  presence  of 
ladies,  before  entering  upon  business  topics.  Or 
perhaps,"  Mr.  Inspector  hinted,  "if  the  lady  was 
to  step  up  stairs,  and  take  a  look  at  baby  now !" 

"  Mrs.  Rokesmith,"  her  husband  was  begin- 
ning ;  when  Mr.  Inspector,  regarding  the  words 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


327 


as  an  introduction,  said,  "Happy,  I  am  sure,  to 
have  the  honor."     And  bowed,  with  gallantry. 

"  Mrs.  Rokesmith,"  resumed  her  husband,  "is 
satisfied  that  she  can  have  no  reason  for  being 
alarmed,  whatever  the  business  is." 

"Really?  Is  that  so?"  said  Mr.  Inspector. 
"But  it's  a  sex  to  live  and  learn  from,  and 
there's  nothing  a  lady  can't  accomplish  when  she 
once  fully  gives  her  mind  to  it.  It's  the  case 
with  my  own  wife.  Well,  ma'am,  this  good 
gentleman  of  yours  has  given  rise  to  a  rather 
large  amount  of  trouble  which  might  have  been 
avoided  if  he  had  come  forward  and  explained 
himself.  Well  you  see !  He  didn't  come  for- 
ward and  explain  himself.  Consequently,  now 
that  we  meet,  him  and  me,  you'll  say — and  say 
right — that  there's  nothing  to  be  alarmed  at,  in 
my  proposing  to  him  to  come  forward — or,  put- 
ting the  same  meaning  in  another  form,  to  come 
along  with  me — and  explain  himself." 

When  Mr.  Inspector  put  it  in  that  other  form, 
"to  come  along  with  me,"  there  was  a  relishing 
roll  in  his  voice,  and  his  eye  beamed  with  an 
official  lustre. 

"Do  you  propose  to  take  me  into  custody?" 
inquired  John  Rokesmith,  very  coolly. 

"Why  argue?"  returned  Mr.  Inspector  in  a 
comfortable  sort  of  remonstrance;  "ain't  it 
enough  that  I  propose  that  you  shall  come  along 
with  me?" 

**  For  what  reason  ?" 

"  Lord  bless  my  soul  and  body !"  returned  Mr. 
Inspector,  "I  wonder  at  it  in  a  man  of  your 
education.     Why  argue  ?" 

"What  do  you  charge  against  me ?" 

"I  wonder  at  you  before  a  lady,"  said  Mr. 
Inspector,  shaking  his  head  reproachfully :  "I 
wonder,  brought  up  as  you  have  been,  you 
haven't  a  more  delicate  mind !  I  charge  you, 
then,  with  being  some  way  concerned  in  the 
Harmon  Murder.  I  don't  say  whether  before, 
or  in,  or  after,  the  fact.  I  don't  say  whether 
with  having  some  knowledge  of  it  that  hasn't 
come  out." 

"  You  don't  surprise  me.  I  foresaw  your  visit 
this  afternoon." 

"Don't!"  said  Mr.  Inspector.  "Why,  why 
argue?  It's  my  duty  to  inform  you  that  what- 
ever you  say  will  be  used  against  you." 

"I  don't  think  it  will." 

"But  I  tell  you  it  will,"  said  Mr.  Inspector. 
"Now,  having  received  the  caution,  do  you  still 
say  that  you  foresaw  my  visit  this  afternoon  ?" 

"Yes.  And  I  will  say  something  more,  if 
you  will  step  with  me  into  the  next  room." 

With  a  reassuring  kiss  on  the  lips  of  the  fright- 
ened Bella,  her  husband  (to  whom  Mr.  Inspector 
obligingly  offered  his  arm)  took  up  a  candle 
and  withdrew  with  that  gentleman.  They  were 
a  full  half-hour  in  conference.  When  they  re- 
turned Mr.  Inspector  looked  considerably  aston- 
ished. 

"  I  have  invited  this  worthy  officer,  my  dear," 
said  John,  "  to  make  a  short  excursion  with  me 
in  which  you  shall  be  a  sharer.  He  will  take 
something  to  eat  and  drink,  I  dare  say,  on  your 
invitation,  while  you  are  getting  your  bonnet 
on." 

Mr.  Inspector  declined  eating,  but  assented  to 
the  proposal  of  a  glnss  of  brandy  and  water. 
Mixing  this  cold,  and  pensively  consuming  it, 
he  broke  at  intervals  into  such  soliloquies  as  that 


he  never  did  know  such  a  move,  that  he  never 
had  been  so  graveled,  and  that  what  a  game  was 
this  to  try  the  sort  of  stuff  a  man's  opinion  of 
himself  was  made  of!  Concurrently  with  these 
comments,  he  more  than  once  burst  out  a  laugh- 
ing, with  the  half-enjoying  and  half-piqued  air 
of  a  man  who  had  given  up  a  good  conundrum, 
after  much  guessing,  and  been  told  the  answer. 
Bella  was  so  timid  of  him,  that  she  noted  these 
things  in  a  half-shrinking,  half-perceptive  way, 
and  similarly  noted  that  there  was  a  great  change 
in  his  manner  toward  John.  That  coming-along- 
with-him  deportment  was  now  lost  in  long  mus- 
ing looks  at  John  and  at  herself,  and  sometimes 
in  slow  heavy  rubs  of  his  hand  across  his  fore- 
head, as  if  he  were  ironing  out  the  creases  which 
his  deep  pondering  made  there.  He  had  had 
some  coughing  and  whistling  satellites  secretly 
gravitating  toward  him  about  the  premises,  but 
they  were  now  dismissed,  and  he  eyed  John  as 
if  he  had  meant  to  do  him  a  public  service,  but 
had  unfortunately  been  anticipated.  Whether 
Bella  might  have  noted  any  thing  more,  if  she 
had  been  less  afraid  of  him,  she  could  not  de- 
termine; but  it  was  all  inexplicable  to  her,  and 
not  the  faintest  flash  of  the  real  state  of  the  case 
broke  in  upon  her  mind.  Mr.  Inspector's  in- 
creased notice  of  herself,  and  knowing  way  of 
raising  his  eyebrows  when  their  eyes  by  any 
chance  met,  as  if  he  put  the  question  "Don't 
you  see?"  augmented  her  timidity,  and,  conse- 
quently, her  perplexity.  For  all  these  reasons, 
when  he  and  she  and  John,  at  toward  nine 
o'clock  of  a  winter  evening,  went  to  London,  and 
began  driving  from  London  Bridge,  among  low- 
lying  water-side  wharves  and  docks  and  strange 
places,  Bella  was  in  the  state  of  a  dreamer ;  per- 
fectly unable  to  account  for  her  being  there,  per- 
fectly unable  to  forecast  what  would  happen 
next,  or  whither  she  was  going,  or  why ;  certain 
of  nothing  in  the  immediate  present,  but  that 
she  confided  in  John,  and  that  John  seemed 
somehow  to  be  getting  more  triumphant.  But 
what  a  certainty  was  that ! 

They  alighted  at  last  at  the  corner  of  a  court, 
where  there  was  a  building  with  a  bright  lamp 
and  a  wicket  gate.  Its  orderly  appearance  was 
very  unlike  that  of  the  surrounding  neighbor- 
hood, and  was  explained  by  the  inscription  Po- 
lice Station. 

"We  are  not  going  in  here,  John?"  said 
Bella,  clinging  to  him. 

"Yes,  my  dear;  but  of  our  own  accord.  We 
shall  come  out  again  as  easily,  never  fear." 

The  whitewashed  room  was  pure  white  as  of 
old,  the  methodical  book-keeping  was  in  peace- 
ful progress  as  of  old,  and  some  distant  howler 
was  banging  against  a  cell  door  as  of  old.  The 
sanctuary  was  not  a  permanent  abiding-place ; 
but  a  kind  of  criminal  Pickford's.  The  lower 
passions  and  vices  were  regularly  ticked  off  in 
the  books,  warehoused  in  the  cells,  carted  away 
as  per  accompanying  invoice,  and  left  no  mark 
upon  it. 

Mr.  Inspector  placed  two  chairs  for  his  visit- 
ors before  the  fire,  and  communed  in  a  low  voice 
with  a  brother  of  his  order  (also  of  a  half-pay 
and  Royal  Arms  aspect),  who,  judged  only  by 
his  occupation  at  the  moment,  might  have  been 
a  writing-master,  setting  copies.  Their  confer- 
ence done,  Mr.  Inspector  returned  to  the  fire- 
place, and,  having  observed  that  he  would  step 


828 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


round  to  the  Fellowships  and  see  how  matters 
stood,  went  out.  He  soon  came  back  again, 
saying,  "Nothing  could  be  better,  for  they're  at 
supper  with  Miss  Abbey  in  the  bar ;"  and  then 
they  all  three  went  out  together. 

Still,  as  in  a  dream,  Bella  found  herself  en- 
tering a  snug  old-fashioned  public  house,  and 
found  herself  smuggled  into  a  little  three-cor- 
nered room  nearly  opposite  the  bar  of  that  es- 
tablishment. Mr.  Inspector  achieved  the  smug- 
gling of  herself  and  John  into  this  queer  room, 
called  Cozy  in  an  inscription  on  the  door,  by 
entering  in  the  narrow  passage  first  in  order, 
and  suddenly  turning  round  upon  them  with 
extended  arms,  as  if  they  had  been  two  sheep. 
The  room  was  lighted  for  their  reception. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Inspector  to  John,  turning 
the  gas  lower ;  "  I'll  mix  with  'em  in  a  casual 
way,  and  when  I  say  Identification,  perhaps 
you'll  show  yourself." 

John  nodded,  and  Mr.  Inspector  went  alone 
to  the  half-door  of  the  bar.  From  the  dim  door- 
way of  Cozy,  within  which  Bella  and  her  hus- 
band stood,  they  could  see  a  comfortable  little 
party  of  three  persons  sitting  at  supper  in  the 
bar,  and  could  hear  every  thing  that  was  said. 

The  three  persons  were  Miss  Abbey  and  two 
male  guests.  To  whom  collectively  Mr.  In- 
spector remarked  that  the  weather  was  getting 
sharp  for  the  time  of  year. 

"It  need  be  sharp  to  suit  your  wits,  Sir," 
said  Miss  Abbey.  "What  have  you  got  in 
hand  now?" 

"Thanking  you  for  your  compliment:  not 
much,  Miss  Abbey,"  was  Mr.  Inspector's  rejoin- 
der. 

"Who  have  you  got  in  Cozy?"  asked  Miss 
Abbey. 

"Only  a  gentleman  and  his  wife,  Miss." 

"  And  who  are  they  ?  If  one  may  ask  it  with- 
out detriment  to  your  deep  plans  in  the  interests 
of  the  honest  public?"  said  Miss  Abbey,  proud 
of  Mr.  Inspector  as  an  administrative  genius. 

"They  are  strangers  in  this  part  of  the  town, 
Miss  Abbey.  They  are  waiting  till  I  shall  want 
the  gentleman  to  show  himself  somewhere,  for 
half  a  moment." 

"While  they're  waiting,"  said  Miss  Abbey, 
"couldn't  you  join  us?" 

Mr.  Inspector  immediately  slipped  into  the 
bar,  and  sat  down  at  the  side  of  the  half-door, 
with  his  back  toward  the  passage,  and  directly 
facing  the  two  guests.  "I  don't  take  my  sup- 
per till  later  in  the  night,"  said  he,  "and  there- 
fore I  won't  disturb  the  compactness  of  the  ta- 
ble. But  I'll  take  a  glass  of  flip,  if  that's  flip  in 
the  jug  in  the  fender." 

"That's  flip,"  replied  Miss  Abbey,  "and  it's 
my  making,  and  if  even  you  can  find  out  better 
I  shall  be  glad  to  know  where."  Filling  him, 
with  hospitable  hands,  a  steaming  tumbler,  Miss 
Abbey  replaced  the  jug  by  the  fire;  the  com- 
pany not  having  yet  arrived  at  the  flip  stage  of 
their  supper,  but  being  as  yet  skirmishing  with 
strong  ale. 

• '  Ah— h  !"  cried  Mr.  Inspector.  "  That's  the 
smack!  There's  not  a  Detective  in  the  Force, 
Miss  Abbey,  that  could  find  out  better  stuff  than 
that." 

"Glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  rejoined  Miss  Ab- 
bey.    "You  ought  to  know,  if  any  body  does." 

"Mr.  Job  Potterson,"  Mr.  Inspector  contin- 


ued, "I  drink  your  health.  Mr.  Jacob  Kibble, 
I  drink  yours.  Hope  you  have  made  a  prosper- 
ous voyage  home,  gentlemen  both." 

Mr.  Kibble,  an  unctuous  broad  man  of  few 
words  and  many  mouthfuls,  said,  more  briefly 
than  pointedly,  raising  his  ale  to  his  lips :  "  Same 
to  you."  Mr.  Job  Potterson,  a  semi-seafaring 
man  of  obliging  demeanor,  said,  "Thank  you, 
Sir." 

"Lord  bless  my  soul  and  body!"  cried  Mr. 
Inspector.  "Talk  of  trades,  Miss  Abbey,  and 
the  way  they  set  their  marks  on  men"  (a  subject 
which  nobody  had  approached) ;  who  wouldn't 
know  your  brother  to  be  a  Steward  !  There's  a 
bright  and  ready  twinkle  in  IBs  eye,  there's  a 
neatness  in  his  action,  there's  a  smartness  in  his 
figure,  there's  an  air  of  reliability  about  him  in 
case  you  wanted  a  basin,  which  points  out  the 
steward  !  And  Mr.  Kibble  ;  ain't  he  Passenger, 
all  over  ?  While  there's  that  mercantile  cut  upon 
him  which  would  make  you  happy  to  give  him 
credit  for  five  hundred  pound,  don't  you  see  the 
salt  sea  shining  on  him  too?" 

"  You  do,  I  dare  say,"  returned  Miss  Abbey, 
"but  /  don't.  And  as  for  stewarding,  I  think 
it's  time  my  brother  gave  that  up,  and  took  this 
House  in  hand  on  his  sister's  retiring.  The 
House  will  go  to  pieces  if  he  don't.  I  wouldn't 
sell  it  for  any  money  that  could  be  told  out,  to  a 
person  that  I  couldn't  depend  upon  to  be  a  Law 
to  the  Porters,  as  I  have  been." 

"There  you're  right,  Miss,"  said  Mr.  Inspect- 
or. "A  better  kept  house  is  not  known  to  our 
men.  What  do  I  say?  Half  so  well  a  kept 
house  is  not  known  to  our  men.  Show  the  Force 
the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship  Porters,  and  the  Force 
— to  a  constable — will  show  you  a  piece  of  per- 
fection, Mr.  Kibble." 

That  gentleman,  with  a  very  serious  shake  of 
his  head,  subscribed  the  article. 

"And  talk  of  Time  slipping  by  you,  as  if  it 
was  an  animal  at  rustic  sports  with  its  tail 
soaped,"  said  Mr.  Inspector  (again,  a  subject 
which  nobody  had  approached);  ''why,  well 
you  may.  Well  you  may.  How  has  it  slipped 
by  us,  since  the  time  when  Mr.  Job  Potterson 
here  present,  Mr.  Jacob  Kibble  here  present, 
and  an  Officer  of  the  Force  here  present,  first 
came  together  on  a  matter  of  Identification  !" 

Bella's  husband  stepped  softly  to  the  half-door 
of  the  bar,  and  stood  there. 

"How  has  Time  slipped  by  us,"  Mr.  Inspect- 
or went  on,  slowly,  with  his  eyes  narrowly  ob- 
servant of  the  two  guests,  "since  we  three  very 
men,  at  an  Inquest  in  this  very  house — Mr.  Kib- 
ble?    Taken  ill,  Sir?" 

Mr.  Kibble  had  staggered  up,  with  his  lower 
jaw  dropped,  catching  Potterson  by  the  shoul- 
der, and  pointing  to  the  half-door.  He  now 
cried  out :" Potterson !  Look!  Look  there!" 
Potterson  started  up,  started  back,  and  exclaim- 
ed :  "Heaven  defend  us,  what's  that !"  Bella's 
husband  stepped  back  to  Bella,  took  her  in  his 
arms  (for  she  was  terrified  by  the  unintelligible 
terror  of  the  two  men),  and  shut  the  door  of  the 
little  room.  A  hurry  of  voices  succeeded,  in 
which  Mr.  Inspector's  voice  was  busiest;  it  grad- 
ually slackened  and  sank  ;  and  Mr.  Inspector  re- 
appeared. "  Sharp's  the  Avord,  Sir !"  he  said, 
looking  in  with  a  knowing  wink.  "We'll  get 
your  lady  out  at  once."  Immediately  Bella  and 
her  husband  were  under  the  stars,  making  their 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


way  back  alone  to  the  vehicle  they  had  kept  in 
waiting. 

All  this  was  most  extraordinary,  and  Bella 
could  make  nothing  of  it  but  that  John  was  in 
the  right.  How  in  the  right,  and  how  suspect- 
ed of  being  in  the  wrong,  she  could  not  divine. 
Some  vague  idea  that  he  had  never  really  as- 
sumed the  name  of  Handford,  and  that  there 
was  a  remarkable  likeness  between  him  and  that 
mysterious  person,  was  her  nearest  approach  to 
any  definite  explanation.  But  John  was  tri- 
umphant ;  that  much  was  made  apparent ;  and 
she  could  wait  for  the  rest. 

When  John  came  home  to  dinner  next  day 
he  said,  sitting  down  on  the  sofa  by  Bella  and 
baby-Bella:  "My  dear,  I  have  a  piece  of  news 
to  tell  you.     I  have  left  the  China  House." 

As  he  seemed  to  like  having  left  it,  Bella  took 
it  for  granted  that  there  was  no  misfortune  in 
the  case. 

"  In  a  word,  my  love,"  said  John,  "  the  China 
House  is  broken  up  and  abolished.  There  is  no 
such  thing  any  more." 

"Then  are  you  already  in  another  House, 
John  ?" 

"Yes,  my  darling.  I  am  in  another  way  of 
business.     And  I  am  rather  better  off." 

The  inexhaustible  baby  was  instantly  made  to 
congratulate  him,  and  to  say,  with  appropriate( 
action  on  the  part  of  a  very  limp  arm  and  a 
speckled  fist:  "Three  cheers,  ladies  and  gem- 
plemorums.     Hoo — ray  !" 

"I  am  afraid,  my  life," said  John,  "that  you 
have  become  very  much  attached  to  this  cot- 
tage?" 

"  Afraid  I  have,  John  ?     Of  course  I  have." 

"The  reason  why  I  said  afraid,"  returned 
John,  "is,  because  we  must  move." 

"O  John!" 

"Yes,  my  dear,  we  must  move.  We  must 
have  our  head-quarters  in  London  now.  In 
short,  there's  a  dwelling-house  rent-free,  at- 
tached to  my  new  position,  and  we  must  occupy 
it." 

"That's  a  gain,  John." 

"Yes,  my  dear,  it  is  undoubtedly  a  gain." 

He  gave  her  a  very  blithe  look,  and  a  very 
sly  look.  Which  occasioned  the  inexhaustible 
baby  to  square  at  him  with  the  speckled  fists, 
and  demand  in  a  threatening  manner  what  he 
meant? 

"My  love,  you  said  it  was  a  gain,  and  I 
said  it  was  a  gain.  A  very  innocent  remark, 
surely." 

"  I  won't,"  said  the  inexhaustible  baby,  "  — al- 
low— you — to  make — game — of — my — venera- 
ble— Ma."  At  each  division  administering  a 
soft  facer  with  one  of  the  speckled  fists. 

John  having  stooped  down  to  receive  these 
punishing  visitations,  Bella  asked  him,  would  it 
be  necessary  to  move  soon  ?  Why  yes,  indeed 
(said  John),  he  did  propose  that  they  should 
move  very  soon.  Taking  the  furniture  with 
them,  of  course  (said  Bella)?  Why,  no  (said 
John),  the  fact  was,  that  the  house  was — in  a 
sort  of  a  kind  of  a  way — furnished  already. 

The  inexhaustible  baby,  hearing  this,  resumed 
the  offensive,  and  said :  "But  there's  no  nursery 
for  me,  Sir.  What  do  you  mean,  marble-heart- 
ed parent?"  To  which  the  marble-hearted  pa- 
rent rejoined  that  there  was  a — sort  of  a  kind 


of  a — nursery,  and  it  might  be  "made  to  do." 
"Made  to  do?"  returned  the  Inexhaustible,  ad- 
ministering more  punishment;  "what  do  you 
take  me  for?"  And  was  then  turned  over  on 
its  back  in  Bella's  lap,  and  smothered  with 
kisses. 

"But  really,  John  dear,"  said  Bella,  flushed 
in  quite  a  lovely  manner  by  these  exercises, 
"will  the  new  house,  just  as  it  stands,  do  for 
baby?     That's  the  question." 

"I  felt  that  to  be  the  question,"  he  returned, 
"  and  therefore  I  arranged  that  you  should  come 
with  me  and  look  at  it  to-morrow  morning." 
Appointment  made,  accordingly,  for  Bella  to  go 
up  with  him  to-morrow  morning ;  John  kissed ; 
and  Bella  delighted. 

When  they  reached  London  in  pursuance  of 
their  little  plan  they  took  coach  and  drove  west- 
ward. Not  only  drove  westward,  but  drove  into 
that  particular  westward  division  which  Bella 
had  seen  last  when  she  turned  her  face  from 
Mr.  Boffin's  door.  Not  only  drove  into  that 
particular  division,  but  drove  at  last  into  that 
very  street.  Not  only  drove  into  that  very  street, 
but  stopped  at  last  at  that  very  house. 

"John  dear!"  cried  Bella,  looking  out  of 
window  in  a  flutter.  "Do  you  see  where  we 
are  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  love.    The  coachman's  quite  right." 

The  house-door  was  opened  without  any 
knocking  or  ringing,  and  John  promptly  helped 
her  out.  The  servant  who  stood  holding  the 
door  asked  no  question  of  John,  neither  did  he 
go  before  them  or  follow  them  as  they  went 
straight  up  stairs.  It  was  only  her  husband's 
encircling  arm,  urging  her  on,  that  prevented 
Bella  from  stopping  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 
As  they  ascended,  it  was  seen  to  be  tastefully 
ornamented  with  most  beautiful  flowers. 

"  O  John  !"  said  Bella,  faintly.  "  What  does 
this  mean?" 

"Nothing,  my  darling,  nothing.  Let  us  go 
on." 

Going  on  a  little  higher,  they  came  to  a  charm- 
ing aviary,  in  which  a  number  of  tropical  birds, 
more  gorgeous  in  color  than  the  flowers,  were 
flying  about ;  and  among  those  birds  were  gold 
and  silver  fish,  and  mosses,  and  water-lilies,  and 
a  fountain,  and  all  manner  of  wonders. 

"  O  my  dear  John !"  said  Bella.  "What  does 
this  mean  ?"  * 

"Nothing,  my  darling,  nothing.  Let  us  go 
on." 

They  went  on,  until  they  came  to  a  door.  As 
John  put  out  his  hand  to  open  it,  Bella  caught 
his  hand. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  means,  but  it's  too 
much  for  me.     Hold  me,  John,  love." 

John  caught  her  up  in  his  arm,  and  lightly 
dashed  into  the  room  with  her. 

Behold  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  beaming !  Be- 
hold Mrs.  Boffin  clapping  her  hands  in  an  ecsta- 
sy, running  to  Bella  with  tears  of  joy  pouring 
down  her  comely  face,  and  folding  her  to  her 
comfortable  breast,  with  the  words:  "My  deary 
deary,  deary  girl,  that  Noddy  and  me  saw  mar- 
ried and  couldn't  wish  joy  to,  or  so  much  as  speak 
to !  My  deary,  deary,  deary,  wife  of  John  and 
mother  of  his  little  child !  My  loving  loving, 
bright  bright,  Pretty  Pretty !  Welcome  to  your 
house  and  home,  my  deary!" 


830 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


SHOWING  HOW  THE  GOLDEN  DUSTMAN  HELPED 
TO  SCATTER  DUST. 

In  all  the  first  bewilderment  of  her  wonder, 
the  most  bewilderingly  wonderful  thing  to  Bella 
was  the  shining  countenance  of  Mr.  Boffin. 
That  his  wife  should  be  joyous,  open-hearted, 
and  genial,  or  that  her  face  should  express  every 
quality  that  was  large  and  trusting,  and  no  quali- 
ty that  was  little  or  mean,  was  accordant  with 
Bella's  experience.  But  that  he,  with  a  perfect- 
ly beneficent  air  and  a  plump  rosy  face,  should 
be  standing  there,  looking  at  her  and  John,  like 
some  jovial  good  spirit,  was  marvelous.  For, 
how  had  he  looked  when  she  last  saw  him  in  that 
very  room  (it  was  the  room  in  which  she  had 
given  him  that  piece  of  her  mind  at  parting), 
and  what  had  become  of  all  those  crooked  lines 
of  suspicion,  avarice,  and  distrust,  that  twisted 
his  visage  then  ? 

Mrs.  Boffin  seated  Bella  on  the  large  ottoman, 
and  seated  herself  beside  her,  and  John  her  hus- 
band seated  himself  on  the  other  side  of  her,  and 
Mr.  Boffin  stood  beaming  at  every  one  and  every 
thing  he  could  see,  with  surpassing  jollity  and 
enjoyment.  Mrs.  Boffin  was  then  taken  with  a 
laughing  fit  of  clapping  her  hands,  and  clapping 
her  knees,  and  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  and 
then  with  another  laughing  fit  of  embracing  Bel- 
la, and  rocking  her  to  and  fro — both  fits  of  con- 
siderable duration. 

"Old  lady,  old  lady,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  at 
length;  "  if  you  don't  begin  somebody  else  must." 

"I'm  agoing  to  begin,  Noddy,  my  dear,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Boffin.  "  Only  it  isn't  easy  for  a 
person  to  know  where  to  begin,  when  a  person  is 
in  this  state  of  delight  and  happiness.  Bella,  my 
dear.     Tell  me,  who's  this?" 

"Who  is  this?"  repeated  Bella.  "My  hus- 
band." 

"  Ah  !  But  tell  me  his  name,  deary !"  cried 
Mrs.  Boffin. 

"Rokesmith." 

"No,  it  ain't!"  cried  Mrs.  Boffin,  clapping 
her  hands,  and  shaking  her  head.  "Not  a  bit 
of  it." 

"Handford  then,"  suggested  Bella. 

"No,  it  ain't!"  cried  Mrs.  Boffin,  again  clap- 
ping her  hands  and  shaking  her  head.  "Not  a 
bit  of  it." 

"  At  least  his  name  is  John,  I  suppose  ?"  said 
Bella. 

"  Ah  !  I  should  think  so,  deary !"  cried  Mrs. 
Boffin.  "I  should  hope  so!  Many  and  many 
is  the  time  I  have  called  him  by  his  name  of 
John.  But  what's  his  other  name,  his  true  other 
name?     Give  a  guess,  my  pretty!" 

"I  can't  guess,"  said  Bella,  turning  her  pale 
face  from  one  to  another. 

"/  could,"  cried  Mrs.  Boffin,  "and  what's 
more,  I  did !  I  found  him  out,  all  in  a  flash  as 
I  may  say,  one  night.     Didn't  I,  Noddy?" 

"  Ay !  That  the  old  lady  did  !"  said  Mr.  Bof- 
fin, with  stout  pride  in  the  circumstance. 

"  Harkee  to  me,  deary,"  pursued  Mrs.  Boffin, 
taking  Bella's  hands  between  her  own,  and  gen- 
tly beating  on  them  from  time  to  time.  "It  was 
after  a  particular  night  when  John  had  been  dis- 
appointed— as  he  thought — in  his  affections.  It 
was  after  a  night  when  John  had  made  an  offer 
to  a  certain  young  lady,  and  the  certain  young 


lady  had  refused  it.  It  was  after  a  particular 
night,  when  he  felt  himself  cast-away-like,  and 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  seek  his  fortune.  It 
was  the  very  next  night.  My  Noddy  wanted  a 
paper  out  of  his  Secretary's  room,  and  I  says  to 
Noddy,  '  I  am  going  by  the  door,  and  I'll  ask 
him  for  it.'  I  tapped  at  his  door,  and  he  didn't 
hear  me.  I  looked  in,  and  saw  him  a  sitting 
lonely  by  his  fire,  brooding  over  it.  He  chanced 
to  look  up  with  a  pleased  kind  of  smile  in  my 
company  when  he  saw  me,  and  then  in  a  single 
moment  every  grain  of  the  gunpowder  that  had 
been  lying  sprinkled  thick  about  him  ever  since 
I  first  set  eyes  upon  him  as  a  man  at  the  Bower, 
took  fire !  Too  many  a  time  had  I  seen  him  sit- 
ting lonely,  when  he  was  a  poor  child,  to  be 
pitied,  heart  and  hand !  Too  many  a  time  had 
I  seen  him  in  need  of  being  brightened  up  with 
a  comforting  word !  Too  many  and  too  many 
a  time  to  be  mistaken,  when  that  glimpse  of  him 
come  at  last !  No,  no !  I  just  makes  out  to  cry, 
'I  know  you  now!  You're  John!'  And  he 
catches  me  as  I  drops. — So  what,"  said  Mrs. 
Boffin,  breaking  off  in  the  rush  of  her  speech  to 
smile  most  radiantly,  "might  you  think  by  this 
time  that  your  husband's  name  was,  dear  ?" 

"Not,"  returned  Bella,  with  quivering  lips; 
"not  Harmon?     That's  not  possible?" 

"Don't  tremble.  Why  not  possible,  deary, 
when  so  many  things  are  possible?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Boffin,  in  a  soothing  tone. 

"  He  was  killed,"  gasped  Bella. 

"Thought  to  be,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin.  "But 
if  ever  John  Harmon  drew  the  breath  of  life  on 
earth,  that  is  certainly  John  Harmon's  arm 
round  your  waist  now,  my  pretty.  If  ever  John 
Harmon  had  a  wife  on  earth,  that  wife  is  cer- 
tainly you.  If  ever  John  Harmon  and  his  wife 
had  a  child  on  earth,  that  child  is  certainly  this." 

By  a  master-stroke  of  secret  arrangement  the 
inexhaustible  baby  here  appeared  at  the  door, 
suspended  in  mid-air  by  invisible  agency.  Mrs. 
Boffin,  plunging  at  it,  brought  it  to  Bella's  lap, 
where  both  Mrs.  and  Mr.  Boffin  (as  the  say- 
ing is)  "took  it  out  of  the  Inexhaustible  in 
a  shower  of  caresses.  It  was  only  this  timely 
appearance  that  kept  Bella  from  swooning. 
This,  and  her  husband's  earnestness  in  explain- 
ing further  to  her  how  it  had  come  to  pass  that 
he  had  been  supposed  to  be  slain,  and  had  even 
been  suspected  of  his  own  murder;  also,  how 
he  had  put  a  pious  fraud  upon  her  which  had 
preyed  upon  his  mind,  as  the  time  for  its  dis- 
closure approached,  lest  she  might  not  make 
full  allowance  for  the  object,  with  which  it  had 
originated,  and  in  which  it  had  fully  developed. 

"But  bless  ye,  my  beauty!"  cried  Mrs.  Boffin, 
taking  him  up  short  at  this  point,  with  another 
hearty  clap  of  her  hands.  "It  wasn't  John  only 
that  was  in  it.     We  was  all  of  us  in  it." 

"I  don't,"  said  Bella,  looking  vacantly  from 
one  to  another,  "yet  understand — " 

"Of  course  you  don't,  my  deary,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Boffin.  "How  can  you  till  you're  told! 
So  now  I  am  agoing  to  tell  you.  So  you  put 
your  two  hands  between  my  two  hands  again," 
cried  the  comfortable  creature,  embracing  her, 
"with  that  blessed  little  picter  lying  on  3'our 
lap,  and  you  shall  be  told  all  the  story.  Now, 
I'm  agoing  to  tell  the  story.  Once,  twice,  three 
times,  and  the  horses  is  off.  Here  they  go! 
'■  When  I  cries  out  that  night,  '  I  know  you  now, 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


331 


you're  John!' — which  was   my   exact  words; 
wasn't  they,  John  ?" 

"Your  exact  words,"  said  John,  laying  his 
hand  on  hers. 

"  That's  a  very  good  arrangement,"  cried  Mrs. 
Boffin.  "  Keep  it  there,  John.  And  as  we  was 
all  of  us  in  it,  Noddy  you  come  and  lay  yours  a 
top  of  his,  and  we  won't  break  the  pile  till  the 
story's  done." 

Mr.  Boffin  hitched  up  a  chair  and  added  his 
broad  brown  right  hand  to  the  heap. 

"That's  capital!"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  giving  it 
a  kiss.  "  Seems  quite  a  family  building ;  don't 
it?  But  the  horses  is  off.  Well!  When  I  cries 
out  that  night,  '  I  know  you  now !  you're  John !' 
John  catches  of  me,  it  is  true ;  but  I  ain't  a  light 
weight,  bless  ye,  and  he's  forced  to  let  me  down. 
Noddy,  he  hears  a  noise,  and  in  he  trots,  and  as 
soon  as  I  anyways  comes  to  myself  I  calls  to  him, 
1  Noddy,  well  I  might  say  as  I  did  say,  that  night 
at  the  Bower,  for  the  Lord  be  thankful  this  is 
John!'  On  which  he  gives  a  heave,  and  down 
he  goes  likewise,  with  his  head  under  the  writ- 
ing-table. This  brings  me  round  comfortable, 
and  that  brings  him  round  comfortable,  and 
then  John  and  him  and  me  we  all  fall  a  crying 
for  joy." 

"Yes!  They  cry  for  joy,  my  darling,"  her 
husband  struck  in.  "You  understand  ?  These 
two,  whom  I  come  to  life  to  disappoint  and  dis- 
possess, cry  for  joy !" 

Bella  looked  at  him  confusedly,  and  looked 
again  at  Mrs.  Boffin's  radiant  face. 

"  That's  right,  my  dear,  don't  you  mind  him," 
said  Mrs.  Boffin,  "  stick  to  me.  Well !  Then 
we  sits  down,  gradually  gets  cool,  and  holds  a 
confabulation.  John,  he  tells  us  how  he  is  de- 
spairing in  his  mind  on  accounts  of  a  certain 
fair  young  person,  and  how,  if  I  hadn't  found 
him  out,  he  was  going  away  to  seek  his  fortune 
far  and  wide,  and  had  fully  meant  never  to  come 
to  life,  but  to  leave  the  property  as  our  wrongful 
inheritance  forever  and  a  day.  At  which  you 
never  see  a  man  so  frightened  as  my  Noddy  was. 
For  to  think  that  he  should  have  come  into  the 
property  wrongful,  however  innocent,  and — more 
than  that — might  have  gone  on  keeping  it  to  his 
dying  day,  turned  him  whiter  than  chalk." 

"  And  you  too,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"  Don't  you  mind  him,  neither,  my  deary,"  re- 
sumed Mrs.  Boffin;  "stick  to  me.  This  brings 
up  a  confabulation  regarding  the  certain  fair 
young  person;  when  Noddy  he  gives  it  as  his 
opinion  that  she  is  a  deary  creetur.  '  She  may 
be  a  leetle  spoilt,  and  nat'rally  spoilt,'  he  says, 
'  by  circumstances,  but  that's  only  on  the  sur- 
face, and  I  lay  my  life,'  he  says,  •  that  she's  the 
true  golden  gold  at  heart.'" 

"  So  did  you,"  said  Mr.  Boffin. 

"Don't  you  mind  him  a  single  morsel,  my 
dear,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Boffin,  "but  stick  to  me. 
Then  says  John,  O,  if  he  could  but  prove  so! 
Then  we  both  of  us  ups  and  says,  that  minute, 
1  Prove  so !'  " 

With  a  start  Bella  directed  a  hurried  glance 
toward  Mr.  Boffin.  But  he  was  sitting  thought- 
fully smiling  at  that  broad  brown  hand  of  his, 
and  either  didn't  see  it,  or  would  take  no  notice 
of  it. 

"  'Prove  it,  John!'  we  says,"  repeated  Mrs. 
Boffin.  "  'Prove  it  and  overcome  your  doubts 
with  triumph,  and  be  happy  for  the  first  time  in 


your  life,  and  for  the  rest  of  your  life.'  This 
puts  John  in  a  state,  to  be  sure.  Then  we  says, 
'What  will  content  you?  If  she  was  to  stand 
up  for  you  when  you  was  slighted,  if  she  was  to 
show  herself  of  a  generous  mind  when  you  was 
oppressed,  if  she  was  to  be  truest  to  you  when 
you  was  poorest  and  friendliest,  and  all  this 
against  her  own  seeming  interest,  how  would 
that  do  ?'  '  Do  ?'  says  John,  '  it  would  raise  me 
to  the  skies.'  'Then,'  says  my  Noddy,  'make 
your  preparations  for  the  ascent,  John,  it  being 
my  firm  belief  that  up  you  go !'  " 

Bella  caught  Mr.  Boffin's  twinkling  eye  for 
half  an  instant ;  but  he  got  it  away  from  her 
and  restored  it  to  his  broad  brown  hand. 

"From  the  first  you  was  always  a  special  fa- 
vorite of  Noddy's,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin,  shaking 
her  head.  "  O  you  were !  And  if  I  had  been 
inclined  to  be  jealous,  I  don't  know  what  I 
mightn't  have  done  to  you.  But  as  I  wasn't — 
why,  my  beauty,"  with  a  hearty  laugh  and  an 
embrace,  "I  made  you  a  special  favorite  of  my 
own  too.  But  the  horses  is  coming  round  the 
corner.  Well !  Then  says  my  Noddy,  shaking 
his  sides  till  he  was  fit  to  make  'em  ache  again  : 
'Look  out  for  being  slighted  and  oppressed, 
John,  for  if  ever  a  man  had  a  hard  master  you 
shall  find  me  from  this  present  time  to  be  such 
to  you.'  And  then  he  began !"  cried  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin, in  an  ecstasy  of  admiration.  "Lord  bless 
you,  then  he  began !  And  how  he  did  begin ; 
didn't  he !" 

Bella  looked  half  frightened,  and  yet  half 
laughed. 

"But,  bless  you,"  pursued  Mrs.  Boffin,  "if 
you  could  have  seen  him  of  a  night,  at  that  time 
of  it !  The  way  he'd  sit  and  chuckle  over  him- 
self! The  way  he'd  say  ;I've  been  a  regular 
brown  bear  to-day,'  and  take  himself  in  his  arms 
and  hug  himself  at  the  thoughts  of  the  brute  he 
had  pretended !  But  every  night  he  says  to  me : 
'  Better  and  better,  old  lady.  What  did  we  say 
of  her?  She'll  come  through  it,  the  true  golden 
gold.  This'U  be  the  happiest  piece  of  work  we 
ever  done.'  And  then  he'd  say,  Til  be  a  griz- 
zlier old  growler  to-morrow !'  and  laugh,  he 
would,  till  John  and  me  was  often  forced  to 
slap  his  back,  and  bring  it  out  of  his  windpipes 
with  a  little  water." 

Mr.  Boffin,  with  his  face  bent  over  his  heavy 
hand,  made  no  sound,  but  rolled  his  shoulders 
when  thus  referred  to  as  if  he  were  vastly  enjoy- 
ing himself. 

"And  so,  my  good  and  pretty,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Boffin,  "you  was  married,  and  there  was  we  hid 
up  in  the  church-organ  by  this  husband  of  yours ; 
for  he  wouldn't  let  us  out  with  it  then,  as  was 
first  meant.  'No,'  he  says,  'she's  so  unselfish 
and  contented  that  I  can't  afford  to  be  rich  yet. 
I  must  wait  a  little  longer.'  Then,  when  baby 
was  expected,  he  says,  '  She  is  such  a  cheerful, 
glorious  housewife  that  I  can't  afford  to  be  rich 
yet.  I  must  wait  a  little  longer.'  Then,  when 
baby  was  born,  he  says,  '  She  is  so  much  better 
than  she  ever  was  that  I  can't  afford  to  be  rich 
yet.  I  must  wait  a  little  longer.'  And  so  he 
goes  on  and  on,  till  I  says  outright,  '  Now,  John, 
if  you  don't  fix  a  time  for  setting  her  up  in  her 
own  house  and  home,  and  letting  us  walk  out 
of  it,  I'll  turn  Informer.'  Then  he  says  he'll 
only  wait  to  triumph  beyond  what  we  ever 
thought  possible,  and  to  show  her  to  us  better 


332 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


than  even  we  ever  supposed  ;  and  he  says,  c  She 
shall  see  me  under  suspicion  of  having  murdered 
myself,  and  you  shall  see  how  trusting  and  how 
true  she'll  be.'  Well !  Noddy  and  me  agreed  to 
that,  and  he  was  right,  and  here  you  are,  and 
the  horses  is  in,  and  the  story  is  done,  and  God 
bless  you  my  Beauty,  and  God  bless  us  all !" 

The  pile  of  hands  dispersed,  and  Bella  and 
Mrs.  Boffin  took  a  good  long  hug  of  one  another : 
to  the  apparent  peril  of  the  inexhaustible  baby, 
lying  staring  in  Bella's  lap. 

"But  is  the  story  done?"  said  Bella,  ponder- 
ing.    "  Is  there  no  more  of  it?" 

"What  more  of  it  should  there  be,  deary?" 
returned  Mrs.  Boffin,  full  of  glee. 

"Are  you  sure  you  have  left  nothing  out  of 
it?"  asked  Bella. 

"I  don't  think  I  have,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin, 
archly. 

"John  dear,"  said  Bella,  "you're  a  good 
nurse;  will  you  please  hold  baby?"  Having 
deposited  the  Inexhaustible  in  his  arms  with 
those  words,  Bella  looked  hard  at  Mr.  Boffin, 
who  had  moved  to  a  table  where  he  was  leaning 
his  head  upon  his  hand  with  his  face  turned 
away,  and,  quietly  settling  herself  on  her  knees 
at  his  side,  and  drawing  one  arm  over  his  shoul- 
der, said:  "Please,  I  beg  your  pardon,  and  I 
made  a  small  mistake  of  a  word  when  I  took 
leave  of  you  last.  Please  I  think  you  are  better 
(not  worse)  than  Hopkins,  better  (not  worse) 
than  Dancer,  better  (not  worse)  than  Black- 
berry Jones,  better  (not  worse)  than  any  of 
them !  Please  something  more  V  cried  Bella, 
with  an  exultant  ringing  laugh  as  she  struggled 
with  him  and  forced  him  to  turn  his  delighted 
face  to  hers.  "Please  I  have  found  out  some- 
thing not  yet  mentioned.  Please  I  don't  believe 
you  are  a  hard-hearted  miser  at  all,  and  please 
I  don't  believe  you  ever  for  one  single  minute 
were !" 

At  this  Mrs.  Boffin  fairly  screamed  with  rap- 
ture, and  sat  beating  her  feet  upon  the  floor, 
clapping  her  hands,  and  bobbing  herself  back- 
ward and  forward  like  a  demented  member  of 
some  Mandarin's  family. 

"  O,  I  understand  you  now,  Sir !"  cried  Bella. 
"I  want  neither  you  nor  any  one  else  to  tell  me 
the  rest  of  the  story.  I  can  tell  it  to  you,  now, 
if  you  would  like  to  hear  it." 

"  Can  you,  my  dear?"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "  Tell 
it  then." 

"What?"  cried  Bella,  holding  him  prisoner 
by  the  coat  with  both  hands.  "When  you  saw 
what  a  greedy  little  wretch  you  were  the  patron 
of,  you  determined  to  show  her  how  much  mis- 
used and  misprized  riches  could  do,  and  often 
had  done,  to  spoil  people ;  did  you  ?  Not  car- 
ing what  she  thought  of  you  (and  Goodness 
knows  that  was  of  no  consequence  !)  you  showed 
her,  in  yourself,  the  most  detestable  sides  of 
wealth,  saying  in  your  own  mind,  'This  shallow 
creature  would  never  work  the  truth  out  of  her 
own  weak  soul,  if  she  had  a  hundred  years  to 
do  it  in ;  but  a  glaring  instance  kept  before  her 
may  open  even  her  eyes  and  set  her  thinking. 
That  was  what  you  said  to  yourself;  was  it, 
Sir?" 

"I  never  said  any  thing  of  the  sort,"  Mr. 
Boffin  declared,  in  a  state  of  the  highest  enjoy- 
ment. 

"Then  you  ought  to  have  said  it,  Sir,"  re- 


turned Bella,  giving  him  two  pulls  and  one  kiss, 
"for  you  must  have  thought  and  meant  it.  You 
saw  that  good  fortune  was  turning  my  stupid 
head  and  hardening  my  silly  heart — was  making 
me  grasping,  calculating,  insolent,  insufferable 
— and  you  took  the  pains  to  be  the  dearest  and 
kindest  finger-post  that  ever  was  set  up  any 
where,  pointing  out  the  road  that  I  was  taking 
and  the  end  it  led  to.     Confess  instantly !" 

"John,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  one  broad  piece  of 
sunshine  from  head  to  foot,  "I  wish  you'd  help 
me  out  of  this." 

"You  can't  be  heard  by  counsel,  Sir,"  re- 
turned Bella.  "You  must  speak  for  yourself. 
Confess  instantly!" 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "  the  truth 
is,  that  when  we  did  go  in  for  *he  little  scheme 
that  my  old  lady  has  pinted  out,  I  did  put  it  to 
John,  what  did  he  think  of  going  in  for  some 
such  general  scheme  as  you  have  pinted  out? 
But  I  didn't  in  any  way  so  word  it,  because  I 
didn't  in  any  way  so  mean  it.  I  only  said  to 
John,  wouldn't  it  be  more  consistent,  me  going 
in  for  being  a  reg'lar  brown  bear  respecting  him, 
to  go  in  as  a  reg'lar  brown  bear  all  round  ?" 

"Confess  this  minute,  Sir,"  said  Bella,  "that 
you  did  it  to  correct  and  amend  me !" 

"Certainly,  my  dear  child,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
"I  didn't  do  it  to  harm  you;  you  may  be  sure 
of  that.  And  I  did  hope  it  might  just  hint  a 
caution.  Still,  it  ought  to  be  mentioned  that  no 
sooner  had  my  old  lady  found  out  'John,  than 
John  made  known  to  her  and  me  that  he  had 
had  his  eye  upon  a  thankless  person  by  the  name 
of  Silas  Wegg.  Partly  for  the  punishment  of 
which  Wegg,  by  leading  him  on  in  a  very  un- 
handsome and  underhanded  game  that  he  was 
playing,  them  books  that  you  and  me  bought  so 
many  of  together  (and,  by-the-bv,  my  dear,  he 
wasn't  Blackberry  Jones,  but  Blewberry)  was 
read  aloud  to  me  by  that  person  of  the  name  of 
Silas  Wegg  aforesaid." 

Bella,  who  was  still  on  her  knees  at  Mr.  Bof- 
fin's feet,  gradually  sank  down  into  a  bitting  pos- 
ture on  the  ground,  as  she  meditated  more  and 
more  thoughtfully,  with  her  eyes  upon  his  beam- 
ing face. 

"  Still,"  said  Bella,  after  this  meditative  pause, 
"  there  remain  two  things  that  I  can  not  under- 
stand. Mrs.  Boffin  never  supposed  any  part  of 
the  change  in  Mr.  Boffin  to  be  real ;  did  she? — 
You  never  did  ;  did  you?"  asked  Bella,  turning 
to  her. 

"No !"  returned  Mrs.  Boffin,  with  a  most  ro- 
tund and  glowing  negative. 

"And  yet  you  took  it  very  much  to  heart," 
said  Bella",  "I  remember  its  making  you  very 
uneasy  indeed." 

"Ecod,  you  see  Mrs.  John  has  a  sharp  eye, 
John  !"  cried  Mr.  Boffin,  shaking  his  head  with 
an  admiring  air.  "  You're  right,  my  dear.  The 
old  lady  nearly  blowed  us  into  shivers  and  smith- 
ers,  many  times." 

"Why?"  asked  Bella.  "How  did  that  hap- 
pen, when  she  was  in  your  secret?" 

"Why,  it  was  a  weakness  in  the  old  lady," 
said  Mr." Boffin ;  "  and  yet,  to  tell  you  the  whole 
truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  I'm  rather  proud 
of  it.  My  dear,  the  old  lady  thinks  so  high  of 
me  that  she  couldn't  abear  to  see  and  hear  me 
coming  out  as  a  reg'lar  brown  one.  Couldn't 
abear  to  make-believe  as  I  meant  it !     In  conse- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


333 


quence  of  which,  we  was  everlastingly  in  dan- 
ger with  her." 

Mrs.  Boffin  laughed  heartily  at  herself;  but  a 
certain  glistening  in  her  honest  eyes  revealed  that 
she  was  by  no  means  cured  of  that  dangerous 
propensity. 

"I  assure  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
"  that  on  the  celebrated  day*  when  I  made  what 
has  since  been  agreed  upon  to  be  my  grandest 
demonstration — I  allude  to  Mew  says  the  cat, 
Quack  quack  says  the  duck,  and  Bow-wow-wow 
says  the  dog — I  assure  you,  my  dear,  that  on 
that  celebrated  day,  them  flinty  and  unbelieving 
words  hit  my  old  lady  so  hard  on  my  account, 
that  I  had  to  hold  her,  to  prevent  her  running 
out  after  you,  and  defending  me  by  saying  I  was 
playing  a  part." 

Mrs.  Boffin  laughed  heartily  again,  and  her 
eyes  glistened  again,  and  it  then  appeared,  not 
only  that  in  that  burst  of  sarcastic  eloquence 
Mr.  Boffin  was  considered  by  his  two  fellow-con- 
spirators to  have  outdone  himself,  but  that  in 
his  own  opinion  it  was  a  remarkable  achievement. 
"Never  thought  of  it  afore  the  moment,  my 
dear!"  he  observed  to  Bella.  "When  John 
said,  if  he  had  been  so  happy  as  to  win  your  af- 
fections and  possess  your  heart,  it  come  into  my 
head  to  turn  round  upon  him  with  '  Win  her  af- 
fections and  possess  her  heart!  Mew  says  the 
cat,  Quack  quack  says  the  duck,  and  Bow-wow- 
wow  says  the  dog.'  I  couldn't  tell  you  how  it 
come  into  my  head  or  where  from,  but  it  had  so 
much  the  sound  of  a  rasper  that  I  own  to  you  it 
astonished  myself.  I  was  awful  nigh  bursting 
out  a  laughing  though,  when  it  made  John  stare!" 

"You  said,  my  pretty,"  Mrs.  Boffin  reminded 
Bella,  "that  there  was  one  other  thing  you 
couldn't  understand." 

"0  yes !"  cried  Bella,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands,  "but  that  I  never  shall  be  able  to 
understand  as  long  as  I  live.  It  is,  how  John 
could  love  me  so  when  I  so  little  deserved  it,  and 
how  you,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin,  could  be  so  for- 
getful of  yourselves,  and  take  such  pains  and 
trouble,  to  make  me  a  little  better,  and  after  all 
to  help  him  to  so  unworthy  a  wife.  But  I  am 
very,  very  grateful." 

It  was  John  Harmon's  turn  then — John  Har- 
mon now  for  good,  and  John  Rokesmith  for  nev- 
ermore— to  plead  with  her  (quite  unnecessarily) 
in  behalf  of  his  deception,  and  to  tell  her,  over 
and  over  again,  that  it  had  been  prolonged  by 
her  own  winning  graces  in  her  supposed  station 
of  life.  This  led  on  to  many  interchanges  of  en- 
dearment and  enjoyment  on  all  sides,  in  the 
midst  of  which  the  inexhaustible  being  observed 
staring,  in  a  most  imbecile  manner,  on  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin's breast,  was  pronounced  to  be  supernaturally 
intelligent  as  to  the  whole  transaction,  and  was 
made  to  declare  to  the  ladies  and  gemplemorums, 
with  a  wave  of  the  speckled  fist  (with  difficulty 
detached  from  an  exceedingly  short  waist),  "I 
have  already  informed  my  venerable  Ma  that  I 
know  all  about  it ! " 

Then,  said  John  Harmon,  would  Mrs.  John 
Harmon  come  and  see  her  house  ?  And  a  dainty 
house  it  was,  and  a  tastefully  beautiful;  and 
they  went  through  it  in  procession ;  the  Inex- 
haustible on  Mrs.  Boffin's  bosom  (still  staring) 
occupying  the  middle  station,  and  Mr.  Boffin 
bringing  up  the  rear.  And  on  Bella's  exquisite 
toilet-table  was  an  ivory  casket,  and  in  the  cask- 

y 


et  were  jewels  the  like  of  which  she  had  never 
dreamed  of,  and  aloft  on  an  upper  floor  was  a 
nursery  garnished  as  with  rainbows;  "though 
we  were  hard  put  to  it,"  said  John  Harmon,  "  to 
get  it  done  in  so  short  a  time." 

The  house  inspected,  emissaries  removed  the 
Inexhaustible,  who  was  shortly  afterward  heard 
screaming  among  the  rainbows ;  whereupon  Bella 
withdrew  herself  from  the  presence  and  knowl- 
edge of  gemplemorums,  and  the  screaming  ceased, 
and  smiling  Peace  associated  herself  with  that 
young  olive  branch. 

"  Come  and  look  in,  Noddy !"  said  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin to  Mr.  Boffin. 

Mr.  Boffin,  submitting  to  be  led  on  tip-toe  to 
the  nursery  door,  looked  in  with  immense  satis- 
faction, although  there  was  nothing  to  see  but 
Bella  in  a  musing  state  of  happiness,  seated  in 
a  little  low  chair  upon  the  hearth,  with  her  child 
in  her  fair  young  arms,  and  her  soft  eyelashes 
shading  her  eyes  from  the  fire. 

"It  looks  as  if  the  old  man's  spirit  had  found 
rest  at  last ;  don't  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  Boffin. 

"Yes,  old  lady." 

"And  as  if  his  money  had  turned  bright  again, 
after  a  long  long  rust  in  the  dark,  and  was  at 
last  a  beginning  to  sparkle  in  the  sunlight  ?" 

"Yes,  old  lady." 

"  And  it  makes  a  pretty  and  a  promising  pic- 
ter;  don't  it?" 

"Yes,  old  lady." 

But,  aware  at  the  instant  of  a  fine  opening  for 
a  point,  Mr.  Boffin  quenched  that  observation  in 
this — delivered  in  the  grizzliest  growling  of  the 
regular  brown  bear.  "A  pretty  and  a  hopeful 
picter?  Mew,  Quack  quack,  Bow-avow  !"  And 
then  trotted  silently  down  stairs,  with  his  shoul- 
ders in  a  state  of  the  liveliest  commotion. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CHECKMATE   TO  THE   FRIENDLY  MOVE. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Harmon  had  so  timed 
their  taking  possession  of  their  rightful  name 
and  their  London  house,  that  the  event  befell  on 
the  very  day  when  the  last  wagon  load  of  the 
last  Mound  was  driven  out  at  the  gates  of  Bof- 
fin's Bower.  As  it  jolted  away  Mr.  Wegg  felt 
that  the  last  load  was  correspondingly  removed 
from  his  mind,  and  hailed  the  auspicious  season 
when  that  black  sheep,  Boffin,  was  to  be  closely 
sheared. 

Over  the  whole  slow  process  of  leveling  the 
Mounds  Silas  had  kept  watch  with  rapacious 
eyes.  But  eyes  no  less  rapacious  had  watched 
the  growth  of  the  Mounds  in  years  by-gone,  and 
had  vigilantly  sifted  the  dust  of  which  they  were 
composed.  No  valuables  turned  up.  How  should 
there  be  any,  seeing  that  the  old  hard  jailer  of 
Harmony  Jail  had  coined  every  waif  and  stray 
into  money  long  before  ? 

Though  disappointed  by  this  bare  result,  Mr. 
Wegg  felt  too  sensibly  relieved  by  the  close  of 
the  labor  to  grumble  to  any  great  extent.  A 
foreman  representative  of  the  dust  contractors, 
purchasers  of  the  Mounds,  had  worn  Mr.  Wegg 
down  to  skin  and  bone.  This  supervisor  of  the 
proceedings,  asserting  his  employers'  rights  to 
cart  off  by  daylight,  nightlight,  torchlight,  when 
they  would,  must  have  been  the  death  of  Silas 


334 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


if  the  work  had  lasted  much  longer.  Seeming 
never  to  need  sleep  himself,  he  would  reappear, 
with  a  tied-up  broken  head,  in  fantail  hat  and 
velveteen  smalls,  like  an  accursed  goblin,  at 
the  most  unholy  and  untimely  hours.  Tired  out 
by  keeping  close  ward  over  a  long  day's  work  in 
fog  and  rain,  Silas  would  have  just  crawled  to 
bed  and  be  dozing,  when  a  horrid  shake  and 
rumble  under  his  pillow  would  announce  an  ap- 
proaching train  of  carts,  escorted  by  this  Demon 
of  Unrest,  to  fall  to  work  again.  At  another 
time,  he  would  be  rumbled  up  out  of  his  sound- 
est sleep,  in  the  dead  of  the  night ;  at  another, 
would  be  kept  at  his  post  eight-and-forty  hours 
on  end.  The  more  his  persecutor  besought  him 
not  to  trouble  himself  to  turn  out,  the  more  sus- 
picious was  the  crafty  "YVegg  that  indications 
had  been  observed  of  something  hidden  some- 
where, and  that  attempts  were  on  foot  to  cir- 
cumvent him.  So  continually  broken  was  his 
rest  through  these  means,  that  he  led  the  life  of 
having  wagered  to  keep  ten  thousand  dog-watch- 
es in  ten  thousand  hours,  and  looked  piteously 
upon  himself  as  always  getting  up  and  yet  never 
going  to  bed.  So  gaunt  and  haggard  had  he 
grown  at  last,  that  his  wooden  leg  showed  dis- 
proportionate, and  presented  a  thriving  appear- 
ance in  contrast  with  the  rest  of  his  plagued 
body,  which  might  almost  have  been  termed 
chubby. 

However,  Wegg's  comfort  was,  that  all  his 
disagreeables  were  now  over,  and  that  he  was 
immediately  coming  into  his  property.  Of  late, 
the  grindstone  did  undoubtedly  appear  to  have 
been  whirling  at  his  own  nose  rather  than  Bof- 
fin's, but  Boffin's  nose  was  now  to  be  sharpened 
fine.  Thus  far  Mr.  Wegg  had  let  his  dusty  friend 
off  lightly,  having  been  balked  in  that  amiable 
design  of  frequently  dining  with  him,  by  the 
machinations  of  the  sleepless  dustman.  He  had 
been  constrained  to  depute  Mr.  Venus  to  keep 
their  dusty  friend,  Boffin,  under  inspection,  while 
he  himself  turned  lank  and  lean  at  the  Bower. 

To  Mr.  Venus's  museum  Mr.  Wegg  repaired 
when  at  length  the  Mounds  were  down  and  gone. 
It  being  evening,  he  found  that  gentleman,  as 
he  expected,  seated  over  his  fire;  but  did  not 
find  him,  as  he  expected,  floating  his  powerful 
mind  in  tea. 

"Why,  you  smell  rather  comfortable  here!" 
said  Wegg,  seeming  to  take  it  ill,  and  stopping 
and  sniffing  as  he  entered. 

"I  am  rather  comfortable,  Sir,"  said  Venus. 

"  You  don't  use  lemon  in  your  business,  do 
you?"  asked  Wegg,  sniffing  again. 

"No,  Mr.  Wegg,"  said  Venus.  "When  I 
use  it  at  all,  I  mostly  use  it  in  cobblers' punch." 

"What  do  you  call  cobblers'  punch?"  de- 
manded Wegg,  in  a  worse  humor  than  before. 

"  It's  difficult  to  impart  the  receipt  for  it,  Sir," 
returned  Venus,  "because,  however  particular 
you  may  be  in  allotting  your  materials,  so  much 
will  still  depend  upon  the  individual  gifts,  and 
there  being  a  feeling  thrown  into  it.  But  the 
ground-work  is  gin." 

"In  a  Dutch  bottle?"  said  Wegg,  gloomily, 
as  he  sat  himself  down. 

"Very  good,  Sir,  very  good!"  cried  Venus. 
"Will  you  partake,  Sir?" 

"Will  I  partake?"  returned  Wegg  very  surli- 
ly. "  Why,  of  course  I  will !  Will  a  man  par- 
take, as  has  been  tormented  out  of  his  five  senses 


by  an  everlasting  dustman  with  his  head  tied  up ! 
Will  he,  too !     As  if  he  wouldn't !" 

"Don't  let  it  put  you  out,  Mr.  Wegg.  You 
don't  seem  in  your  usual  spirits." 

"If  you  come  to  that,  you  don't  seem  in  your 
usual  spirits,"  growled  Wegg.  "You  seem  to 
be  setting  up  for  lively." 

This  circumstance  appeared,  in  his  then  state 
of  mind,  to  give  Mr.  Wegg  uncommon  offense. 

"And  you've  been  having  your  hair  cut!" 
said  Wegg,  missing  the  usual  dusty  shock. 

' '  Yes,  Mr.  Wegg.  But  don't  let  that  put  you 
out,  either." 

"And  I  am  blest  if  you  ain't  getting  fat!" 
said  Wegg,  with  culminating  discontent.  ' '  What 
are  you  going  to  do  next  ?" 

"Well,  Mr.  Wegg,"  said  Venus,  smiling  in  a 
sprightly  manner,  "1  suspect  you  could  hardly 
guess  what  I  am  going  to  do  next." 

' '  I  don't  want  to  guess, "  retorted  Wegg.  "All 
I've  got  to  say  is,  that  it's  well  for  you  that  the 
diwision  of  labor  has  been  what  it  has  been. 
It's  well  for  you  to  have  had  so  light  a  part  in 
this  business,  when  mine  has  been  so  heavy. 
You  haven't  had  your  rest  broke,  I'll  be  bound." 

"Not  at  all,  Sir,"  said  Venus.  "Never  rested 
so  well  in  all  my  life,  I  thank  you." 

"Ah!"  grumbled  Wegg,  "you  should  have 
been  me.  If  you  had  been  me,  and  had  been 
fretted  out  of  your  bed,  and  your  sleep,  and  your 
meals,  and  your  mind,  for  a  stretch  of  months 
together,  you'd  have  been  out  of  condition  and 
out  of  sorts." 

"  Certainly,  it  has  trained  you  down,  Mr. 
Wegg,"  said  Venus,  contemplating  his  figure 
with  an  artist's  eye.  "Trained  you  down  very 
low,  it  has !  So  weazen  and  yellow  is  the  kiver- 
ing  upon  your  bones,  that  one  might  almost 
fancy  you  had  come  to  give  a  look-in  upon  the 
French  gentleman  in  the  corner,  instead  of  me." 

Mr.  Wegg,  glancing  in  great  dudgeon  toward 
the  French  gentleman's  corner,  seemed  to  notice 
something  new  there,  which  induced  him  to 
glance  at  the  opposite  corner,  and  then  to  put 
on  his  glasses  and  stare  at  all  the  nooks  and 
corners  of  the  dim  shop  in  succession. 

"Why,  you've  been  having  the  place  cleaned1 
up!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Wegg.  By  the  hand  of  adorable 
woman." 

"Then  what  you're  going  to  do  next,  I  sup- 
pose, is  to  get  married?" 

"That's  it,  Sir." 

Silas  took  off  his  glasses  again — finding  him- 
self too  intensely  disgusted  by  the  sprightly  ap- 
pearance of  his  friend  and  partner  to  bear  a 
magnified  view  of  him — and  made  the  inquiry : 

"To  the  old  party?" 

"  Mr.  Wegg !"  said  Venus,  with  a  sudden  flush 
of  wrath.  "The  lady  in  question  is  not  a  old 
party." 

"I  meant,"  explained  Wegg,  testily,  "to  the 
party  as  formerly  objected?" 

"Mr.  Wegg,"  said  Venus,  "in  a  case  of  so 
much  delicacy,  I  must  trouble  you  to  say  what 
you  mean.  There  are  strings  that  must  not  be 
played  upon.  No  Sir !  Not  sounded,  unless  in 
the  most  respectful  and  tuneful  manner.  Of 
such  melodious  strings  is  Miss  Pleasant  Rider- 
hood  formed." 

"Then  it  is  the  lady  as  formerly  objected?" 
said  Wegg. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


33: 


"Sir,"  returned  Venus  with  dignity,  "I  ac- 
cept the  altered  phrase.  It  is  the  lady  as  for- 
merly objected." 

"When  is  it  to  come  off ?"  asked  Silas. 

"Mr.  Wegg,"  said  Venus,  with  another  flush. 
"  I  can  not  permit  it  to  be  put  in  the  form  of  a 
Fight.  I  must  temperately  but  firmly  call  upon 
you,  Sir,  to  amend  that  question." 

"When  is  the  lady,"  Wegg  reluctantly  de- 
manded, constraining  his  ill-temper  in  remem- 
brance of  the  partnership  and  its  stock  in  trade, 
' '  agoing  to  give  her  'and  where  she  has  already 
given  her  'art  ?" 

"Sir,"  returned  Venus,  "I  again  accept  the 
altered  phrase,  and  with  pleasure.  The  lady  is 
agoing  to  give  her  'and  where  she  has  already 
given  her  'art  next  Monday." 

"  Then  the  lady's  objection  has  been  met  ?" 
said  Silas. 

"Mr.  Wegg,"  said  Venus,  "as  I  did  name 
to  you,  I  think,  on  a  former  occasion,  if  not  on 
former  occasions — " 

"  On  former  occasions,"  interrupted  Wegg. 

"  — What,"  pursued  Venus,  "  what  the  nature 
of  the  lady's  objection  was,  I  may  impart,  with- 
out violating  any  of  the  tender  confidences  since 
sprung  up  between  the  lady  and  myself,  how  it 
has  been  met,  through  the  kind  interference  of 
two  good  friends  of  mine :  one,  previously  ac- 
quainted with  the  lady :  and  one,  not.  The 
pint  was  thrown  out,  Sir,  by  those  two  friends 
when  they  did  me  the  great  service  of  waiting 
on  the  lady  to  try  if  a  union  betwixt  the  lady 
and  me  could  not  be  brought  to  bear — the  pint, 
I  say,  was  thrown  out  by  them,  Sir,  whether  if, 
after  marriage,  I  confined  myself  to  the  articu- 
lation of  men,  children,  and  the  lower  animals, 
it  might  not  relieve  the  lady's  mind  of  her  feel- 
ing respecting  being — as  a  lady — regarded  in  a 
bony  light.  It  was  a  happy  thought,  Sir,  and 
it  took  root." 

'  •  It  would  seem,  Mr.  Venus,"  observed  Wegg, 
with  a  touch  of  distrust,  "that  you  are  flush  of 
friends  ?" 

"  Pretty  well,  Sir,"  that  gentleman  answered, 
in  a  tone  of  placid  mvstery.  ' '  So-so,  Sir.  Pretty 
well." 

"However,"  said  Wegg,  after  eying  him 
with  another  touch  of  distrust,  "I  wish  you  joy. 
One  man  spends  his  fortune  in  one  way,  and 
another  in  another.  You  are  going  to  try  mat- 
rimony.    I  mean  to  try  traveling. "    # 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Wegg  ?" 

"Change  of  air,  sea-scenery,  and  my  natural 
rest,  I  hope  may  bring  me  round  after  the  per- 
secutions I  have  undergone  from  the  dustman 
with  his  head  tied  up,  which  I  just  now  men- 
tioned. The  tough  job  being  ended  and  the 
Mounds  laid  low,  the  hour  is  come  for  Boffin  to 
stump  up.  Would  ten  to-morrow  morning  suit 
you,  partner,  for  finally  bringing  Boffin's  nose 
to  the  grindstone?" 

Ten  to-morrow  morning  would  quite  suit  Mr. 
Venus  for  that  excellent  purpose. 

"You  have  had  him  well  under  inspection,  I 
hope  ?"  said  Silas. 

Mr.  Venus  had  had  him  under  inspection  pretty 
well  every  day. 

"  Suppose  you  was  just  to  stop  round  to-night 
then,  and  give  him  orders  from  me — I  say  from 
me,  because  he  knows  /won't  be  played  with — 
to  be  ready  with  his  papers,  his  accounts,  and 


his  cash,  at  that  time  in  the  morning?"  said 
Wegg.  "  And  as  a  matter  of  form,  which  will 
be  agreeable  to  your  own  feelings,  before  we  go 
out  (for  I'll  walk  with  you  part  of  the  way, 
though  my  leg  gives  under  me  with  weariness), 
let's  have  a  look  at  the  stock  in  trade." 

Mr.  Venus  produced  it,  and  it  was  perfectly 
correct ;  Mr.  Venus  undertook  to  produce  it 
again  in  the  morning,  and  to  keep  tryst  with 
Mr.  Wegg  on  Boffin's  doorstep  as  the  clock  struck 
ten.  At  a  certain  point  of  the  road  between 
Clerkenwell  and  Boffin's  house  (Mr.  Wegg  ex- 
pressly insisted  that  there  should  be  no  prefix  to 
the  Golden  Dustman's  name)  the  partners  sepa- 
rated for  the  night. 

It  was  a  very  bad  night ;  to  which  succeeded  • 
a  very  bad  morning.  The  streets  were  so  un- 
usually slushy,  muddy,  and  miserable,  in  the 
morning,  that  Wegg  rode  to  the  scene  of  action ; 
arguing  that  a  man  who  was,  as  it  were,  going 
to  the  Bank  to  draw  out  a  handsome  property 
could  well  afford  that  trifling  expense. 

Venus  was  punctual,  and  Wegg  undertook  to 
knock  at  the  door  and  conduct  the  conference. 
Door  knocked  at.     Door  opened. 

"Boffin  at  home?" 

The  servant  replied  that  Mr.  Boffin  was  at 
home. 

"He'll  do,"  said  Wegg,  "though  it  ain't 
what  I  call  him." 

The  servant  inquired  if  they  had  any  appoint- 
ment? 

"Now  I  tell  you  what,  young  fellow,"  said 
Wegg,  "I  won't  have  it.  This  won't  do  for 
me.     I  don't  want  menials.     I  want  Boffin." 

They  were  shown  into  a  waiting-room,  where 
the  all-powerful  Wegg  wore  his  hat,  and  whis- 
tled, and  with  his  forefinger  stirred  up  a  clock 
that  stood  upon  the  chimney-piece  until  he  made 
it  strike.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  shown  up 
stairs  into  what  used  to  be  Boffin's  room  ;  which, 
besides  the  door  of  entrance,  had  folding-doors 
in  it,  to  make  it  one  of  a  suit  of  rooms  when 
occasion  required.  Here  Boffin  was  seated  at  a 
library-table,  and  here  Mr.  Wegg,  having  impe- 
riously motioned  the  servant  to  withdraw,  drew 
up  a  chair  and  seated  himself,  in  his  hat,  close 
beside  him.  Here  also  Mr.  Wegg  instantly  un- 
derwent the  remarkable  experience  of  having  • 
his  hat  twitched  off  his  head  and  thrown  out  of 
a  window,  which  was  opened  and  shut  for  the 
purpose. 

"  Be  careful  what  insolent  liberties  you  take 
in  that  gentleman's  presence,"  said  the  owner 
of  the  hand  which  had  done  this,  "or  I  will 
throw  you  after  it." 

Wegg  involuntarily  clapped  his  hand  to  his 
bare  head,  and  stared  at  the  Secretary.  For  it 
was  he  addressed  him  with  a  severe  counte- 
nance, and  who  had  come  in  quietly  by  the  fold- 
ing-doors. 

"Oh!"  said  Wegg,  as  soon  as  he  recovered 
his  suspended  power  of  speech.  "Very  good! 
I  gave  directions  for  you  to  be  dismissed.  And 
you  ain't  gone,  ain't  you?  Oh!  We'll  look 
into  this  presently.     Very  good !" 

"No,  nor  /  ain't  gone,"  said  another  voice. 

Somebody  else  had  come  in  quietly  by  the 
folding-doors.  Turning  his  head,  Wegg  beheld 
his  persecutor,  the  ever-wakeful  dustman,  ac- 
coutred with  fantail  hat  and  velveteen  smalls 
complete.     Who,   untying  his  tied-up  broken 


336 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


head,  revealed  a  head  that  was  whole  and  a  face 
that  was  Sloppy's. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  gentlemen!"  roared  Sloppy,  in 
a  peal  of  laughter,  and  with  immeasurable  rel- 
ish. "He  never  thought  as  I  could  sleep  stand- 
ing, and  often  done  it  when  I  turned  for  Mrs. 
Higden !  He  never  thought  as  I  used  to  give 
Mrs.  Higden  the  Police-news  in  different  voices ! 
But  I  did  lead  him  a  life  all  through  it,  gentle- 
men, I  hope  I  really  and  truly  did  !"  Here  Mr. 
Sloppy  opening  his  mouth  to  a  quite  alarming 
extent,  and  throwing  back  his  head  to  peal 
again,  revealed  incalculable  buttons. 

"Oh!"  said  Wegg,  slightly  discomfited,  but 
not  much  as  yet :  "  one  and  one  is  two  not  dis- 
missed, is  it  ?  Bof — fin !  Just  let  me  ask  a 
question.  Who  set  this  chap  on,  in  this  dress, 
when  the  carting  began?  Who  employed  this 
fellow?" 

"I say!"  remonstrated  Sloppy,  jerking  his 
head  forward.  "No  fellows,  or  Til  throw  you 
out  of  winder!" 

Mr.  Boffin  appeased  him  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand,  and  said :   "I  employed  him,  Wegg." 

"Oh!  You  employed  him,  Boffin?  Very 
good.  Mr.  Venus,  we  raise  our  terms,  and  we 
can't  do  better  than  proceed  to  business.  Bof — 
fin!  I  want  the  room  cleared  of  these  two 
scum." 

"  That's  not  going  to  be  done,  Wegg,"  replied 
Mr.  Boffin,  sitting  composedly  on  the  library- 
table,  at  one  end,  while  the  Secretary  sat  com- 
posedly on  it  at  the  other. 

"Bof — fin!  Not  going  to  be  done ?"  repeat- 
ed Wegg.     "Not  at  your  peril?" 

"No,  Wegg,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  shaking  his 
head  good-humoredly.  "Not  at  my  peril,  and 
not  on  any  other  terms." 

Wegg  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  said: 
"Mr.  Venus,  will  you  be  so  good  as  hand  me 
over  that  same  dockyment  ?" 

"Certainly,  Sir,"  replied  Venus,  handing  it 
to  him  with  much  politeness.  "There  it  is. 
Having  now,  Sir,  parted  with  it,  I  wish  to  make 
a  small  observation :  not  so  much  because  it  is 
any  ways  necessary,  or  expresses  any  new  doc- 
trine or  discover)',  as  because  it  is  a  comfort  to 
my  mind.  Silas  Wegg,  you  are  a  precious  old 
rascal." 

Mr.  Wegg,  who,  as  if  anticipating  a  compli- 
ment, had  been  beating  time  with  the  paper  to 
the  other's  politeness  until  this  unexpected  con- 
clusion came  upon  him,  stopped  rather  abruptly. 

"Silas  Wegg,"  said  Venus,  "know  that  I 
took  the  liberty  of  taking  Mr.  Boffin  into  our 
concern,  as  a  sleeping  partner,  at  a  very  early 
period  of  our  firm's  existence." 

"Quite  true,"  added  Mr.  Boffin;  "and  I 
tested  Venus  by  making  him  a  pretended  pro- 
posal or  two ;  and  I  found  him  on  the  whole  a 
very  honest  man,  Wegg." 

"  So  Mr.  Boffin,  in  his  indulgence,  is  pleased 
to  say,"  Venus  remarked  :  "though  in  the  be- 
ginning of  this  dirt  my  hands  were  not,  for  a  few 
hours,  quite  as  clean  as  I  could  wish.  But  I 
hope  I  made  early  and  full  amends." 

"Venus,  you  did,"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "  Cer- 
tainly, certainly,  certainly." 

Venus  inclined  his  head  with  respect  and  grat- 
itude. ' '  Thank  you,  Sir.  I  am  much  obliged 
to  you,  Sir,  for  all.  For  your  good  opinion  now, 
for  your  way  of  receiving  and  encouraging  me  1 


when  I  first  put  myself  in  communication  with 
you,  and  for  the  influence  since  so  kindly  brought 
to  bear  upon  a  certain  lady,  both  by  yourself  and 
by  Mr.  John  Harmon."  To  whom,  when  thus 
making  mention  of  him,  he  also  bowed. 

Wegg  followed  the  name  with  sharp  ears  and 
the  action  with  sharp  eyes,  and  a  certain  cring- 
ing air  was  infusing  itself  into  his  bullying  air, 
when  his  attention  was  re-claimed  by  Venus. 

"  Every  thing  else  between  you  and  me,  Mr. 
Wegg,"  said  Venus,  "now  explains  itself,  and 
you  can  now  make  out,  Sir,  without  further 
words  from  me.  But  totally  to  prevent  any  un- 
pleasantness or  mistake  that  might  arise  on  what 
I  consider  an  important  point,  to  be  made  quite 
clear  at  the  close  of  our  acquaintance,  I  beg  the 
leave  of  Mr.  Boffin  and  Mr.  John  Harmon  to 
repeat  an  observation  which  I  have  already  had 
the  pleasure  of  bringing  under  your  notice.  You 
are  a  precious  old  rascal !" 

"You  are  a  fool,"  said  Wegg,  with  a  snap 
of  his  fingers,  "and  I'd  have  got  rid  of  you  be- 
fore now,  if  I  could  have  struck  out  any  way  of 
doing  it.  I  have  thought  it  over,  I  can  tell  you. 
You  may  go,  and  welcome.  You  leave  the  more 
for  me.  Because,  you  know,"  said  Wegg,  di- 
viding his  next  observation  between  Mr.  Boffin 
and  Mr.  Harmon,  "I  am  worth  my  price,  and 
I  mean  to  have  it.  This  getting  off  is  all  very 
well  in  its  way,  and  it  tells  with  such  an  ana- 
tomical Pump  as  this  one,"  pointing  out  Mr. 
Venus,  "but  it  won't  do  with  a  ]\lan.  I  am 
here  to  be  bought  off,  and  I  have  named  my 
figure.     Now,  buy  me,  or  leave  me." 

"I'll  leave  you,  Wegg,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
laughing,  "  as  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"Bof — fin!"  replied  Wegg,  turning  upon  him 
with  a  severe  air,  "I  understand  your  new-born 
boldness.  I  see  the  brass  underneath  your  sil- 
ver. You  have  got  your  nose  put  out  of  joint. 
Knowing  that  you've  nothing  at  stake,  you  can 
afford  to  come  the  independent  game.  Why, 
you're  just  so  much  smeary  glass  to  see  through, 
you  know !  But  Mr.  Harmon  is  in  another  sit- 
iwation.  What  Mr.  Harmon  risks  is  quite  an- 
other pair  of  shoes.  Now,  I've  heerd  something 
lately  about  this  being  Mr.  Harmon — I  make  out 
now  some  hints  that  I've  met  on  that  subject 
in  the  newspaper — and  I  drop  you,  Bof — fin,  as 
beneath  my  notice.  I  ask  Mr.  Harmon  whether 
he  has  any  idea  of  the  contents  of  this  present 
paper  ?"    . 

"It  is  a  will  of  my  late  father's,  of  more  re- 
cent date  than  the  will  proved  by  Mr.  Boffin 
(address  whom  again,  as  you  have  addressed 
him  already,  and  I'll  knock  you  down),  leaving 
the  whole  of  his  property  to  the  Crown,"  said 
John  Harmon,  with  as  much, indifference  as  was 
compatible  with  extreme  sternness. 

"Right  you  are!"  cried  Wegg.  ^Then," 
screwing  the  weight  of  his  body  upon  his  wood- 
en leg,  and  screwing  his  wooden  head  very  much 
on  one  side,  and  screwing  up  one  eye:  "then, 
I  put  the  question  to  you,  what's  this  paper 
worth?" 

"Nothing,"  said  John  Harmon. 

Wegg  had  repeated  the  word  with  a  sneer, 
and  was  entering  on  some  sarcastic  retort,  when, 
to  his  boundless  amazement,  he  found  himself 
gripped  by  the  cravat;  shaken  until  his  teeth 
chattered;  shoved  back,  staggering,  into  a  cor- 
ner of  the  room  ;  and  pinned  there. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


337 


"  You  scoundrel!"  said  John  Harmon,  whose 
sea-faring  hold  was  like  that  of  a  vice. 

"You're  knocking  my  head  against  the  wall," 
urged  Silas,  faintly. 

"I  mean  to  knock  your  head  against  the 
wall,"  returned  John  Harmon,  suiting  his  ac- 
tion to  his  words,  with  the  heartiest  good- will ; 
"and  I'd  give  a  thousand  pounds  for  leave  to 
knock  y»ur  brains  out.  Listen,  you  scoundrel, 
and  look  at  that  Dutch  bottle." 

Sloppy  held  it  up,  for  his  edification. 

"  That  Dutch  bottle,  scoundrel,  contained  the 
latest  will  of  the  many  wills  made  by  my  unhap- 
py self-tormenting  father.  That  will  gives  ev- 
ery thing  absolutely  to  my  noble  benefactor  and 
yours,  Mr.  Boffin,  excluding  and  reviling  me, 
and  my  sister  (then  already  dead  of  a  broken 
heart),  by  name.  That  Dutch  bottle  was  found 
by  my  noble  benefactor  and  yours,  after  he  en- 
tered on  possession  of  the  estate.  That  Dutch 
bottle  distressed  him  beyond  measure,  because, 
though  I  and  my  sister  were  both  no  more,  it 
cast  a  slur  upon  our  memory  which  he  knew  we 
had  done  nothing  in  our  miserable  youth  to  de- 
serve. That  Dutch  bottle,  therefore,  he  buried 
in  the  Mound  belonging  to  him,  and  there  it  lay 
while  you,  you  thankless  wretch,  were  prodding 
and  poking — often  very  near  it,  I  dare  say.  His 
intention  was,  that  it  should  never  see  the  light  ; 
but  he  was  afraid  to  destroy  it,  lest  to  destroy 
such  a  document,  even  with  his  great  generous 
motive,  might  be  an  offense  at  law.  After  the 
discovery  was  made  here  who  I  was,  Mr.  Boffin, 
still  restless  on  the  subject,  told  me,  upon  cer- 
tain conditions  impossible  for  such  a  hound  as 
you  to  appreciate,  the  secret  of  that  Dutch  bot- 
tle. I  urged  upon  him  the  necessity  of  its  being 
dug  up,  and  the  paper  being  legally  produced 
and  established.  The  first  thing  you  saw  him 
do,  and  the  second  thing  has  been  done  without 
your  knowledge.  Consequently,  the  paper  now 
rattling  in  your  hand  as  I  shake  you — and  I 
should  like  to  shake  the  life  out  of  you — is  worth 
less  than  the  rotten  cork  of  the  Dutch  bottle,  do 
you  understand  ?" 

Judging  from  the  fallen  countenance  of  Silas 
as  his  head  wagged  backward  and  forward  in  a 
most  uncomfortable  manner,  he  did  understand. 

"Now,  scoundrel,"  said  John  Harmon,  tak- 
ing another  sailor-like  turn  on  his  cravat  and 
holding  him  in  his  corner  at  arm's-length,  "I 
shall  make  two  more  short  speeches  to  you,  be- 
'  cause  I  hope  they  will  torment  you.  Your  dis- 
covery was  a  genuine  discovery  (such  as  it  was), 
for  nobody  had  thought  of  looking  into  that 
place.  Neither  did  we  know  you  had  made  it 
until  Venus  spoke  to  Mr.  Boffin,  though  I  kept 
you  under  good  observation  from  my  first  ap- 
pearance here,  and  though  Sloppy  has  long  made 
it  the  chief  occupation  and  delight  of  his  life  to 
attend  you  like  your  shadow.  I  tell  you  this, 
that  you  may  know  we  knew  enough  of  you  to 
persuade  Mr.  Boffin  to  let  us  lead  you  on,  de- 
luded, to  the  last  possible  moment,  in  order  that 
your  disappointment  might  be  the  heaviest  pos- 
sible disappointment.  That's  the  first  short 
speech,  do  you  understand?" 

Here  John  Harmon  assisted  his  comprehen- 
sion with  another  shake. 

"Now,  scoundrel,"  he  pursued,  "I  am  going 
to  finish.  You  supposed  me  just  now  to  be  the 
possessor  of  my  father's  property. — So  I  am. 


But  through  any  act  of  my  father's,  or  by  any 
right  I  have?  No.  Through  the  munificence 
of  Mr.  Boffin.  The  conditions  that  he  made 
with  me,  before  parting  with  the  secret  of  the 
Dutch  bottle,  were,  that  I  should  take  the  for- 
tune, and  that  he  should  take  his  Mound  and  no 
more.  I  owe  every  thing  I  possess  solely  to  the 
disinterestedness,  uprightness,  tenderness,  good- 
ness (there  are  no  words  to  satisfy  me)  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Boffin.  And  when,  knowing  what  I 
knew,  I  saw  such  a  mud-worm  as  you  presume 
to  rise  in  this  house  against  this  noble  soul,  the 
wonder  is,"  added  John  Harmon  through  his 
clenched  teeth,  and  with  a  very  ugly  turn  in- 
deed on  Wegg's  cravat,  "that  I  didn't  try  to 
twist  your  head  off,  and  fling  that  out  of  win- 
dow! So.  That's  the  last  short  speech,  do  you 
understand  ?" 

Silas,  released,  put  his  hand  to  his  throat, 
cleared  it,  and  looked  as  if  he  had  a  rather  large 
fish  bone  in  that  region.  Simultaneously  with 
this  action  on  his  part  in  his  corner,  a  singular, 
and  on  the  surface  an  incomprehensible,  move- 
ment was  made  by  Mr.  Sloppy :  who  began  back- 
ing toward  Mr.  Wegg  along  the  wall,  in  the 
manner  of  a  porter  or  heaver  who  is  about  to  lift 
a  sack  of  flour  or  coals. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Wegg,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  in  his 
clemency,  "  that  my  old  lady  and  I  can't  have  a 
better  opinion  of  you  than  the  bad  one  we  are 
forced  to  entertain.  But  I  shouldn't  like  to 
leave  you,  after  all  said  and  done,  worse  off  in 
life  than  I  found  you.  Therefore  say  in  a  word, 
before  we  part,  what  it'll  cost  to  set  you  up -in 
another  stall." 

"And  in  another  place,"  John  Harmon  struck 
in.     "You  don't  come  outside  these  windows." 

"Mr.  Boffin,"  returned  Wegg  in  avaricious 
humiliation ;  "  when  I  first  had  the  honor  of 
making  your  acquaintance,  I  had  got  together  a 
collection  of  ballads  which  was,  I  may  say,  above 
price." 

"Then  they  can't  be  paid  for,"  said  John 
Harmon,  "  and  you  had  better  not  try,  my  dear 
Sir." 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Boffin,"  resumed  Wegg, 
with  a  malignant  glance  in  the  last  speaker's  di- 
rection, "I  was  putting  the  case  to  you,  who,  if 
my  senses  did  not  deceive  me,  put  the  case  to 
me.  I  had  a  very  choice  collection  of  ballads, 
and  there  was  a  new  stock  of  gingerbread  in  the 
tin  box.  I  say  no  more,  but  would  rather  leave 
it  to  you." 

"But  it's  difficult  to  name  what's  right,"  said 
Mr.  Boffin  uneasily,  with  his  hand  in  his  pocket, 
"and  I  don't  want  to  go  beyond  what's  right, 
because  you  really  have  turned  out  such  a  very 
bad  customer.  So  artful,  and  so  ungrateful  you 
have  been,  Wegg;  for  when  did  I  ever  injure 
you  ?" 

"There  was  also,"  Mr.  Wegg  went  on,  in  a 
meditative  manner,  "a  errand  connection,  in 
which  I  was  much  respected.  But  I  would  not 
wish  to  be  deemed  covetuous,  and  I  would  rather 
leave  it  to  you,  Mr.  Boffin." 

"Upon  my  word,  I  don't  know  what  to  put  it 
at,"  the  Golden  Dustman  muttered. 

"There  was  likewise,"  resumed  Wegg,  "a 
pair  of  trestles,  for  which  alone  a  Irish  person, 
who  was  deemed  a  judge  of  trestles,  offered  five 
and  six — a  sum  I  would  not  hear  of,  for  I  should 
have  lost  by  it — and  there  was  a  stool,  a  um- 


338 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


brella,  a  clothes-horse,  and  a  tray.  But  I  leave 
it  to  you,  Mr.  Boffin." 

The  Golden  Dustman  seeming  to  be  engaged 
in  some  abstruse  calculation,  Mr.  Wegg  assisted 
him  with  the  following  additional  items. 

"There  was,  further,  Miss  Elizabeth,  Master 
George,  Aunt  Jane,  and  Uncle  Parker.  Ah ! 
When  a  man  thinks  of  the  loss  of  such  patron- 
age as  that ;  when  a  man  finds  so  fair  a  garden 
rooted  up  by  pigs ;  he  finds  it  hard  indeed,  with- 
out going  high,  to  work  it  into  money.  But  I 
leave  it  wholly  to  you,  Sir." 

Mr.  Sloppy  still  continued  his  singular,  and 
on  the  surface  his  incomprehensible,  movement. 

"  Leading  on  has  been  mentioned,"  said  Wegg, 
with  a  melancholy  air,  "  and  it's  not  easy  to  say 
how  far  the  tone  of  my  mind  may  have  been 
lowered  by  unwholesome  reading  on  the  subject 
of  Misers,  when  you  was  leading  me  and  others 
on  to  think  you  one  yourself,  Sir.  All  I  can  say 
is,  that  I  felt  my  tone  of  mind  a  lowering  at  the 
time.  And  how  can  a  man  put  a  price  upon  his 
mind  !  There  was  likewise  a  hat  just  now.  But 
I  leave  the  ole  to  you,  Mr.  Boffin." 

"  Come !"  said  Mr.  Boffin.  "Here's  a  couple 
of  pound." 

"Injustice  to  myself,  I  couldn't  take  it,  Sir." 

The  words  were  but  out  of  his  mouth  when 
John  Harmon  lifted  his  finger,  and  Sloppy,  who 
was  now  close  to  Wegg,  backed  to  Wegg's  back, 
stooped,  grasped  his  coat  collar  behind  with  both 
hands,  and  deftly  swung  him  up  like  the  sack 
of  flour  or  coals  before  mentioned.  A  counte- 
nance of  special  discontent  and  amazement  Mr. 
Wegg  exhibited  in  this  position,  with  his  but- 
tons almost  as  prominently  on  view  as  Sloppy's 
own,  and  with  his  wooden  leg  in  a  highly  unac- 
commodating state.  But  not  for  many  seconds 
was  his  countenance  visible  in  the  room;  for 
Sloppy  lightly  trotted  out  with  him  and  trotted 
down  the  staircase,  Mr.  Venus  attending  to  open 
the  street  door.  Mr.  Sloppy's  instructions  had 
been  to  deposit  his  burden  in  the  road ;  but  a 
scavenger's  cart  happening  to  stand  unattended 
at  the  corner,  with  its  little  ladder  planted  against 
the  wheel,  Mr.  S.  found  it  .impossible  to  resist 
the  temptation  of  shooting  Mr.  Silas  Wegg  into 
the  cart's  contents.  A  somewhat  difficult  feat, 
achieved  with  great  dexterity,  and  with  a  pro- 
digious splash. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

WHAT   WAS   CAUGHT   IN  THE  TRAPS  THAT  WERE 
SET. 

How  Bradley  Headstone  had  been  racked  and 
riven  in  his  mind  since  the  quiet  evening  when 
by  the  river-side  he  had  risen,  as  it  were,  out 
of  the  ashes  of  the  Bargeman,  none  but  he  could 
have  told.  Not  even  he  could  have  told,  for 
such  misery  can  only  be  felt. 

First,  he  had  to  bear  the  combined  weight  of 
the  knowledge  of  what  he  had  done,  of  that 
haunting  reproach  that  he  might  have  done  it  so 
much  better,  and  of  the  dread  of  discovery.  This 
was  load  enough  to  crush  him,  and  he  labored 
under  it  day  and  night.  It  was  as  heavy  on  him 
in  his  scanty  sleep  as  in  his  red-eyed  waking 
hours.  It  bore  him  down  with  a  dread  unchang- 
ing monotony,  in  which  there  was  not  a  mo- 
ment's variety.     The  overweighted  beast  of  bur- 


den, or  the  overweighted  slave,  can  for  certain 
instants  shift  the  physical  load,  and  find  some 
slight  respite  even  in  enforcing  additional  pain 
upon  such  a  set  of  muscles  or  such  a  limb. 
Not  even  that  poor  mockery  of  relief  could  the 
wretched  man  obtain,  under  the  steady  pressure 
of  the  infernal  atmosphere  into  which  he  had 
entered. 

Time  went  by,  and  no  visible  suspicion  dogged 
him  ;  time  went  by,  and  in  such  public  accounts 
of  the  attack  as  were  renewed  at  intervals,  he 
began  to  see  Mr.  Lightwood  (who  acted  as  law- 
yer for  the  injured  man)  straying  further  from 
the  fact,  going  wider  of  the  issue,  and  evidently 
slackening  in  his  zeal.  By  degrees  a  glimmer- 
ing of  the  cause  of  this  began  to  break  on  Brad- 
ley's sight.  Then  came  the  chance  encounter 
with  Mr.  Milvey  at  the  railway  station  (where 
he  often  lingered  in  his  leisure  hours,  as  a  place 
where  any  fresh  news  of  his  deed  would  be  cir- 
culated, or  any  placard  referring  to  it  would  be 
posted),  and  then  he  saw  in  the  light  what  he 
had  brought  about. 

For  then  he  saw  that  through  his  desperate 
attempt  to  separate  those  two  forever  he  had 
been  made  the  means  of  uniting  them.  That  he 
had  dipped  his  hands  in  blood  to  mark  himself 
a  miserable  fool  and  tool.  That  Eugene  Wray- 
burn,  for  his  wife's  sake,  set  him  aside  and  left 
him  to  crawl  along  his  blasted  course.  He 
thought  of  Fate,  or  Providence,  or  be  the  di- 
recting Power  what  it  might,  as  having  put  a 
fraud  upon  him — overreached  him — and  in  his 
impotent  mad  rage  bit,  and  tore,  and  had  his  fit. 

New  assurance  of  the  truth  came  upon  him 
in  the  next  few  following  days,  when  it  was  put 
forth  how  the  wounded  man  had  been  married 
on  his  bed,  and  to  whom,  and  how,  though  al- 
ways in  a  dangerous  condition,  he  was  a  shade 
better.  Bradley  would  far  rather  have  been 
seized  for  his  murder  than  he  would  have  read 
that  passage,  knowing  himself  spared,  and  know- 
ing why. 

But,  not  to  be  still  further  defrauded  and  over- 
reached— which  he  would  be  if  implicated  by 
Riderhood,  and  punished  by  the  law  for  his  ab- 
ject failure,  as  though  it  had  been  a  success — 
he  kept  close  in  his  school  during  the  day,  ven- 
tured out  warily  at  night,  and  went  no  more  to 
the  railway  station.  He  examined  the  advertise- 
ments in  the  newspapers  for  any  sign  that  Rider- 
hood  acted  on  his  hinted  threat  of  so  summon- 
ing him  to  renew  their  acquaintance,  but  found 
none.  Having  paid  him  handsomely  for  the 
support  and  accommodation  he  had  had  at  the 
Lock  House,  and  knowing  him  to  be  a  very  ig- 
norant man  who  could  not  write,  he  began  to 
doubt  whether  he  was  to  be  feared  at  all,  or 
whether  they  need  ever  meet  again. 

All  this  time  his  mind  was  never  off  the  rack, 
and  his  raging  sense  of  having  been  made  to 
fling  himself  across  the  chasm  which  divided 
those  two,  and  bridge  it  over  for  their  coining 
together,  never  cooled  down.  This  horrible  con- 
dition brought  on  other  fits.  He  could  not  have 
said  how  many,  or  when;  but  he  saw  in  the 
faces  of  his  pupils  that  they  had  seen  him  in 
that  state,  and  that  they  were  possessed  by  a 
dread  of  his  relapsing. 

One  winter  day,  when  a  slight  fall  of  snow  was 
feathering  the  sills  and  frames  of  the  school- 
room windows,  he  stood  at  his  blackboard,  cray- 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


339 


on  in  hand,  about  to  commence  with  a  class; 
when,  reading  in  the  countenances  of  those  boys 
that  there  was  something  wrong,  and  that  they 
seemed  in  alarm  for  him,  he  turned  his  eyes  to 
the  door  toward  which  they  faced.  He  then 
saw  a  slouching  man  of  forbidding  appearance 
standing  in  the  midst  of  the  school,  with  a  bun- 
dle under  his  arm ;  and  saw  that  it  was  Rider- 
hood. 

He  sat  down  on  a  stool  which  one  of  his  boys 
put  for  him,  and  he  had  a  passing  knowledge 
that  he  was  in  danger  of  falling,  and  that  his 
-  face  was  becoming  distorted.  But  the  fit  went 
off  for  that  time,  and  he  wiped  his  mouth,  and 
stood  up  again. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  governor !  By  your  leave !" 
said  Riderhood,  knuckling  his  forehead,  with  a 
chuckle  and  a  leer.  "What  place  may  this 
be?" 

"This  is  a  school." 

"  Where  young  folks  learns  wot's  right  ?"  said 
Riderhood,  gravely  nodding.     "Beg  your  par- 
don, governor !    By  your  leave !    But  who  teach- 
es this  school  ?" 
"I  do." 

"You're  the  master,  are  you,  learned  gov- 
eJ#or?"  0 

"Yes.     I  am  the  master." 
"And  a  lovely  thing  it  must  be,"  said  Rider- 
hood, "fur  to  learn  young  folks  wot's  right,  and 
fur  to  know  wot  they  know  wot  you  do  it.    Beg 
your  pardon,  learned  governor !    By  your  leave ! 
That  there  blackboard ;  wot's  it  for  ?" 
"It  is  for  drawing  on,  or  writing  on." 
"Is  it  though!"  said  Riderhood.     "Who'd 
have  thought  it,  from  the  looks  on  it!      Would 
you  be  so  kind  as  write  your  name  upon  it, 
learned  governor?"     (In  a  wheedling  tone.) 

Bradley  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  but  placed 
his  usual  signature,  enlarged,  upon  the  board. 

"I  ain't  a  learned  character  myself,"  said 
Riderhood,  surveying  the  class,  "but  I  do  ad- 
mire learning  in  others.  I  should  dearly  like  to 
hear  these  here  young  folks  read  that  there  name 
off  from  the  writing." 

The  arms  of  the  class  went  up.  At  the  mis- 
erable master's  nod  the  shrill  chorus  arose : 
"Bradley  Headstone  !" 

"No?"  cried  Riderhood.  "You  don't  mean 
it?  Headstone!  Why,  that's  in  a  church- 
yard.    Hooroar  for  another  turn  !" 

Another  tossing  of  arms,  another  nod,  and 
another  shrill  chorus :   "  Bradley  Headstone !" 

"I've  got  it  now!"  said  Riderhood,  after  at- 
tentively listening,  and  internally  repeating : 
"Bradley.  I  see.  Chris'en  name,  Bradley, 
sim'lar  to  Roger,  which  is  my  own.  Eh  ? 
Fam'ly  name,  Headstone,  sim'lar  to  Riderhood, 
which  is  my  own.  Eh?" 
Shrill  chorus.  "Yes!" 
"  Might  you  be  acquainted,  learned  governor," 
said  Riderhood,  "with  a  person  of  about  your 
own  heighth  and  breadth,  and  wot  'ud  pull  down 
in  a  scale  about  your  own  weight,  answering  to 
a  name  sounding  sunimat  like  Totherest?" 

With  a  desperation  in  him  that  made  him 
perfectly  quiet,  though  his  jaw  was  heavily 
squared ;  with  his  eyes  upon  Riderhood ;  and 
with  traces  of  quickened  breathing  in  his  nos- 
trils, the  schoolmaster  replied,  in  a  suppressed 
voice,  after  a  pause:  "I  think  I  know  the  man 
you  mean."  I 


"I  thought  you  knowed  the  man  I  mean, 
learned  governor.     I  want  the  man." 

With  a  half  glance  around  him  at  his  pupils, 
Bradley  returned  :  "  Do  you  suppose  he  is  here  ?" 

"Begging  your  pardon,  learned  governor,  and 
by  your  leave,"  said  Riderhood,  with  a  laugh, 
"how  could  I  suppose  he's  here,  when  there's 
nobody  here  but  you,  and  me,  and  these  young 
lambs  wot  you're  a  learning  on?  But  he  is 
most  excellent  company,  that  man,  and  I  want 
him  to  come  and  see  me  at  my  Lock,  up  the 
river." 

"  I'll  tell  him  so." 

"D'ye  think  he'll  come?"  asked  Riderhood. 

"I  am  sure  he  will." 

"Having  got  your  word  for  him, "said  Rider- 
hood, "I  shall  count  upon  him.  P'raps  you'd 
so  fur  obleege  me,  learned  governor,  as  tell  him 
that  if  he  don't  come  precious  soon  I'll  look  him 
up." 

"He  shall  know  it." 

"Thankee.  As  I  says  a  while  ago,"  pursued 
Riderhood,  changing  his  hoarse  tone  and  leering 
round  upon  the  class  again,  "  though  not  a  learn- 
ed character  my  own  self,  I  do  admire  learning 
in  others,  to  be  sure !  Being  here  and  having 
met  with  your  kind  attention,  Master,  might  I, 
afore  I  go,  ask  a  question  of  these  here  young 
lambs  of  yourn  ?" 

"If  it  is  in  the  way  of  school,"  said  Bradley, 
always  sustaining  his  dark  look  at  the  other,  and 
speaking  in  his  suppressed  voice,  "you  may." 

"Oh !  It's  in  the  way  of  school !"  cried  Rid- 
erhood. "I'll  pound  it,  Master,  to  be  in  the 
way  of  school.  Wot's  the  diwisions  of  water, 
my  lambs  ?  Wot  sorts  of  water  is  there  on  the 
land?" 

Shrill  chorus :  "Seas, rivers,  lakes, and  ponds." 

"  Seas,  rivers,  lakes,  and  ponds,"  said  Rider- 
hood. i '  They've  got  all  the  lot,  Master !  Bio  wed 
if  I  shouldn't  have  left  out  lakes,  never  having 
clapped  eyes  upon  one,  to  my  knowledge.  Seas, 
rivers,  lakes,  and  ponds.  Wot  is  it,  lambs,  as 
they  catches  in  seas,  rivers,  lakes,  and  ponds  ?" 

Shrill  chorus  (with  some  contempt  for  the  ease 
of  the  question) :  "Fish !" 

"Good  agin!"  said  Riderhood.  "But  wot 
else  is  it,  my  lambs,  as  they  sometimes  ketches 
in  rivers?" 

Chorus  at  a  loss.  One  shrill  voice  :  "Weed !" 
"  Good  agin !"  cried  Riderhood.  "  But  it  ain't 
weed  neither.  You'll  never  guess,  my  dears. 
Wot  is  it,  besides  fish,  as  they  sometimes  ketch- 
es in  rivers  ?  Well !  I'll  tell  you.  It's  suits  o' 
clothes." 

Bradley's  face  changed. 
"Leastways,  lambs,"  said  Riderhood,  observ- 
ing him  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  "that's 
wot  I  my  own  self  sometimes  ketches  in  rivers. 
For  strike  me  blind,  my  lambs,  if  I  didn't  ketch 
in  a  river  the  wery  bundle  under  my  arm !" 

The  class  looked  at  the  master,  as  if  appeal- 
ing from  the  irregular  entrapment  of  this  mode 
of  examination.  The  master  looked  at  tho 
examiner,  as  if  he  would  have  torn  him  to 
pieces. 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  learned  governor,"  said 
Riderhood,  smearing  his  sleeve  across  his  mouth 
as  he  laughed  with  a  relish,  "'tain't  fair  to  the 
lambs,  I  know.  It  wos  a  bit  of  fun  of  mine. 
But  upon  my  soul  I  drawed  this  here  bundle  out 
of  a  river !     It's  a  Bargeman's  suit  of  clothes. 


340 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


You  see,  it  had  been  sunk  there  by  the  man  as 
wore  it,  and  I  got  it  up." 

"How  do  you  know  it  was  sunk  by  the  man 
who  wore  it  ?"  asked  Bradley. 

"  'Cause  I  see  him  do  it,"  said  Riderhood. 

They  looked  at  each  other.  Bradley,  slowly 
withdrawing  his  eyes,  turned  his  face  to  the 
blackboard  and  slowly  wiped  his  name  out. 

"  A  heap  of  thanks,  Master,"  said  Riderhood, 
"for  bestowing  so  much  of  your  time,  and  of  the 
lambses'  time,  upon  a  man  as  hasn't  got  no  oth- 
er recommendation  to  you  than  being  a  honest 
man.  Wishing  to  see  at  my  Lock  up  the  river 
the  person  as  we've  spoke  of,  and  as  you've  an- 
swered for,  I  takes  my  leave  of  the  lambs  and 
of  their  learned  governor  both." 

With  those  words  he  slouched  out  of  the 
school,  leaving  the  master  to  get  through  his 
weary  work  as  he  might,  and  leaving  the  whis- 
pering pupils  to  observe  the  master's  face  until  he 
fell  into  the  fit  which  had  been  long  impending. 

The  next  day  but  one  was  Saturday,  and  a 
holiday.  Bradley  rose  early,  and  set  out  on 
foot  for  Plashwater  Weir  Mill  Lock.  He  rose 
so  early  that  it  was  not  yet  light  when  he  began 
his  journey.  Before  extinguishing  the  candle 
by  which  he  had  dressed  himself  he  made  a  lit- 
tle parcel  of  his  decent  silver  watch  and  its  de- 
cent guard,  and  wrote  inside  the  paper :  "Kind- 
ly take  care  of  these  for  me."  He  then  addressed 
the  parcel  to  Miss  Peecher,  and  left  it  on  the  most 
protected  corner  of  the  little  seat  in  her  little 
porch. 

It  was  a  cold  hard  easterly  morning  when  he 
latched  the  garden  gate  and  turned  away.  The 
light  snowfall  which  had  feathered  his  school- 
room windows  on  the  Thursday  still  lingered  in 
the  air,  and  was  falling  white,  while  the  wind 
blew  black.  The  tardy  day  did.  not  appear  un- 
til he  had  been  on  foot  two  hours,  and  had  trav- 
ersed a  great  part  of  London  from  east  to  west. 
Such  breakfast  as  he  had  he  took  at  the  com- 
fortless public  house  where  he  had  parted  from 
Riderhood  on  the  occasion  of  their  night-walk. 
He  took  it,  standing  at  the  littered  bar,  and 
looked  loweringly  at  a  man  who  stood  where 
Riderhood  had  stood  that  early  morning. 

He  outwalked  the  short  day,  and  was  on  the 
towing-path  by  the  river,  somewhat  foot-sore, 
when  the  night  closed  iia.  Still  two  or  three 
miles  short  of  the  Lock,  he  slackened  his  pace 
then,  but  went  steadily  on.  The  ground  was 
now  covered  with  snow,  though  thinly,  and  there 
were  floating  lumps  of  ice  in  the  more  exposed 
parts  of  the  river,  and  broken  sheets  of  ice  un- 
der the  shelter  of  the  banks.  He  took  heed  of 
nothing  but  the  ice,  the  snow,  and  the  distance, 
until  he  saw  a  light  ahead,  which  he  knew 
gleamed  from  the  Lock  House  window.  It  ar- 
rested his  steps,  and  he  looked  all  around.  The 
ice,  and  the  snow,  and  he,  and  the  one  light, 
had  absolute  possession  of  the  dreary  scene.  In 
the  distance  before  him,  lay  the  place  where  he 
had  struck  the  worse  than  useless  blows  that 
mocked  him  with  Lizzie's  presence  there  as  Eu- 
gene's wife.  In  the  distance  behind  him,  lay 
the  place  where  the  children  with  pointing  arms 
had  seemed  to  devote  him  to  the  demons  in  cry- 
ing out  his  name.  Within  there,  where  the  light 
was,  was  the  man  who  as  to  both  distances  could 
give  him  up  to  ruin.  To  these  limits  had  his 
world  shrunk. 


He  mended  his  pace,  keeping  his  eyes  upon 
the  light  with  a  strange  intensity,  as  if  he  were 
taking  aim  at  it.  When  .he  approached  it  so 
nearly  as  that  it  parted  into  rays,  they  seemed 
to  fasten  themselves  to  him  and  draw  him  on. 
When  he  struck  the  door  with  his  hand,  his  foot 
followed  so  quickly  on  his  hand  that  he  was  in 
the  room  before  he  was  bidden  to  enter.         * 

The  light  was  the  joint  product  of  a  fire  and  a 
candle.  Between  the  two,  with  his  feet  on  the 
iron  fender,  sat  Riderhood,  pipe  in  mouth. 

He  looked  up  with  a  surly  nod  when  his  visit- 
or came  in.  His  visitor  looked  down  with  a  surly 
nod.  His  outer  clothing  removed,  the  visitor  then 
took  a  seat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire. 

"Not  a  smoker,  I  think?"  said  Riderhood, 
pushing  a  bottle  to  him  across  the  table. 

"No." 

They  both  lapsed  into  silence  with  their  eyes 
upon  the  fire. 

"You  don't  need  to  be  told  I  am  here,"  said 
Bradley  at  length.     "Who  is  to  begin?" 

"I'll  begin,"  said  Riderhood,  "when  I've 
smoked  this  here  pipe  out." 

He  finished  it  with  great  deliberation,  knocked 
out  the  ashes  on  the  hob,  and  put  it  by. 

"I'll  begin,"  he  then  repeated,  "Bradley 
Headstone,  Master,  if  you  wish  it." 

"Wish  it?  I  wish  to  know  what  you  want 
with  me." 

"And  so  you  shall."  Riderhood  had  looked 
hard  at  his  hands  and  his  pockets,  apparently 
as  a  precautionary  measure  lest  he  should  have 
any  weapon  about  him.  But  he  now  leaned  for- 
ward, turning  the  collar  of  his  waistcoat  with  an 
inquisitive  finger,  and  asked,  "Why,  where's 
your  watch?" 

"I  have  left  it  behind." 

' '  I  want  it.  But  it  can  be  fetched.  I've  took 
a  fancy  to  it." 

Bradley  answered  with  a  contemptuous  laugh. 

"I  want  it,"  repeated  Riderhood,  in  a  louder 
voice,  "and  I  mean  to  have  it." 

"  That  is  what  you  want  of  me,  is  it  ?" 

"No,"  said  Riderhood,  still  louder;  "it's 
on'y  part  of  what  I  want  of  you.  I  want  money 
of  you." 

"Any  thing  else?" 

"Every  think  else!"  roared  Riderhood,  in  a 
very  loud  and  furious  way.  "Answer  me  like 
that  and  I  won't  talk  to  you  at  all." 

Bradley  looked  at  him. 

"Don't  so  much  as  look  at  me  like  that  or  I 
won't  talk  to  you  at  all,"  vociferated  Riderhood. 
"But,  instead  of  talking,  I'll  bring  my  hand 
down  upon  you  with  all  its  weight,"  heavily 
smiting  the  table  with  great  force,  "and  smash 
you !" 

"Go  on,"  said  Bradley,  after  moistening  his 
lips. 

"O!  I'm  agoing  on.  Don't  you  fear  but  I'll 
go  on  full-fast  enough  for  you,  and  fur  enough 
for  you,  without  your  telling.  Look  here,  Brad- 
ley Headstone,  Master.  You  might  have  split 
the  T'other  governor  to  chips  and  wedges,  with- 
out my  caring,  except  that  I  might  have  come 
upon  you  for  a  glass  or  so  now  and  then.  Else 
why  have  to  do  with  you  at  all  ?  But  when  you 
copied  my  clothes,  and  when  you  copied  my 
neckhankercher,  and  when  you  shook  blood 
upon  me  after  you  had  done  the  trick,  you  did 
wot  I'll  be  paid  for  and  paid  heavy  for.     If  it 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


341 


como  to  be  throw'd  upon  you,  you  was  to  be 
ready  to  throw  it  upon  me,  was  you  ?  Where 
else  but  in  Plashwater  Weir  Mill  Lock  was 
there  a  man  dressed  according  as  described? 
Where  else  but  in  Plashvvater  Weir  Mill  Lock 
was  there  a  man  as  had  had  words  with  him 
coming  through  in  his  boat  ?  Look  at  the  Lock- 
keeper  in  Plashwater  Weir  Mill  Lock,  in  them 
same  answering  clothes  and  with  that  same  an- 
swering red  neckhankercher,  and  see  whether  his 
clothes  happens  to  be  bloody  or  not.  Yes,  they 
do  happen  to  be  bloody.     Ah,  you  sly  devil !" 

Bradley,  very  white,  sat  looking  at  him  in 
silence. 

"But  two  could  play  at  your  game,"  said 
Riderhood,  snapping  his  fingers  at  him  half  a 
dozen  times,  "and  I  played  it  long  ago;  long 
afore  you  tried  your  clumsy  hand  at  it ;  in  days 
when  you  hadn't  begun  croaking  your  lecters  or 
what  not  in  your  school.  I  know  to  a  figure 
how  you  done  it.  Where  you  stole  away  I 
could  steal  away  arter  you,  and  do  it  knowinger 
than  you,  I  know  how  you  come  away  from 
London  in  your  own  clothes,  and  where  you 
changed  your  clothes  and  hid  your  clothes.  I 
see  you  with  my  own  eyes  take  your  own  clothes 
from  their  hiding-place  among  them  felled  trees 
and  take  a  dip  in  the  river  to  account  for  your 
dressing  yourself,  to  any  one  as  might  come  by. 
I  see  you  rise  up  Bradley  Headstone,  Master, 
where  you  sat  down  Bargeman.  I  see  you 
pitch  your  Bargeman's  bundle  into  the  river.  I 
hooked  your  Bargeman's  bundle  out  of  the  river. 
I've  got  your  Bargeman's  clothes,  tore  this  way 
and  that  way  with  the  scuffle,  stained  green  with 
the  grass,  and  spattered  all  over  with  what  bust 
from  the  blows.  I've  got  them,  and  I've  got 
you.  I  don't  care  a  curse  for  the  T'other  gov- 
ernor, alive  or  dead,  but  I  care  a  many  curses 
for  my  own  self.  And  as  you  laid  your  plots 
agin  me  and  was  a  sly  devil  agin  me,  I'll  be 
paid  for  it — I'll  be  paid  for  it — I'll  be  paid  for  it 
— till  I've  drained  you  dry  !" 

Bradley  looked  at  the  fire  with  a  working  face 
and  was  silent  for  a  while.  At  last  he  said,  with 
what  seemed  an  inconsistent  composure  of  voice 
and  feature : 

"You  can't  get  blood  out  of  a  stone,  Rider- 
hood." 

"I  can  get  money  out  of  a  schoolmaster 
though." 

"You  can't  get  out  of  me  what  is  not  in  me. 
You  can't  wrest  from  me  what  I  have  not  got. 
Mine  is  but  a  poor  calling.  You  have  had  more 
than  two  guineas  from  me  already.  Do  you  know 
how  long  it  has  taken  me  (allowing  for  a  long 
and  arduous  training)  to  earn  such  a  sum'?" 

"I  don't  know,  nor  I  don't  care.  Yours  is  a 
'spectable  calling.  To  save  your  'spectability  it's 
worth  your  while  to  pawn  every  article  of  clothes 
you've  got,  sell  every  stick  in  your  house,  and 
beg  and  borrow  every  penny  you  can  get  trusted 
with.  When  you've  done  that  and  handed  over 
I'll  leave  you.     Not  afore." 

"How  do  you  mean,  you'll  leave  me?" 

"  I  mean  as  I'll  keep  you  company,  wherever 
you  go,  when  you  go  away  from  here.  Let  the 
Lock  take  care  of  itself.  I'll  take  care  of  you, 
once  I've  got  you." 

Bradley  again  looked  at  the  fire.  Eying  him 
aside,  Riderhood  took  up  his  pipe,  refilled  it, 
lighted  it,  and  sat  smoking.  Bradley  leaned 
his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  head  upon  his 


hands,  and  looked  at  the  fire  with  a  most  intent 
abstraction. 

"Riderhood,"  he  said,  raising  himself  in  his 
chair,  after  a  long  silence,  and  drawing  out  his 
purse  and  putting  it  on  the  table.  "Say  I  part 
with  this,  which  is  all  the  money  I  have ;  say  I 
let  you  have  my  watch ;  say  that  every  quarter, 
when  I  draw  my  salary,  I  pay  you  a  certain  por- 
tion of  it." 

"Say  nothing  of  the  sort,"  retorted  Rider- 
hood, shaking  his  head  as  he  smoked.  "You've 
got  away  once,  and  I  won't  run  the  chance  agin. 
I've  had  trouble  enough  to  findyou,and  shouldn't 
have  found  you,  if  I  hadn't  seen  you  slipping 
along  the  street  overnight,  and  watched  you  till 
you  was  safe  housed.  I'll  have  one  settlement 
with  you  for  good  and  all." 

"Riderhood,  I  am  a  man  who  has  lived  a  se- 
cluded life.  I  have  no  resources  beyond  myself. 
I  have  absolutely  no  friends." 

"That's  a  lie,"  said  Riderhood.  "You've 
got  one  friend  as  I  knows  of ;  one  as  is  good  for 
a  Savings  Bank  book,  or  I'm  a  blue  monkey!" 

Bradley's  face  darkened,  and  his  hand  slowly 
closed  on  the  purse  and  drew  it  back,  as  he  sat 
listening  for  what  the  other  should  go  on  to  say. 

"I  went  into  the  wrong  shop,  fust,  last  Thurs- 
day," said  Riderhood.  "Found  myself  among 
the  young  ladies,  by  George !  Over  the  young 
ladies,  I  see  a  Missis.  That  Missis  is  sweet 
enough  upon  you,  Master,  to  sell  herself  up,  slap, 
to  get  you  out  of  trouble.    Make  her  do  it  then." 

Bradley  stared  at  him  so  very  suddenly  that 
Riderhood  not  quite  knowing  how  to  take  it,  af- 
fected to  be  occupied  with  the  encircling  smoke 
from  his  pipe ;  fanning  it  away  with  his  hand, 
and  blowing  it  off. 

"You  spoke  to  the  mistress,  did  you?"  in- 
quired Bradley,  with  that  foi'mer  composure  of 
voice  and  feature  that  seemed  inconsistent,  and 
with  averted  eyes. 

"Poof!  Yes,"  said  Riderhood,  drawing  his 
attention  from  the  smoke.  I  spoke  to  her.  I 
didn't  say  much  to  her.  She  was  put  in  a  fluster 
by  my  dropping  in  among  the  young  ladies  (I 
never  did  set  up  for  a  lady's  man),  and  she  took 
me  into  her  parlor  to  hope  as  there  was  nothing 
wrong.  I  tells  her,  'O  no,  nothing  wrong. 
The  master's  my  wery  good  friend.  But  I  see 
how  the  land  laid,  and  that  she  was  comfortable 
off." 

Bradley  put  the  purse  in  his  pocket,  grasped 
his  left  wrist  with  his  right  hand,  and  sat  rigid- 
ly contemplating  the  fire. 

"She  couldn't  live  more  handy  to  you  than 
she  does,"  said  Riderhood,  "and  when  I  goes 
home  with  you  (as  of  course  I  am  agoing),  I 
recommend  you  to  clean  her  out  without  loss  of 
time.  You  can  marry  her  arter  you  and  me 
have  come  to  a  settlement.  She's  nice-looking, 
and  I  know  you  can't  be  keeping  company  with 
no  one  else,  having  been  so  lately  disapinted  in 
another  quarter." 

Not  one  other  word  did  Bradley  utter  all  that 
night.  Not  once  did  he  change  his  attitude,  or 
loosen  his  hold  upon  his  wrist.  Rigid  before 
the  fire,  as  if  it  were  a  charmed  flame  that  was 
turning  him  old,  he  sat,  with  the  dark  lines 
deepening  in  his  face,  its  stare  becoming  more 
and  more  haggard,  its  surface  turning  whiter 
and  whiter  as  if  it  were  being  overspread  with 
ashes,  and  the  very  texture  and  color  of  his  hair 
degenerating. 


342 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


Not  until  the  late  daylight  made  the  window 
transparent  did  this  decaying  statue  move.  Then 
it  slowly  arose,  and  sat  in  the  window,  looking 
out. 

Riderhood  had  kept  his  chair  all  night.  In 
the  earlier  part  of  the  night  he  had  muttered 
twice  or  thrice  that  it  was  bitter  cold  ;  or  that 
the  fire  burned  fast,  when  he  got  up  to  mend  it ; 
but  as  he  could  elicit  from  his  companion  nei- 
ther sound  nor  movement,  he  had  afterward  held 
his  peace.  He  was  making  some  disorderly 
preparations  for  coffee,  Avhen  Bradley  came 
from  the  window  and  put  on  his  outer  coat  and 
hat. 

"  Hadn't  us  better  have  a  bit  o'  breakfast  afore 
we  start?"  said  Riderhood.  "It  ain't  good  to 
freeze  a  empty  stomach,  Master." 

Without  a  sign  to  show  that  he  heard,  Brad- 
ley walked  out  of  the  Lock  House.  Catching 
up  from  the  table  a  piece  of  bread,  and  taking 
his  Bargeman's  bundle  under  his  arm,  Rider- 
hood immediately  followed  him.  Bradley  turned 
toward  London.  Riderhood  caught  him  up,  and 
walked  at  his  side. 

The  two  men  trudged  on,  side  by  side,  in  si- 
lence, full  three  miles.  Suddenly,  Bradley  turn- 
ed to  retrace  his  course.  Instantly,  Riderhood 
turned  likewise,  and  they  went  back  side  by 
side. 

Bradley  re-entered  the  Lock  House.  So  did 
Riderhood.  Bradley  sat  down  in  the  window. 
Riderhood  warmed  himself  at  the  fire.  After  an 
hour  or  more,  Bradley  abruptly  got  up  again, 
and  again  went  out,  but  this  time  turned  the 
other  way.  Riderhood  was  close  after  him, 
caught  him  up  in  a  few  paces,  and  walked  at 
his  side. 

This  time,  as  before,  when  he  found  his  at- 
tendant not  to  be  shaken  off,  Bradley  suddenly 
turned  back.  This  time,  as  before,  Riderhood 
turned  back  along  with  him.  But  not  this  time, 
as  before,  did  they  go  into  the  Lock  House,  for 
Bradley  came  to  a  stand  on  the  snow-covered 
turf  by  the  Lock,  looking  up  the  river  and  down 
the  river.  Navigation  was  impeded  by  the  frost, 
and  the  scene  was  a  mere  white  and  yellow  des- 
ert. 

"  Come,  come,  Master,"  urged  Riderhood,  at 
his  side.  "This  is  a  dry  game.  And  where's 
the  good  of  it  ?  You  can't  get  rid  of  me,  ex- 
cept by  coming  to  a  settlement.  I  am  agoing 
along  with  you  wherever  you  go." 

Without  a  word  of  reply,  Bradley  passed  quick- 
ly from  him  over  the  wooden  bridge  on  the  lock 
gates.  "  Why,  there's  even  less  sense  in  this 
move  than  t'other,"  said  Riderhood,  following. 
"The  Weir's  there,  and  you'll  have  to  come 
back,  you  know."       * 

Without  taking  the  least  notice,  Bradley  leaned 
his  body  against  a  post,  in  a  resting  attitude,  and 
there  rested  with  his  eyes  cast  down.  ' '  Being 
brought  here, "  said  Riderhood,  gruffly,  "  I'll  turn 
it  to  some  use  by  changing  my  gates."  With  a 
rattle  and  a  rush  of  water  he  then  swung-to  the 
lock  gates  that  wei*e  standing  open,  before  open- 
ing the  others.  So,  both  sets  of  gates  were,  for 
the  moment,  closed. 

"You'd  better  by  far  be  reasonable,  Bradley 
Headstone,  Master,"  said  Riderhood,  "or  I'll 
drain  you  all  the  dryer  for  it,  when  we  do  set- 
tle.—Ah!     Would  you!" 

Bradley  had  caught  him  round  the  body.  He 
seemed  to  be  girdled  with  an  iron  ring.     They 


were  on  the  brink  of  the  Lock,  about  midway 
between  the  two  sets  of  gates. 

^'Let  go!"  said  Riderhood,  "or  I'll  get  my 
knife  out  and  slash  you  wherever  I  can  cut  you. 
Let  go!" 

Bradley  was  drawing  to  the  Lock-edge.  Rid- 
erhood was  drawing  away  from  it.  It  was  a 
strong  grapple,  and  a  fierce  struggle,  arm  and 
leg.  Bradley  got  him  round,  with  his  back  to 
the  Lock,  and  still  worked  him  backward. 

"Let  go!"  said  Riderhood.  "Stop!  What 
are  you  trying  at?  You  can't  drown  Me.  Ain't 
I  told  you  that  the  man  as  has  come  through 
drowning  can  never  be  drowned?  I  can't  be 
drowned." 

"I  can  be!"  returned  Bradley,  in  a  despe- 
rate, clenched  voice.  "I  am  resolved  to  be. 
I'll  hold  you  living,  and  I'll  hold  you  dead.  Come 
down !" 

Riderhood  went  over  into  the  smooth  pit,  back- 
ward, and  Bradley  Headstone  upon  him.  When 
the  two  were  found,  lying  under  the  ooze  and 
scum  behind  one  of  the  rotting  gates,  Riderhood's 
hold  had  relaxed,  probably  in  falling,  and  his 
eyes  were  staring  upward.  But  he  was  girdled 
still  with  Bradley's  iron  ring,  and  the  rivets  of 
the  iron  ring  held  tight. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PERSONS   AND   THINGS   IN   GENERAL. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Harmon's  first  delightful 
occupation  was,  to  set  all  matters  right  that  had 
strayed  in  any  way  wrong,  or  that  might,  could, 
would,  or  should,  have  strayed  in  any  way  wrong, 
while  their  name  was  in  abeyance.  In  tracing 
out  affairs  for  which  John's  fictitious  death  was 
to  be  considered  in  any  way  responsible,  they 
used  a  very  broad  and  free  construction  ;  regard- 
ing, for  instance,  the  dolls'  dress-maker  as  hav- 
ing a  claim  on  their  protection,  because  of  her 
association  with  Mrs.  Eugene  Wrayburn,  and  be- 
cause of  Mrs.  Eugene's  old  association,  in  her 
turn,  witli  the  dark  side  of  the  story.  It  followed 
that  the  old  man,  Riah,  as  a  good  and  servicea- 
ble friend  to  both,  was  not  to  be  disclaimed.  Nor 
even  Mr.  Inspector,  as  having  been  trepanned 
into  an  industrious  hunt  on  a  false  scent.  It  may 
be  remarked,  in  connection  with  that  worthy  of- 
ficer, that  a  rumor  shortly  afterward  pervaded 
the  Force,  to  the  effect  that  he  had  confided  to 
Miss  Abbey  Potterson,  over  a  jug  of  mellow  flip 
in  the  bar  of  the  Six  Jolly  Fellowship  Porters, 
that  he  "  didn't  stand  to  lose  a  farthing"  through 
Mr.  Harmon's  coming  to  life,  but  was  quite  as 
well  satisfied  as  if  that  gentleman  had  been  bar- 
barously murdered,  and  he  (Mr.  Inspector)  had 
pocketed  the  government  reward. 

In  all  their  arrangements  of  such  nature,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  John  Harmon  derived  much  assistance 
from  their  eminent  solicitor,  Mr.  Mortimer  Light- 
wood  ;  who  laid  about  him  professionally  with 
such  unwonted  dispatch  and  intention,  that  a 
piece  of  work  was  vigorously  pursued  as  soon  as 
cut  out ;  whereby  Young  Blight  was  acted  on  as 
by  that  transatlantic  dram  which  is  poetically 
named  An  Eye-Opener,  and  found  himself  star- 
ing at  real  clients  instead  of  out  of  window.  The 
accessibility  of  Riah  proving  very  useful  as  to  a 
few  hints  toward  the  disentanglement  of  Eugene's 
affairs,  Lightwood  applied  himself  with  infinite 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


343 


zest  to  attacking  and  harassing  Mr.  Fledgeby : 
who,  discovering  himself  in  danger  of  being 
blown  into  the  air  by  certain  explosive  transac- 
tions in  which  he  had  been  engaged,  and  having 
been  already  flayed  under  his  beating,  came  to 
a  parley  and  asked  for  quarter.  The  harmless 
Twemlow  profited  by  the  conditions  entered  into, 
though  he  little  thought  it.  Mr.  Riah  unaccount- 
ably melted ;  waited  in  person  on  him  over  the 
stable-yard  in  Duke  Street,  St.  James's,  no  lon- 
ger ravening  but  mild,  to  inform  him  that  pay- 
ment of  interest  as  heretofore,  but  henceforth  at 
Mr.  Lightwood's  offices,  would  appease  his  Jew- 
ish rancor;  and  departed  with  the  secret  that 
Mr.  John  Harmon  had  advanced  the  money  and 
become  the  creditor.  Thus  was  the  sublime 
Snigsworth's  wrath  averted,  and  thus  did  he 
snort  no  larger  amount  of  moral  grandeur  at 
the  Corinthian  column  in  the  print  over  the  fire- 
place, than  was  normally  in  his  (and  the  British) 
constitution. 

Mrs.  Wilfer's  first  visit  to  the  Mendicant's 
bride  at  the  new  abode  of  Mendicancy,  was  a 
grand  event.  Pa  had  been  sent  for  into  the  City, 
on  the  very  day  of  taking  possession,  and  had 
been  stunned  with  astonishment,  and  brought-to, 
and  led  about  the  house  by  one  ear,  to  behold 
its  various  treasures,  and  had  been  enraptured 
and  enchanted.  Pa  had  also  been  appointed 
Secretary,  and  had  been  enjoined  to  give  instant 
notice  of  resignation  to  Chicksey,  Veneering, 
and  Stobbles,  for  ever  and  ever.  But  Ma  came 
later,  and  came,  as  was  her  due,  in  state. 

The  carriage  was  sent  for  Ma,  who  entered  it 
with  a  bearing  worthy  of  the  occasion,  accom- 
panied, rather  than  supported,  by  Miss  Lavinia, 
who  altogether  declined  to  recognize  the  mater- 
nal majesty.  Mr.  George  Sampson  meekly  fol- 
lowed. He  was  received  in  the  vehicle,  by  Mrs. 
Wilfer,  as  if  admitted  to  the  honor  of  assisting  at 
a  funeral  in  the  family,  and  she  then  issued  the 
order,  "Onward!"  to  the  Mendicant's  menial. 

"I  wish  to  goodness,  Ma,"  said  Lavvy,  throw- 
ing herself  back  among  the  cushions,  with  her 
arms  crossed,  "that  vou'd  loll  a  little." 

1 '  How !"  repeated  Mrs.  Wilfer.     « '  Loll !" 

"Yes,  Ma." 

"I  hope,"  said  the  impressive  lady,  "I  am 
incapable  of  it." 

"I  am  sure  you  look  so,  Ma.  But  why  one 
should  go  out  to  dine  with  one's  own  daughter 
or  sister,  as  if  one's  under-petticoat  was  a  back- 
board, I  do  not  understand." 

"Neither  do  I  understand,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Wilfer,  with  deep  scorn,  "how  a  young  lady 
can  mention  the  garment  in  the  name  of  which 
you  have  indulged.     I  blush  for  you." 

"Thank  you,  Ma,"  said  Lavvy,  yawning, 
"but  I  can  do  it  for  myself,  I  am  obliged  to 
you,  when  there's  any  occasion." 

Here  Mr.  Sampson,  with  the  view  of  estab- 
lishing harmony,  which  he  never  under  any  cir- 
cumstances succeeded  in  doing,  said,  with  an 
agreeable  smile :  "  After  all,  you  know,  ma'am, 
we  know  it's  there."  And  immediately  felt  that 
he  had  committed  himself. 

"We  know  it's  there!"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer, 
glaring. 

"Really,  George,"  remonstrated  Miss  La- 
vinia, "I  must  say  that  I  don't  understand  your 
allusions,  and  that  I  think  you  might  be  more 
delicate  and  less  personal." 


"Go  it!"  cried  Mr.  Sampson,  becoming,  on 
the  shortest  notice,  a  prey  to  despair.  "  Oh  yes ! 
Go  it,  Miss  Lavinia  Wilfer !" 

"What  you  may  mean,  George  Sampson,  by 
your  omnibus-driving  expressions,  I  can  not  pre- 
tend to  imagine.  Neither,"  said  Miss  Lavinia, 
"  Mr.  George  Sampson,  do  I  wish  to  imagine. 
It  is  enough  for  me  to  know  in  my  own  heart 
that  I  am  not  going  to — "  having  imprudently 
got  into  a  sentence  without  providing  a  way  out 
of  it,  Miss  Lavinia  was  constrained  to  close  with 
"going  to  go  it."  A  weak  conclusion,  which, 
however,  derived  some  appearance  of  strength 
from  disdain. 

"Oh  yes!"  cried  Mr.  Sampson,  with  bitter- 
ness.    "  Thus  it  ever  is.    I  never — " 

"If  you  mean  to  say,"  Miss  Lavvy  cut  him 
short,  "that  you  never  brought  up  a  young  ga- 
zelle, you  may  save  yourself  the  trouble,  because 
nobody  in  this  carnage  supposes  that  you  ever 
did.  We  know  you  better."  (As  if  this  were  a 
home-thrust.) 

"Lavinia,"  returned  Mr.  Sampson,  in  a  dis- 
mal vein,  "I  did  not  mean  to  say  so.  What  I 
did  mean  to  say  was,  that  I  never  expected  to 
retain  my  favored  place  in  this  family  after  For- 
tune shed  her  beams  upon  it.  Why  do  you  take 
me,"  said  Mr.  Sampson,  "to  the  glittering  halls 
with  which  I  can  never  compete,  and  then  taunt 
me  with  my  moderate  salary  ?  Is  it  generous  ? 
Is  it  kind  ?" 

The  stately  lady,  Mrs.  Wilfer,  perceiving  her 
opportunity  of  delivering  a  few  remarks  from  the 
throne,  here  took  up  the  altercation. 

"Mr.  Sampson,"  she  began,  "I  can  not  per- 
mit you  to  misrepresent  the  intentions  of  a  child 
of  mine." 

"Let  him  alone,  Ma,"  Miss  Lavvy  interposed 
with  haughtiness.  "It  is  indifferent  to  me  what 
he  says  or  does."* 

"Nay,  Lavinia,"  quoth  Mrs.  Wilfer,  "this 
touches  the  blood  of  the  family.  If  Mr.  George 
Sampson  attributes,  even  to  my  youngest  daugh- 
ter— " 

("I  don'fr  see  why  you  should  use  the  word 
'even,'  Ma,"  Miss  Lavvy  interposed,  "because 
I  am  quite  as  important  as  any  of  the  others.") 
"Peace!"  said  Mrs.  Wilfer,  solemnly.  "I 
repeat,  If  Mr.  George  Sampson  attributes  to  my 
youngest  daughter  groveling  motives,  he  attrib- 
utes them  equally  to  the  mother  of  my  youngest 
daughter.  That  mother  repudiates  them,  and 
demands  of  Mr.  George  Sampson,  as  a  youth  of 
honor,  what  he  would  have  ?  I  may  be  mistaken 
— nothing  is  more  likely — but  Mr.  George  Samp- 
son," proceeded  Mrs.  Wilfer,  majestically  wav- 
ing her  gloves,  "  appears  to  me  to  be  seated  in  a 
first-class  equipage.  Mr.  George  Sampson  ap- 
pears to  me  to  be  on  his  way,  by  his  own  admis- 
sion, to  a  residence  that  may  be  termed  Palatial. 
Mr.  George  Sampson  appears  to  me  to  be  invited 
to  participate  in  the — shall  I  say  the — Elevation 
which  has  descended  on  the  family  with  which 
he  is  ambitious,  shall  I  say  to  Mingle  ?  Whence, 
then,  this  tone  on  Mr.  Sampson's  part  ?" 

"It  is  only,  ma'am,"  Mr.  Sampson  explained, 
in  exceedingly  low  spirits,  "because,  in  a  pecu- 
niary sense,  I  am  painfully  conscious  of  my  un- 
worthiness.  Lavinia  is  now  highly  connected. 
Can  I  hope  that  she  will  still  remain  the  same 
Lavinia  as  of  old  ?  And  is  it  not  pardonable  if 
I  feel  sensitive  when  I  see  a  disposition  on  her 
part  to  take  me  up  short  ?" 


344 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"If  you  are  not  satisfied  with  your  position, 
Sir,"  observed  Miss  Lavinia,  with  much  polite- 
ness, "we  can  set  you  down  at  any  turning  you 
may  please  to  indicate  to  my  sister's  coachman." 

"Dearest  Lavinia,"  urged  Mr.  Sampson,  pa- 
thetically, "I  adore  you." 

"Then  if  you  can't  do  it  in  a  more  agreeable 
manner,"  returned  the  young  lady,  "  I  wish  you 
wouldn't." 

"I  also,"  pursued  Mr.  Sampson,  "respect 
you,  ma'am,  to  an  extent  which  must  ever  be 
below  your  merits,  I  am  well  aware,  but  still  up 
to  an  uncommon  mark.  Bear  with  a  wretch, 
Lavinia,  bear  with  a  wretch,  ma'am,  who  feels 
the  noble  sacrifices  you  make  for  him,  but  is 
goaded  almost  to  madness,  "Mr.  Sampson  slapped 
his  forehead,  ' '  when  he  thinks  of  competing  with 
the  rich  and  influential." 

"When  you  have  to  compete  with  the  rich 
and  influential  it  will  probably  be  mentioned  to 
you,"  said  Miss  Lavvy,  "in  good  time.  At 
least  it  will  if  the  case  is  my  case." 

Mr.  Sampson  immediately  expressed  his  fer- 
vent opinion  that  this  was  "more  than  human," 
and  was  brought  upon  his  knees  at  Miss  La- 
vinia's  feet. 

It  was  the  crowning  addition  indispensable  to 
the  full  enjoyment  of  both  mother  and  daughter, 
to  bear  Mr."  Sampson,  a  grateful  captive,  into 
the  glittering  halls  he  had  mentioned,  and  to 
parade  him  through  the  same,  at  once  a  living 
witness  of  their  glory,  and  a  bright  instance  of 
their  condescension.  Ascending  the  staircase, 
Miss  Lavinia  permitted  him  to  walk  at  her  side, 
with  the  air  of  saying:  "Notwithstanding  all 
these  surroundings,  I  am  yours  as  yet,  George. 
How  long  it  may  last  is  another  question,  but  I 
am  yours  as  yet."  She  also  benignantly  inti- 
mated to  him,  aloud,  the  nature  of  the  objects 
upon  which  he  looked,  and  to  which  he  was  un- 
accustomed: as,  -'Exotics,  George,"  "An  avi- 
ary, George,"  "An  ormolu  clock,  George,"  and 
the  like.  While,  through  the  whole  of  the  dec- 
orations, Mrs.  Wilfer  led  the  way  with  the  bear- 
ing of  a  Savage  Chief,  who  would  feel  himself 
compromised  by  manifesting  the  slightest  token 
of  surprise  or  admiration. 

Indeed,  the  bearing  of  this  impressive  woman 
throughout  the  day  was  a  pattern  to  all  impress- 
ive women  under  similar  circumstances.  She 
renewed  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bof- 
fin, as  if  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  had  said  of  her 
what  she  had  said  of  them,  and  as  if  Time  alone 
could  quite  wear  her  injury  out.  She  regarded 
every  servant  who  approached  her  as  her  sworn 
enemy,  expressly  intending  to  offer  her  affronts 
with  the  dishes,  and  to  pour  forth  outrages  on 
her  moral  feelings  from  the  decanters.  She  sat 
erect  at  table,  on  the  right  hand  of  her  son-in- 
law,  as  half  suspecting  poison  in  the  viands,  and 
as  bearing  up  with  native  force  of  character 
against  other  deadly  ambushes.  Her  carriage 
toward  Bella  was  as  a  carriage  toward  a  young 
lady  of  good  position  whom  she  had  met  in  so- 
ciety a  few  years  ago.  Even  when,  slightly 
thawing  under  the  influence  of  sparkling  Cham- 
pagne, she  related  to  her  son-in-law  some  pas- 
sages of  domestic  interest  concerning  her  papa, 
she  infused  into  the  narrative  such  Arctic  sug- 
gestions of  her  having  been  an  unappreciated 
blessing  to  mankind,  since  her  papa's  days,  and 
also  of  that  gentleman's  having  been  a  frosty  im- 
personation of  a  frosty  race,  as  struck  cold  to 


the  stomachs  of  the  hearers.  The  Inexhaustible 
being  produced,  staring,  and  evidently  intending 
a  weak  and  washy  smile  shortly,  no  sooner  be- 
held her  than  it  was  stricken  spasmodic  and  in- 
consolable. When  she  took  her  leave  at  last,  it 
would  have  been  hard  to  say  whether  it  was  with 
the  air  of  going  to  the  scaffold  herself,  or  of 
leaving  the  inmates  of  the  house  for  immediate 
execution.  Yet  John  Harmon  enjoyed  it  all 
merrily,  and  told  his  wife,  when  he  and  she  were 
alone,  that  her  natural  ways  had  never  seemed 
so  dearly  natural  as  beside  this  foil,  and  that 
although  he  did  not  dispute  her  being  her  father's 
daughter,  he  should  ever  remain  steadfast  in  the 
faith  that  she  could  not  be  her  mother's. 

This  visit  was,  as  has  been  said,  a  grand  event. 
Another  event,  not  grand,  but  deemed  in  the 
house  a  special  one,  occurred  at  about  the  same 
period  ;  and  this  was  the  first  interview  between 
Mr.  Sloppy  and  Miss  Wren. 

The  dolls'  dress-maker,  being  at  work  for  the 
Inexhaustible  upon  a  full-dressed  doll  some  two 
sizes  larger  than  that  young  person,  Mr.  Sloppy 
undertook  to  call  for  it,  and  did  so. 

"Come  in,  Sir,"  said  Miss  Wren,  who  was 
working  at  her  bench.   "  And  who  may  you  be  ?" 

Mr.  Sloppy  introduced  himself  by  name  and 
buttons. 

"Oh,  indeed!"  cried  Jenny.  "Ah!  I  have 
been  looking  forward  to  knowing  you.  I  heard 
of  your  distinguishing  yourself." 

"Did  you,  Miss?"  grinned  Sloppy.  "I  am 
sure  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  but  I  don't  know  how." 

"Pitching  somebody  into  a  mud-cart,"  said 
Miss  Wren. 

"Oh!  That  way!"  cried  Sloppy.  "Yes, 
Miss."     And  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"Bless  us!"  exclaimed  Miss  Wren,  with  a 
start.  "Don't  open  your  mouth  as  wide  as 
that,  young  man,  or  it'll  catch  so,  and  not  shut 
again  some  day." 

Mr.  Sloppy  opened  it,  if  possible,  wider,  and 
kept  it  open  until  his  laugh  was  out. 

"Why,  you're  like  the  giant,"  said  Miss 
Wren,  "when  he  came  home  in  the  land  of 
Beanstalk,  and  wanted  Jack  for  supper." 

"Was  he  good-looking,  Miss ?"  asked  Sloppy. 

"No,"  said  Miss  Wren.     "Ugly." 

Her  visitor  glanced  round  the  room — which 
had  many  comforts  in  it  now  that  had  not  been 
in  it  before — and  said :  "  This  is  a  pretty  place, 
Miss." 

"Glad  you  think  so,  Sir,"  returned  Miss 
Wren.     "  And  what  do  you  think  of  Me  ?" 

The  honesty  of  Mr.  Sloppy  being  severely 
taxed  by  the  question,  he  twisted  a  button, 
grinned,  and  faltered. 

"Out  with  it !"  said  Miss  Wren,  with  an  arch 
look.  "Don't  you  think  me  a  queer  little  com- 
icality?" In  shaking  her  head  at  him,  after 
asking  the  question,  she  shook  her  hair  down. 

"Oh!"  cried  Sloppy,  in  a  burst  of  admira- 
tion.    "What  a  lot,  and  what  a  color!" 

Miss  Wren,  with  her  usual  expressive  hitch, 
went  on  with  her  work.  But  left  her  hair  as  it 
was ;  not  displeased  by  the  effect  it  had  made. 

"You  don't  live  here  alone,  do  you,  Miss?" 
asked  Sloppy. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Wren,  with  a  chop.  "Live 
here  with  my  fairy  godmother." 

"With — "  Mr.  Sloppy  couldn't  make  it  out; 
"with  who  did  you  say,  Miss?" 


OUR  MUTUAL  FKIEND. 


34* 


"Well!"  replied  Miss  Wren,  more  seriously. 
"With  my  second  father.  Or  with  my  first,  for 
that  matter."  And  she  shook  her  head  and 
drew  a  sigh.  "If  you  had  known  a  poor  child 
I  used  to  have  hei'e,"  she  added,  "you'd  have 
understood  me.  But  you  didn't,  and  you  can't. 
All  the  better !" 

"You  must  have  been  taught  a  long  time," 
said  Sloppy,  glancing  at  the  array  of  dolls  in 
hand,  "  before  you  came  to  work  so  neatly,  Miss, 
and  with  such  a  pretty  taste." 

"Never  was  taught  a  stitch,  young  man!" 
returned  the  dress-maker,  tossing  her  head. 
' '  Just  gobbled  and  gobbled,  till  I  found  out  how 
to  do  it.    Badly  enough  at  first,  but  better  now." 

"And  here  have-  I,"  said  Sloppy,  in  some- 
thing of  a  self-reproachful  tone,  "  been  a  learn- 
ing and  a  learning,  and  here  has  Mr.  Boffin 
been  a  paying  and  a  paying,  ever  so  long!" 

"I  have  heard  what  your  trade  is,"  observed 
Miss  Wren  ;  "  it's  cabinet-making." 

Mr.  Sloppy  nodded.  "  Now  that  the  Mounds 
is  done  with,  it  is.  I'll  tell  you  what,  Miss.  I 
should  like  to  make  you  something." 

"Much  obliged.     But  what ?" 

"I  could  make  you,"  said  Sloppy,  surveying 
the  room,  "I  could  make  you  a  handy  set  of 
nests  to  lay  the  dolls  in.  Or  I  could  make  you 
a  handy  little  set  of  drawers  to  keep  your  silks, 
and  threads,  and  scraps  in.  Or  I  could  turn 
you  a  rare  handle  for  that  crutch-stick,  if  it  be- 
longs to  him  you  call  your  father." 

"  It  belongs  to  me,"  returned  the  little  creat- 
ure, with  a  quick  flush  of  her  face  and  neck. 
"I  am  lame." 

Poor  Sloppy  flushed  too,  for  there  was  an  in- 
stinctive delicacy  behind  his  buttons,  and  his 
own  hand  had  struck  it.  He  said,  perhaps,  the 
best  thing  in  the  way  of  amends  that  could  be 
said.  "I  am  very  glad  it's  yours,  because  I'd 
rather  ornament  it  for  you  than  for  any  one 
else.     Please  may  I  look  at  it?" 

Miss  Wren  was  in  the  act  of  handing  it  to 
him  over  her  bench  when  she  paused.  "But 
you  had  better  see  me  use  it,"  she  said,  sharply. 
"This  is  the  way.  Hoppetty,  Kicketty,  Pep- 
peg-peg.     Not  pretty;  is  it?" 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you  hardly  want  it  at 
all,"  said  Sloppy. 

The  little  dress-maker  sat  down  again,  and 
gave  it  into  his  hand,  saying,  with  that  better 
look  upon  her,  and  with  a  smile:  "Thank 
you !" 

"And  as  concerning  the  nests  and  the  draw- 
ers, "  said  Sloppy,  after  measuring  the  handle  on 
his  sleeve,  and  softly  standing  the  stick  aside 
against  the  wall,  "why,  it  would  be  a  real  pleas- 
ure to  me.  I've  heerd  tell  that  you  can  sing 
most  beautiful;  and  I  should  be  better  paid 
with  a  song  than  with  any  money ;  for  I  always 
loved  the  likes  of  that,  and  often  giv'  Mrs.  Hig- 
den  and  Johnny  a  comic  song  myself,  with 
'Spoken'  in  it.  Though  that's  not  your  sort, 
I'll  wager." 

"You  are  a  very  kind  young  man,"  returned 
the  dress-maker;  "a  really  kind  young  man. 
I  accept  your  offer. — I  suppose  He  won't  mind," 
she  added  as  an  after-thought,  shrugging  her 
shoulders ;   "and  if  he  does  he  may !" 

* '  Meaning  him  that  you  call  your  father, 
Miss?"  asked  Sloppy. 

"No,  no,"  replied'  Miss  Wren.  "  Him,  Him, 
Him !" 


"Him,  him,  him?"  repeated  Sloppy,  staring 
about,  as  if  for  Him. 

"  Him  who  is  coming  to  court  and  marry 
me,"  returned  Miss  Wren.  "Dear  me,  how 
slow  you  are  !" 

"  Oh !  Him  /"  said  Sloppy.  And  seemed  to 
turn  thoughtful  and  a  little  troubled.  "I  never 
thought  of  him.     When  is  he  coming,  Miss?" 

1 '  What  a  question ! "  cried  Miss  Wren.  ' '  How 
should  /know !" 

"Where  is  he  coming  from,  Miss?" 

"Why,  good  gracious,  how  can  /  tell!  He 
is  coming  from  somewhere  or  other,  I  suppose, 
and  he  is  coming  some  day  or  other,  I  suppose. 
/  don't  know  any  more  about  him  at  present." 

This  tickled  Mr.  Sloppy  as  an  extraordinarily 
good  joke,  and  he  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed  with  measureless  enjoyment.  At  the 
sight  of  him  laughing  in  that  absurd  way  the 
dolls'  dress-maker  laughed  very  heartily  indeed. 
So  they  both  laughed  till  they  were  tired. 

"There,  there,  there!"  said  Miss  Wren. 
"For  goodness'  sake  stop,  Giant,  or  I  shall  be 
swallowed  up  alive  before  I  know  it.  And  to 
this  minute  you  haven't  said  what  you've  come 
for." 

"I  have  come  for  little  Miss  Harmonses  doll," 
said  Sloppy. 

"I  thought  as  much,"  remarked  Miss  Wren, 
"and  here  is  little  Miss  Harmonses  doll  wait- 
ing for  you.  She's  folded  up  in  silver  paper, 
you  see,  as  if  she  was  wrapped  from  head  to  foot 
in  new  Bank-notes.  Take  care  of  her,  and 
there's  my  hand,  and  thank  you  again." 

"I'll  take  more  care  of  her  than  if  she  Avas  a 
gold  image,"  said  Sloppy,  "and  there's  both  my 
hands,  Miss,  and  I'll  soon  come  back  again.  ' 

But  the  greatest  event  of  all,  in  the  new  life 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Harmon,  was  a  visit  from 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eugene  Wrayburn.  Sadly  wan 
and  worn  was  the  once  gallant  Eugene,  and 
walked  resting  on  his  wife's  ann,  and  leaning 
heavily  upon  a  stick.  But  he  was  daily  grow- 
ing stronger  and  better,  and  it  was  declared  by 
the  medical  attendants  that  he  might  not  be 
much  disfigured  by-and-by.  It  was  a  grand 
event,  indeed,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eugene  Wray- 
burn came  to  stay  at  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Har- 
mon's house :  where,  by-the-way,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Boffin  (exquisitely  happy,  and  daily  cruising 
about  to  look  at  shops)  were  likewise  staying 
indefinitely. 

To  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn,  in  confidence,  did 
Mrs.  John  Harmon  impart  what  she  had  known 
of  the  state  of  his  wife's  affections,  in  his  reck- 
less time.  And  to  Mrs.  John  Harmon,  in  con- 
fidence, did  Mr.  Eugene  Wrayburn  impart  that, 
please  God,  she  should  see  how  his  wife  had 
changed  him ! 

"I  make  no  protestations,"  said  Eugene; 
" — who  does,  who  means  them! — I  have  made 
a  resolution." 

"But  would  you  believe,  Bella,"  interposed 
his  wife,  coming  to  resume  her  nurse's  place  at 
his  side,  for  he  never  got  on  well  without  her: 
"  that  on  our  wedding-day  he  told  me  he  almost 
thought  the  best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  die?" 

"  As  I  didn't  do  it,  Lizzie," said  Eugene,  "I'll 
do  that  better  thing  you  suggested— for  your 
sake." 

That  same  afternoon,  Eugene  lying  on  his 
couch  in  his  own  room  up  stairs,  Lightwood 


31G 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


came  to  chat  with  him,  while  Bella  took  his 
wife  out  for  a  ride.  "Nothing  short  of  force 
will  make  her  go,"  Eugene  had  said ;  so,  Bella 
had  playfully  forced  her. 

"  Dear  old  fellow,"  Eugene  began  with  Light- 
wood,  reaching  up  his  hand,  "you  couldn't  have 
come  at  a  better  time,  for  my  mind  is  full,  and 
I  want  to  empty  it.  First,  of  my  present,  before 
I  touch  upon  my  future.  M.  R.  F.,  who  is  a 
much  younger  cavalier  than  I,  and  a  professed 
admirer  of  beauty,  was  so  affable  as  to  remark 
the  other  day  (he  paid  us  a  visit  of  two  days  up 
the  river  there,  and  much  objected  to  the  ac- 
commodation of  the  hotel),  that  Lizzie  ought  to 
have  her  portrait  painted.  Which,  coming  from 
M.  R.  F.,  may  be  considered  equivalent  to  a 
melodramatic  blessing." 

"You  are  getting  well,"  said  Mortimer,  with 
a  smile. 

"Really,"  said  Eugene,  "I  mean  it.  When 
M.  R.  F.  said  that,  and  followed  it  up  by  roll- 
ing the  claret  (for  which  he  called,  and  I  paid) 
in  his  mouth,  and  saying,  'My  dear  son,  why 
do  you  drink  this  trash?'  it  was  tantamount — 
in  him— to  a  paternal  benediction  on  our  union, 
accompanied  with  a  gush  of  tears.  The  cool- 
ness of  M.  R.  F.  is  not  to  be  measured  by  ordi- 
nary standards." 

"  True  enough,"  said  Lightwood. 

"That's  all,"  pursued  Eugene,  "that  I  shall 
ever  hear  from  M.  R.  F.  on  the  subject,  and  he 
will  continue  to  saunter  through  the  world  with 
his  hat  on  one  side.  My  marriage  being  thus 
solemnly  recognized  at  the  family  altar,  I  have 
no  further  trouble  on  that  score.  Next,  you 
really  have  done  wonders  for  me,  Mortimer,  in 
easing  my  money-perplexities,  and  with  such  a 
guardian  and  steward  beside  me,  as  the  preserv- 
er of  my  life  (I  am  hardly  strong  yet,  you  see, 
for  I  am  not  man  enough  to  refer  to  her  without 
a  trembling  voice — she  is  so  inexpressibly  dear 
to  me,  Mortimer!),  the  little  that  I  can  call  my 
own  will  be  more  than  it  ever  has  been.  It  need 
be  more,  for  you  know  what  it  always  has  been 
in  my  hands.     Nothing." 

"  Worse  than  nothing,  I  fancy,  Eugene.  My 
own  small  income  (I  devoutly  wish  that  my 
grandfather  had  left  it  to  the  Ocean  rather  than 
to  me !)  has  been  an  effective  Something,  in  the 
way  of  preventing  me  from  turning  to  at  Any 
thing.  And  I  think  yours  has  been  much  the 
same." 

"There  spake  the  voice  of  wisdom,"  said 
Eugene.  "  We  are  shepherds  both.  In  turn- 
ing to  at  last,  we  turn  to  in  earnest.  Let  us  say 
no  more  of  that,  for  a  few  years  to  come.  Now, 
I  have  had  an  idea,  Mortimer,  of  taking  myself 
and  my  wife  to  one  of  the  colonies,  and  working 
out  my  vocation  there." 

"I  should  be  lost  without  you,  Eugene;  but 
you  may  be  right." 

"No,"  said  Eugene,  emphatically.  "Not 
right.     Wrong." 

He  said  it  with  such  a  lively — almost  angry 
— flash,  that  Mortimer  showed  himself  greatly 
surprised. 

"You  think  this  thumped  head  of  mine  is 
excited?"  Eugene  went  on,  with  a  high  look; 
"not  so,  believe  me.  I  can  say  to  you  of  the 
healthful  music  of  my  pulse  what  Hamlet  said 
of  his.  My  blood  is  up,  but  wholesomely  up, 
when  I  think  of  it.  Tell  me !  Shall  I  turn 
coward  to  Lizzie,  and  sneak  away  with  her,  as 


if  I  were  ashamed  of  her !  Where  would  your 
friend's  part  in  this  world  be,  Mortimer,  if  she 
had  turned  coward  to  him,  and  on  immeasurably 
better  occasion  ?" 

"Honorable  and  stanch,"  said  Lightwood. 
"  And  yet,  Eugene — " 

"And  yet  what,  Mortimer?" 

"And  yet,  are  you  sure  that,  you  might  not 
feel  (for  her  sake,  I  say  for  her  sake)  any  slight 
coldness  toward  her  on  the  part  of— Society  ?" 

"  Oh !  You  and  I  may  well  stumble  at  the 
word,"  returned  Eugene,  laughing.  "Do  we 
mean  our  Tippins?" 

"Perhaps  we  do,"  said  Mortimer,  laughing 
also. 

"  Faith,  we  do  !"  returned  Eugene,  with  great 
animation.  "We  may  hide  behind  the  bush 
and  beat  about  it,  but  we  do  !  Now,  my  wife  is 
something  nearer  to  my  heart,  Mortimer,  than 
Tippins  is,  and  I  owe  her  a  little  more  than  I 
owe  to  Tippins,  and  I  am  rather  prouder  of  her 
than  I  ever  was  of  Tippins.  Therefore,  I  will 
fight  it  out  to  the  last  gasp,  with  her  and  for  her, 
here,  in  the  open  field.  When  I  hide  her,  or 
strike  for  her,  faint-heartedly,  in  a  hole  or  a 
corner,  do  you,  whom  I  love  next  best  upon 
earth,  tell  me  what  I  shall  most  righteously  de- 
serve to  be  told: — that  she  would  have  done 
well  to  turn  me  over  with  her  foot  that  night 
when  I  lay  bleeding  to  death,  and  spat  in  my 
dastard  face." 

The  glow  that  shone  upon  him  as  he  spoke 
the  words  so  irradiated  his  features  that  he  look- 
ed, for  the  time,  as  though  he  had  never  been 
mutilated.  His  friend  responded  as  Eugene 
would  have  had  him  respond,  and  they  dis- 
coursed of  the  future  until  Lizzie  came  back. 
After  resuming  her  place  at  his  side,  and  ten- 
derly touching  his  hands  and  his  head,  she  said: 

"  Eugene,  dear,  you  made  me  go  out,  but  I 
ought  to  have  staid  with  you.  You  are  more 
flushed  than  you  have  been  for  many  days. 
What  have  you  been  doing?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Eugene,  "  but  looking  for- 
ward to  your  coming  back. " 

"And  talking  to  Mr.  Lightwood,"  said  Liz- 
zie, turning  to  him  with  a  smile.  "But  it  can 
not  have  been  Society  that  disturbed  you." 

"  Faith,  my  dear  love !"  retorted  Eugene,  in 
his  old  airy  manner,  as  he  laughed  and  kissed 
her,  "I  rather  think  it  was  Society,  though  !" 

The  word  ran  so  much  in  Mortimer  Light- 
wood's  thoughts  as  he  went  home  to  the  Temple 
that  night,  that  he  resolved  to  take  a  look  at 
Society,  which  he  had  not  seen  for  a  consider- 
able period. 


CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 

THE  VOICE  OF  SOCIETY. 

Behooves  Mortimer  Lightwood,  therefore,  to 
answer  a  dinner  card  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.Veneer- 
ing  requesting  the  honor,  and  to  signify  that  Mr. 
Mortimer  Lightwood  will  be  happy  to  have  the 
other  honor.  The  Veneerings  have  been,  as 
usual,  indefatigably  dealing  dinner  cards  to  So- 
ciety, and  whoever  desires  to  take  a  hand  had 
best  be  quick  about  it,  for  it  is  written  in  the 
Books  of  the  Insolvent  Fates  that  Veneering 
shall  make  a  resounding  smash  next  week. 
Yes.  Having  found  out  the  clew  to  that  great 
mystery  how  people  can  contrive  to  live  beyond 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


347 


their  means,  and  having  over-jobbed  his  jobber- 
ies as  legislator  deputed  to  the  Universe  by  the 
pure  electors  of  Pocket  Breeches,  it  shall  come 
to  pass  next  week  that  Veneering  will  accept 
the  Chiltern  Hundreds,  that  the  legal  gentle- 
man in  Britannia's  confidence  will  again  accept 
the  Pocket  Breeches  Thousands,  and  that  the 
Veneerings  will  retire  to  Calais,  there  to  live  on 
Mrs.  Veneering's  diamonds  (in  which  Mr.  Ve- 
neering, as  a  good  husband,  has  from  time  to 
time  invested  considerable  sums),  and  to  relate 
to  Neptune  and  others,  how  that,  before  Ve- 
neering retired  from  Parliament,  the  House  of 
Commons  was  composed  of  himself  and  the 
six  hundred  and  fifty-seven  dearest  and  oldest 
friends  he  had  in  the  world.  It  shall  likewise 
come  to  pass,  at  as  nearly  as  possible  the  same 
period,  that  Society  will  discover  that  it  always 
did  despise  Veneering,  and  distrust  Veneering, 
and  that  when  it  went  to  Veneering's  to  dinner 
it  always  had  misgivings — though  very  secretly 
at  the  time,  it  would  seem,  and  in  a  perfectly 
private  and  confidential  manner. 

The  next  week's  books  of  the  Insolvent  Fates, 
however,  being  not  yet  opened,  there  is  the  usu- 
al rush  to  the  Veneerings,  of  the  people  who 
go  to  their  house  to  dine  with  one  another  and 
not  with  them.  There  is  Lady  Tippins.  There 
are  Podsnap  the  Great  and  Mrs.Podsnap.  There 
is  Twemlow.  There  are  Buffer,  Boots,  and  Brew- 
er. There  is  the  Contractor,  who  is  Providence 
to  five  hundred  thousand  men.  There  is  the 
Chairman,  traveling  three  thousand  miles  per 
week.  There  is  the  brilliant  genius  who  turned 
the  shares  into  that  remarkably  exact  sum  of 
three  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand  pounds, 
no  shillings,  and  no  pence. 

To  whom  add  Mortimer  Lightwood,  coming 
in  among  them  with  a  reassumption  of  his  old 
languid  air,  founded  on  Eugene,  and  belonging 
to  the  days  when,  he  told  the  story  of  the  man 
from  Somewhere. 

That  fresh  fairy,  Tippins,  all  but  screams  at 
sight  of  her  false  swain.  She  summons  the  de- 
serter to  her  with  her  fan  ;  but  the  deserter,  pre- 
determined not  to  come,  talks  Britain  with  Pod- 
snap.  Podsnap  always  talks  Britain,  and  talks 
as  if  he  were  a  sort  of  Private  Watchman  em- 
ployed, in  the  British  interests,  against  the  rest 
of  the  world.  "  We  know  what  Russia  means, 
Sir,"  says  Podsnap;  "we  know  what  France 
wants ;  we  see  what  America  is  up  to ;  but  we 
know  what  England  is.     That's  enough  for  us." 

However,  when  dinner  is  served,  and  Light- 
wood  drops  into  his  old  place  over  against  Lady 
Tippins,  she  can  be  fended  off  no  longer.  "  Long 
banished  Robinson  Crusoe,"  says  the  charmer, 
exchanging  salutations,  "  how  did  you  leave  the 
Island  ?" 

"Thank  you,"  says  Lightwood.  "It  made 
no  complaint  of  being  in  pain  any  where." 

"  Say,  how  did  you  leave  the  savages  ?"  asks 
Lady  Tippins. 

"They  were  becoming  civilized  when  I  left 
Juan  Fernandez,  "says  Lightwood.  "At  least  they 
were  eating  one  another,  which  looked  like  it." 

"Tormentor!"  returns  the  dear  young  creat- 
ure. "You  know  what  I  mean,  and  you  trifle 
with  my  impatience.  Tell  me  something,  im- 
mediately, about  the  married  pair.  You  were 
at  the  wedding." 

"Was  I,  by-the-by?"  Mortimer  pretends, 
at  great  leisure,  to  consider.     "  So  I  was !" 


"How  was  the  bride  dressed  ?  In  rowing  cos- 
tume?" 

Mortimer  looks  gloomy,  and  declines  to  an- 
swer. 

"I  hope  she  steered  herself,  skiffed  herself, 
paddled  herself,  larboarded  and  starboarded  her- 
self, or  whatever  the  technical  term  is,  to  the 
ceremony?"  continues  the  playful  Tippins. 

"However  she  got  to  it  she  graced  it,"  says 
Mortimer. 

Lady  Tippins  with  a  skittish  little  scream  at- 
tracts the  general  attention.  "Graced  it!  Take 
care  of  me  if  I  faint,  Veneering.  He  means  to 
tell  us  that  a  horrid  female  waterman  is  grace- 
ful!" 

"Pardon  me.  I  mean  to  tell  you  nothing, 
Lady  Tippins,"  replies  Lightwood.  And  keeps 
his  word  by  eating  his  dinner  with  a  show  of  the 
utmost  indifference. 

"You  shall  not  escape  me  in  this  way,  you 
morose  backwoods-man,"  retorts  Lady  Tippins. 
"You  shall  not  evade  the  question,  to  screen 
your  friend  Eugene  who  has  made  this  exhibi- 
tion of  himself.  The  knowledge  shall  be  brought 
home  to  you  that  such  a  ridiculous  affair  is  con- 
demned by  the  voice  of  Society.  My  dear  Mrs. 
Veneering,  do  let  us  resolve  ourselves  into  a 
Committee  of  the  whole  House  on  the  subject." 

Mrs.  Veneering,  always  charmed  by  this  rat- 
tling sylph,  cries:  "Oh yes!  Do  let  us  resolve 
ourselves  into  a  Committee  of  the  whole  House ! 
So  delicious!"  Veneering  says,  "As  many  as 
are  of  that  opinion,  say  Aye — contrary,  No — the 
Ayes  have  it."  But  nobody  takes  the  slightest 
notice  of  his  joke. 

"Now,  I  am  Chairwoman  of  Committees!" 
cries  Lady  Tippins. 

("What  spirits  she  has!"  exclaims  Mrs.  Ve- 
neering; to  whom  likewise  nobody  attends.) 

"And  this,"  pursues  the  sprightly  one,  "is  a 
Committee  of  the  whole  House  to  what-you-may- 
call-it — elicit,  I  suppose — the  voice  of  Society. 
The  question  before  the  Committee  is,  whether 
a  young  man  of  very  fair  family,  good  appear- 
ance, and  some  talent,  makes  a  fool  or  a  wise 
man  of  himself  in  marrying  a  female  waterman, 
turned  factory  girl." 

"Hardly  so,  I  think,"  the  stubborn  Mortimer 
strikes  in.  "I  take  the  question  to  be,  whether 
such  a  man  as  you  describe,  Lady  Tippins,  does 
right  or  wrong  in  marrying  a  brave  woman  (I 
say  nothing  of  her  beauty),  who  has  saved  his 
life,  with  a  Avonderful  energy  and  address ;  whom 
he  knows  to  be  virtuous  and  possessed  of  re- 
markable qualities ;  whom  he  has  long  admired, 
and  who  is  deeply  attached  to  him." 

"But,  excuse  me,"  says  Podsnap,  with  his 
temper  and  his  shirt-collar  about  equally  rum- 
pled;  "was  this  young  woman  ever  a  female 
waterman  ?" 

"Never.  But  she  sometimes  rowed  in  a  boat 
with  her  father,  I  believe." 

General  sensation  against  the  young  woman. 
Brewer  shakes  his  head.  Boots  shakes  his  head. 
Buffer  shakes  his  head. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Lightwood,  was  she  ever," 
pursues  Podsnap,  with  his  indignation  rising  high 
into  those  hair-brushes  of  his,  "  a  factory  girl  ?" 

"Never.  But  she  had  some  employment  in 
a  paper  mill,  I  believe." 

General  sensation  repeated.  Brewer  says,  "  Oh 
dear!"  Boots  says,  " Oh  dear !"  Buffer  says, 
"  Oh  dear !"     All,  in  a  rumbling  tone  of  protest. 


318 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 


"Then  all  /have  to  say  is,"  returns  Podsnap, 
putting  the  thing  away  with  his  right  arm,  "  that 
my  gorge  rises  against  such  a  marriage — that  it 
offends  and  disgusts  me — that  it  makes  me  sick 
— and  that  I  desire  to  know  no  more  about  it." 

("Now  I  wonder,"  thinks  Mortimer,  amused, 
"whether you  are  the  voice  of  Society !") 

"Hear,  hear,  hear!"  cries  Lady  Tippins. 
"Your  opinion  of  this  mesalliance,  honorable 
colleague  of  the  honorable  member  who  has  just 
sat  down?" 

Mrs.  Podsnap  is  of  opinion  that  in  these  mat- 
ters there  should  be  an  equality  of  station  and 
fortune,  and  that  a  man  accustomed  to  Society 
should  look  out  for  a  woman  accustomed  to  So- 
ciety and  capable  of  bearing  her  part  in  it  with 
— an  ease  and  elegance  of  carriage — that — " 
Mrs.  Podsnap  stops  there,  delicately  intimating 
that  every  such  man  should  look  out  for  a  fine 
woman  as  nearly  resembling  herself  as  he  may 
hope  to  discover. 

("  Now  I  wonder,"  thinks  Mortimer,  "  wheth- 
er you  are  the  Voice !") 

Lady  Tippins  next  canvasses  the  Contractor, 
of  five  hundred  thousand  power.  It  appears  to 
this  potentate,  that  what  the  man  in  question 
should  have  done,  would  have  been,  to  buy  the 
young  woman  a  boat  and  a  small  annuity,  and 
set  her  up  for  herself.  These  things  are  a  ques- 
tion of  beef-steaks  and  porter.  You  buy  the 
young  woman  a  boat.  Very  good.  You  buy 
her,  at  the  same  time,  a  small  annuity.  You 
speak  of  that  annuity  in  pounds  sterling,  but  it 
is  in  reality  so  many  pounds  of  beef-steaks  and  so 
many  pints  of  porter.  On  the  one  hand,  the 
young  woman  has  the  boat.  On  the  other  hand, 
she  consumes  so  many  pounds  of  beef-steaks  and 
so  many  pints  of  porter.  Those  beef-steaks  and 
that  porter  are  the  fuel  to  that  young  woman's 
engine.  She  derives  therefrom  a  certain  amount 
of  power  to  row  the  boat ;  that  power  will  pro- 
duce so  much  money ;  and  thus  you  get  at  the 
young  woman's  income.  That  (it  seems  to  the 
Contractor)  is  the  way  of  looking  at  it. 

The  fair  enslaver  having  fallen  into  one  of  her 
gentle  sleeps  during  this  last  exposition,  nobody 
likes  to  wake  her.  Fortunately,  she  comes  awake 
of  herself,  and  puts  the  question  to  the  Wander- 
ing Chairman.  The  Wanderer  can  only  speak 
of  the  case  as  if  it  were  his  own.  If  such  a 
young  woman  as  the  young  woman  described, 
liad  saved  his  own  life,  he  would  have  been  very 
much  obliged  to  her,  wouldn't  have  married  her, 
and  would  have  got  her  a  berth  in  an  Electric 
Telegraph  Office,  where  young  women  answer 
very  well. 

What  does  the  Genius  of  the  three  hundred 
and  seventy-five  thousand  pounds,  no  shillings, 
and  no  pence,  think  ?  He  can't  say  what  he 
thinks,  without  asking :  Had  the  young  woman 
any  money  ? 

"No,"  says  Lightwood,  in  an  uncompromis- 
ing voice ;   "no  money." 

"Madness  and  moonshine,"  is  then  the  com- 
pressed verdict  of  the  Genius.  "  A  man  may 
do  any  thing  lawful,  for  money.  But  for  no 
money  ? — Bosh  !" 

What  does  Boots  say  ? 


Boots  says  he  wouldn't  have  done  it  under 
twenty  thousand  pound. 

What  does  Brewer  say  ? 

Brewer  says  what  Boots  says. 

What  does  Buffer  say. 

Buffer  says  he  knows  a  man  who  married  a 
bathing-woman,  and  bolted. 

Lady  Tippins  fancies  she  has  collected  the  suf- 
frages of  the  whole  Committee  (nobody  dream- 
ing of  asking  the  Veneerings  for  their  opinion), 
when,  looking  round  the  table  through  her  eye- 
glass, she  perceives  Mr.  Twemlow  with  his  hand 
to  his  forehead. 

Good  gracious !  My  Twemlow  forgotten !  My 
dearest !     My  own !     What  is  his  vote  ? 

Twemlow  has  the  air  of  being  ill  at  ease,  as 
he  takes  his  hand  from  his  forehead  and  replies. 

"I  am  disposed  to  think,"  says  he,  "  that  this 
is  a  question  of  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman." 

"  A  gentleman  can  have  no  feelings  who  con- 
tracts such  a  marriage,"  flushes  Podsnap. 

"  Pardon  me,  Sir,"  says  Twemlow,  rather  less 
mildly  than  usual,  "I  don't  agree  with  you.  If 
this  gentleman's  feelings  of  gratitude,  of  respect, 
of  admiration,  and  affection,  induced  him  (as  I 
presume  they  did)  to  marry  this  lady — " 

"This  lady!"  echoes  Podsnap. 

"  Sir,"  returns  Twemlow,  with  his  wristbands 
bristling  a  little,  uyou  repeat  the  word  ;  /  repeat 
the  word.  This  lady.  What  else  would  you 
call  her  if  the  gentleman  were  present  ?" 

This  being  something  in  the  nature  of  a  poser 
for  Podsnap,  he  merely  waves  it  away  with  a 
speechless  wave.         ' 

"I  say,"  resumes  Twemlow,  "  if  such  feelings 
on  the  part  of  this  gentleman  induced  this  gen- 
tleman to  marry  this  lady,  I  think  he  is  the 
greater  gentleman  for  the  action,  and  makes  her 
the  greater  lady.  I  beg  to  say,  that  when  I  use 
the  word  gentleman,  I  use  it  in  the  sense  in 
which  the  degree  may  be  attained  by  any  man. 
The  feelings  of  a  gentleman  I  hold  sacred,  and 
I  confess  I  am  not  comfortable  when  they  are 
made  the  subject  of  sport  or  general  discussion." 

"I  should  like  to  know,"  sneers  Podsnap, 
"  whether  your  noble  relation  would  be  of  your 
opinion." 

"Mr.  Podsnap,"  retorts  Twemlow,  "permit 
me.  He  might  be,  or  he  might  not  be.  I  can 
not  say.  But  I  could  not  allow  even  him  to  dic- 
tate to  me  on  a  point  of  great  delicacy,  on  which 
I  feel  very  strongly." 

Somehow  a  canopy  of  wet  blanket  seems  to 
descend  upon  the  company,  and  Lady  Tippins 
was  never  known  to  turn  so  very  greedy  or  so 
very  cross.  Mortimer  Lightwood  alone  bright- 
ens. He  has  been  asking  himself,  as  to  every 
other  member  of  the  Committee  in  turn,  "I 
wonder  whether  you  are  the  Voice!"  But  he 
does  not  ask  himself  the  question  after  Twemlow 
has  spoken,  and  he  glances  in  Twemlow's  direc- 
tion as  if  he  were  grateful.  When  the  company 
disperse — by  which  time  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Veneer- 
ing have  had  quite  as  much  as  they  want  of  the 
honor,  and  the  guests  have  had  quite  as  much 
as  they  want  of  the  other  honor — Mortimer  sees 
Twemlow  home,  shakes  hands  with  him  cordial- 
ly at  parting,  and  fares  to  the  Temple,  gayly. 


THE  END. 


POSTSCRIPT, 

IN  LIEU  OF  PREFACE. 


When  I  devised  this  story,  I  foresaw  the  likelihood  that  a  class  of  readers 
and  commentators  would  suppose  that  I  was  at  great  pains  to  conceal  exactly 
what  I  was  at  great  pains  to  suggest :  namely,  that  Mr.  John  Harmon  was  not 
slain,  and  that  Mr.  John  Rokesmith  was  he.  Pleasing  myself  with  the  idea 
that  the  supposition  might  in  part  arise  out  of  some  ingenuity  in  the  story,  and 
thinking  it  worth  while,  in  the  interests  of  art,  to  hint  to  an  audience  that  an 
artist  (of  whatever  denomination)  may  perhaps  be  trusted  to  know  what  he  is 
about  in  his  vocation,  if  they  will  concede  him  a  little  patience,  I  was  not  alarmed 
by  the  anticipation. 

To  keep  for  a  long  time  unsuspected,  yet  always  working  itself  out,  another 
purpose  originating  in  that  leading  incident,  and  turning  it  to  a  pleasant  and 
useful  account  at  last,  was  at  once  the  most  interesting  and  the  most  difficult 
part  of  my  design.  Its  difficulty  was  much  enhanced  by  the  mode  of  publica- 
tion ;  for  it  would  be  very  unreasonable  to  expect  that  many  readers,  pursuing 
a  story  in  portions  from  month  to  month  through  nineteen  months,  will,  until 
they  have  it  before  them  complete,  perceive  the  relations  of  its  finer  threads  to 
the  whole  pattern  which  is  always  before  the  eyes  of  the  story-weaver  at  his 
loom.  Yet,  that  I  hold  the  advantages  of  the  mode  of  publication  to  outweigh 
its  disadvantages,  may  be  easily  believed  of  one  who  revived  it  in  the  Pickwick 
Papers  after  long  disuse,  and  has  pursued  it  ever  since. 

There  is  sometimes  an  odd  disposition  in  this  country  to  dispute  as  improba- 
ble in  fiction  what  are  the  commonest  experiences  in  fact.  Therefore  I  note 
here,  though  it  may  not  be  at  all  necessary,  that  there  are  hundreds  of  Will 
Cases  (as  they  are  called)  far  more  remarkable  than  that  fancied  in  this  book ; 
and  that  the  stores  of  the  Prerogative  Office  teem  with  instances  of  testators 
who  have  made,  changed,  contradicted,  hidden,  forgotten,  left  canceled,  and  left 
uncanceled,  each  many  more  wills  than  were  ever  made  by  the  elder  Mr.  Har- 
mon of  Harmony  Jail. 

In  my  social  experiences,  since  Mrs.  Betty  Higden  came  upon  the  scene  and 
left  it,  I  have  found  Circumlocutional  authorities  disposed  to  be  warm  with  me 
on  the  subject  of  my  view  of  the  Poor  Law.  My  friend  Mr.  Bounderby  could 
never  see  any  difference  between  leaving  the  Coketown  "hands"  exactly  as 
they  were,  and  requiring  them  to  be  fed  with  turtle  soup  and  venison  out  of 

Z 


350  POSTSCRIPT. 

gold  spoons.  Idiotic  propositions  of  a  parallel  nature  have  been  freely  offered 
for  ray  acceptance,  and  I  have  been  called  upon  to  admit  that  I  would  give 
Poor  Law  relief  to  any  body,  any  where,  any  how.  Putting  this  nonsense  aside, 
I  have  observed  a  suspicious  tendency  in  the  various  authorities  to  divide  into 
two  parties ;  the  one  contending  that  there  are  no  deserving  Poor  who  prefer 
death  by  slow  starvation  and  bitter  weather  to  the  mercies  of  some  Relieving 
Officers  and  some  Union  Houses ;  the  other  admitting  that  there  are  such  Poor," 
but  denying  that  they  have  any  cause  or  reason  for  what  they  do.  The  rec- 
ords in  our  newspapers,  the  late  exposure  by  The  Lancet,  and  the  common 
sense  and  senses  of  common  people,  furnish  too  abundant  evidence  against  both 
defenses.  But  that  my  view  of  the  Poor  Law  may  not  be  mistaken  or  misrep- 
resented, I  will  state  it.  I  believe  there  has  been  in  England,  since  the  days  of 
the  Stuakts,  no  law  so  often  infamously  administered,  no  law  so  often  openly 
violated,  no  law  habitually  so  ill-supervised.  In  the  majority  of  the  shameful 
cases  of  disease  and  death  from  destitution  that  shock  the  Public  and  disgrace 
the  country,  the  illegality  is  quite  equal  to  the  inhumanity — and  known  lan- 
guage could  say  no  more  of  their  lawlessness. 

On  Friday  the  Ninth  of  June,  in  the  present  year,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin  (in 
their  manuscript  dress  of  receiving  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lammle  at  breakfast)  were  on 
the  Southeastern  Railway  with  me  in  a  terribly  destructive  accident.  When  I 
had  done  what  I  could  to  help  others,  I  climbed  back  into  my  carriage — nearly 
turned  over  a  viaduct,  and  caught  aslant  upon  the  turn — to  extricate  the  worthy 
couple.  They  were  much  soiled,  but  otherwise  unhurt.  The  same  happy  re- 
sult attended  Miss  Bella  Wilfer  on  her  wedding-day,  and  Mr.  Riderhood  in- 
specting Bradley  Headstone's  red  neckerchief  as  he  lay  asleep.  I  remember 
with  devout  thankfulness  that  I  can  never  be  nearer  parting  company  with  my 
readers  forever  than  I  was  then,  until  there  shall  be  written  against  my  life  the 
two  words  with  which  I  have  this  day  closed  this  book— The  End. 

September  2, 1865. 


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